Loe raamatut: «Love's Healing Touch»
Love’s Healing Touch
Jane Myers Perrine
Published by Steeple Hill Books™
MILLS & BOON
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This book is dedicated to my family:
My parents, “Dr. Bob” and Martha Myers,
who took me to church, to Sunday school,
to youth group, to choir, to camp…
My big brother, Mike Myers, and my sister,
Patricia Myers Norton, who were such wonderful
Christian examples as I was growing up and are
wonderful friends now. Thank you.
And, as always, to my husband, George,
for his love and support—and for forty-one years
of inspirational sermons. I only slept
through a few, honey.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
“Coming through,” a nurse shouted as she pushed a crash cart down the hall of the emergency room.
Mike Fuller leaped away and landed in the path of a gurney being moved at breakneck speed. “Hey, you,” shouted the orderly as he swerved around Mike, “grab the door to the elevator and keep it open.”
Mike dashed toward the closing door and held it open until the orderly and his patient arrived. After the doors shut behind them, Mike again entered the E.R. and navigated through a hallway so crowded with patients on gurneys that there was only a narrow pathway between them. Ahead was the central desk where he’d been told to check in with the nursing staff.
No one was there.
A glance through the window on his right showed a waiting room filled with people. From outside the building, the siren of an approaching ambulance wailed, a sound which warred with the sounds inside the building—shouts of medical personnel and the bellow of the loudspeaker calling doctors and spewing forth codes. Amid the noise, medical staff hurried past, stopping in one cubicle or another.
Mike inhaled the stifling scent of disinfectant and looked around him. Even if he was only an orderly—well, clinical assistant, but everyone knew that meant orderly— he was here, in Austin University Hospital during the late shift. The commotion made him feel alive and want to be part of it. Unfortunately, he had no idea what he should do. Whether he was an orderly or a CA, he could do only what he was told. That had been pounded into him during his training and three-day orientation.
“Orderly.”
He turned to see a beautiful woman watching him. She was short, but beneath her open lab coat—which meant she was a doctor so he shouldn’t be noticing how attractive she was—were curves, delightful curves. Right now, he had too much going on in his life to even look at a woman, but only a dead man wouldn’t check out this one. She was exactly the kind of woman he’d always liked in the past—except for that one mistake with tall, blond Cynthia.
This doctor’s dark hair was pulled back in a round little knot. She had beautiful golden-brown skin and brown eyes, which, he realized, were glaring at him. In addition, her lovely pink lips were forming words. “I need you,” she said as she pointed at him, “to check the vitals of the patients in the hall. Then get gloves and a bucket and start cleaning Exam 6.”
“But—” Mike started.
“I know, that’s housekeeping’s job but with the mess tonight, we’re all going to have to pitch in on everything.” Then she walked away, saying, “Thank you,” over her shoulder as she entered one of the cubicles.
“I see you’ve met Dr. Ramírez, the head resident in the E.R.,” said a nurse as she returned to her desk. “She can be demanding at times, but she’s a great doctor.” She glanced at Mike’s name tag. “Welcome, Fuller. I’m Pat. We can really use you tonight.”
“Is it always this busy?”
“Depends. Tonight there was a chemical spill south of town.” She picked up a marker and started writing names on the dry-erase board. “We’ve got injuries from three traffic accidents and a gunshot wound in Trauma 1. And a family in a house fire.” She shook her head. “A lot of other injuries I can’t remember. A fairly normal night here.”
Then she sat. “Might as well get you started. I’ll have Williams show you around.” Her gaze scanned the area. “Williams, come on over here.”
When the brawny orderly arrived, he smiled to expose a gold front tooth. “Glad to see you, man. We’re two orderlies short so I’m working too hard.”
“Mike Fuller.” He held out his hand.
“No time for that.” Williams slapped Mike on the back. “Come with me.”
“Dr. Ramírez wanted me to—”
“Check the vitals on the patients in the hall. Let’s get going.” The other orderly handed Mike a stethoscope. “You’ll be supervised by the head nurse, but everyone in this place will give you orders. Just do anything anyone tells you to do, and you’ll be fine.”
The rest of the shift was spent in hard work, eight solid hours with only a few minutes break here and there.
Once he found himself whispering, “Dear Lord, please get me through this.” The prayer surprised him because, right now, he and God weren’t on the best of terms.
Once, as he pushed a gurney toward the elevator, he passed Dr. Ramírez making notes in a chart at the nurses’ station.
“Look but don’t touch,” Williams warned him. “Yes, she’s pretty but she’s a doctor. She makes sure we all know that. Her body language says, ‘Keep away.’”
Mike didn’t read it that way exactly, but staying away from Dr. Ramírez was good advice, both personally and professionally.
After the first wave of those who’d been affected by the chemical spill had been taken care of, two ambulances arrived from a gang shooting. The vitals of the first kid to come in had dropped and the EMTs couldn’t get the wounds to stop bleeding.
While everyone hovered around the gangbanger, Dr. Ramírez looked at a tiny Hispanic woman on another gurney who’d been an unlucky bystander, the EMT had said.
The doctor picked up the paramedic’s notes and read them. Finished, she said, “I want that woman in there.” She pointed at Mike then at Trauma 2.
He nodded, grabbed the gurney and pushed it into the cubicle Dr. Ramírez had indicated. On the count of three, he and a nurse’s aide named Gracie moved the woman to the trauma bed. Gracie cut and peeled off the woman’s blood-soaked clothing, then put her in a gown. The patient closed her eyes, whimpered a little and bit her lower lip.
“Get a drip started,” Dr. Ramírez told a nurse. Then, her voice soft and low, she said to the patient, “¿Le duele mucho, Señora Sánchez?”
Mike remembered enough of his college Spanish to know that she’d asked the elderly woman if she hurt. The patient nodded.
The doctor pulled the blanket and gown down to study the area on the patient’s right shoulder the paramedics had treated. “¿Aquí?” She gently pressed on the area around the wound which had begun to seep blood.
“Ay, me duele mucho.”
He could tell from her expression that the pressure had hurt the woman, a lot.
“Help me turn her on the left side,” Dr. Ramírez said to Mike. “Slowly and carefully.” Once Mrs. Sánchez was turned, Dr. Ramírez ran her hand over the patient’s shoulder and back. “No exit wound,” she said.
“Okay.” Dr. Ramírez glanced up at Mike. “After the IV is going, take her to the OR. I’ll call the surgeon.”
Before Mike could transfer Mrs. Sánchez to a gurney, the doctor took Mrs. Sánchez’s hand and said, “Señora, todo va a estar bien. Cálmese. El cirujano es buena gente.”
Something about everything being okay, to calm down because the surgeon was a good guy, Mike translated for himself. The elderly woman took a deep breath and unclenched her fists as Mike rolled the gurney away.
Seemed Dr. Ramírez was more than a tough professional. She cared for her patients, understood what they needed. That was the kind of doctor he wanted to be, the kind he would be if he could get the money together to go back to med school.
Because he’d been in foster care, the state had paid college and medical school tuition. During four years of college and one of medical school, he’d roomed with four guys in a cheap apartment and worked part-time to make it through. But with the extra money he needed to rent the house, buy food and cover whatever expenses came up until his mother and little brother could get on their feet, he had to work full-time. No way he could go to medical school and support them, which he had to do. After his father had deserted them almost twenty years earlier, Mike was pretty much the head of the family.
He’d considered other options but couldn’t afford the time off and the seven-hundred-dollar fee for paramedic training. With overtime, he’d make more as an orderly than teaching high school, plus he’d be in a hospital. All that made the decision to be an orderly easy.
By seven the next morning, he was so worn-out he moved in a fog. This was hard work, but he loved the feel of the hospital, the certainty that amid the commotion, all the patients would be helped, that he was doing good, meaningful, healing work.
The sight of Dr. Ramírez added a lot to that positive feeling. After all, he could appreciate the view, if only from a distance. At this moment and maybe for several years, with the mess that was his life, all he could enjoy was the view.
A week after his first day in the E.R., the phone rang in the small house Mike rented. When he answered, his younger brother, Tim, said in a shaky voice, “I had an accident, but it wasn’t my fault.”
Mike held the telephone tightly. “Are you all right?”
Tim cleared his throat and spoke without the quiver. “Yeah, I’m fine. It was minor.”
Knowing Tim, a minor accident meant the car still had most of the tires and not all the glass was broken. “And you’re really okay?”
“The paramedics checked me over. No problems.”
“Where are you? How will you get home?”
“The cops’ll bring me. Talk to you then.” Tim hung up.
Mike disconnected the phone, put it on the end table, and dropped onto the sofa. He was glad Tim was okay. Mike whispered a quick, “Thank you, God, for taking care of Tim.”
Sometimes Mike wondered if God ever got anything done while watching over Tim.
Even with a minor accident, the insurance company would total the car which meant he wouldn’t get enough money to buy another anytime soon.
Mike hadn’t been in a fix like this since he was eighteen. Of course, this time he wouldn’t take a gun and hold up a convenience store, which showed he had learned something over the past six years. And this time most of the problems weren’t his. He’d inherited them from other people.
Thank goodness the wreck hadn’t happened last week when he’d moved from his apartment to this rental house. Now, for the first time in eight years, he’d be living with his family: his eighteen-year-old brother, who’d just been released from the state foster care system, and their mother, who was getting out of prison where she’d served time for fraud. He wouldn’t want the living arrangements any other way, but it was still a big change.
He leaned back and put his feet up on a cardboard box marked Kitchen. He was supposed to take his cousin Francie to the doctor in an hour and the hospital had called and asked him to come in early for his shift. In a few days, he had to meet his mother’s bus and get her settled in the house.
But he had no car.
No, he hadn’t caused most of these problems, but he couldn’t shift them to his much-loved but equally scatterbrained mother or his absentminded and immature younger brother.
He couldn’t lean on Francie. She had enough to deal with, what with the baby coming, fixing up her house and finding time to be with her husband. Besides, he owed her big-time. She’d put her life on hold for him, taken the rap for him when he’d been young and almost irredeemably stupid.
No, he couldn’t toss this on Francie, which left him in charge. Not a prospect that filled him with joy.
When the phone rang again, he picked it up and hoped it wasn’t more bad news. “Hey.”
“How’s it going?” Francie asked.
“Tim wrecked my car.”
“How is he?”
“He says he’s fine, but I can’t take you to the doctor’s office. No car.”
“I’ll pick you up. After you bring me home, you can use my car as long as you need it.”
“Francie, should you be driving? Didn’t you say your doctor had some concerns?”
“The doctor hasn’t told me to stop driving. Besides, if you have my car, I can’t drive.”
“But…”
Ignoring the interruption, Francie said, “You have to have a car. Brandon will agree with me. If it makes you feel better, you can be my chauffeur, take me anywhere I want to go,” she said in her don’t-argue voice. “See you in twenty minutes.”
After Mike hung up the phone, he went to the window to watch for the cop car bringing Tim home.
When the police arrived, he moved to the front door and held it open for Tim. “Let me look at you,” Mike said as his brother sauntered inside, bravado showing in his swagger.
“This time it wasn’t my fault.” When Tim stumbled a little and put his hand on the wall to steady himself, he lost a lot of his macho attitude. “It really wasn’t, Mike.”
Tim was tall with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Two years of lifting weights had put some muscle on him. Now he had wide shoulders with an even wider chip perched there.
As he scrutinized Tim, Mike saw several facial lacerations and a couple of bruises beginning to form. “Let me check you out.”
“The paramedics cleared me. Why do you have to, Mike? You’re not a doctor.”
Mike drew in a breath at the painful reminder that no, he wasn’t a doctor and wasn’t likely to be one. “Just go along with me. Let me practice on you.”
Tim shrugged then winced at the pain the movement brought. “Well, okay. If it makes you happy.” With a grimace, he pulled the T-shirt over his head.
“How did it happen?” Mike ran his fingers down Tim’s ribs, feeling for any knots or abnormalities and watching his brother’s reaction.
“I was driving along Guadalupe and this other car didn’t even slow down, ran right into the front of your car. The police said it was the other guy’s fault. Ouch. What are you doing?”
“Almost through.” Mike’s hands brushed over a discolored diagonal line across Tim’s chest. “Glad you were wearing your seat belt.”
“For once.” Tim nodded. “Guess I must have been listening to you.”
“Also, for once.” Mike looked into Tim’s eyes. “You look okay, but you’re going to be sore. Put some ice on your face.”
“Yeah, sure.” He limped off.
Mike shook his head and hoped Tim would grow up before he did any real damage to himself or someone else.
“Thanks for loaning me your car.” Mike backed Francie’s little red Focus out of the drive and turned south. He glanced at his cousin, taking warmth from her smile. Dark curls surrounded her face, a little fuller now in pregnancy.
As he stopped at a light, he noticed the worried frown on her face. “So how’s little Ebenezer doing?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call the baby that.” She laughed, the lovely, happy sound that always made Mike feel great. “A girl named Ebenezer? It would be terrible enough for a boy.” She paused before adding in a worried voice, “As I said, I’m having a few physical problems. I’m pretty sure the doctor will tell me to cut down my activities until I deliver.”
“What’s going on?”
“Unless you’re the father or the grandparents of this baby, you don’t want to know.” Her voice trembled a little.
“Francie, I took a course in genetics, embryology and reproduction my first and only year of medical school.”
“Well, then I’d prefer not to tell you. It’s kind of personal.” She softened the words with a smile. “Anyway, that’s why Brandon wanted you to drive me since he couldn’t get off today. We’re not sure what the doctor’s going to say.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “We first-time parents worry a lot.”
He signaled and turned on the ramp to Loop 1 or the MoPac as everyone in Travis County called the highway. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I do. And I will.” She sighed. “So you might as well drive the car. Brandon or his family will drive me anywhere so I won’t need it. If using my car makes you feel guilty, bring me some of Manny’s good soup from the diner every week or two.”
“Fine with me.” He stopped at a light and turned toward her. “Mom’s coming home next week. I’ll be able to pick her up at the bus station.”
“Are you excited to see her after—how long has it been? Seven, eight years?”
“Eight.” He considered the question. “Hard to say. I’m excited and worried both. The three of us haven’t lived together since she left. We’ll be crowded in that tiny house.” He stepped on the gas as the light changed. “Tim and I have to share the second bedroom. The owner has bunk beds in there.” Mike grimaced. “Fortunately, Tim’s still enough of a kid to like sleeping in the top bunk.”
“Oh, and you’re such an old man you couldn’t get up there?”
“I don’t want to get up there.” He turned off on the Thirty-fourth Street exit and drove a block before he said, “There’s another reason I’m worried.” His hands beat out a rhythm on the steering wheel. “You know how much I love her, but how’s Mom going to move on from prison life? She’s never worked. What if she wants to forge paintings again?”
“That’s hard, Mike.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to lay down the law, which is not something this family is good about accepting. I’ll pray for you. You might do some praying for yourself.”
He nodded. No use telling the woman who’d introduced him to church and helped him develop his faith that prayer had become only habit. It didn’t work for him anymore.
Francie folded her hands over the roundness of her stomach and struggled to find a comfortable position. “How’s Cynthia?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen her for a while.” He signaled for a turn, carefully kept his gaze on the road and refused to meet her eyes. “Not a lot of traffic. We should get to the doctor’s office in plenty of time.”
“Don’t change the subject.” She pushed herself around in the seat to look at him. “What happened with Cynthia? I thought you two were made for each other.”
“I thought so, too.” He clenched his jaw, not wanting to say more, but he knew Francie wouldn’t leave him alone until he explained. “When I told her I had to quit medical school to work, that we couldn’t get married for two or three years, not until Mom and Tim are on their own, she said she wouldn’t wait.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“She wants to marry a doctor, not an orderly who lives with his mother and brother.” Her departure had filled him with an emptiness it would take time to fill, so at least he wouldn’t hurt every time he thought about her. “I don’t blame her.”
“You should blame her. She’s a shallow ninny.”
He didn’t feel like it, but he had to laugh.
“Why aren’t you angry? You should be furious,” she said.
“I thought Christians didn’t get angry.”
“Well, in some situations, like when your former fiancée is being a shallow ninny, I think it’s okay. For a while.”
Well, then, yes, he’d been angry when he realized Cynthia hadn’t wanted him. How could he have misjudged her feelings and character? How could she have fooled him so completely? Maybe he was the idiot for believing she loved him. It would be a long time before he opened himself to that kind of hurt again.
“When did this happen?” she asked.
“About a month ago. When I made the decision for Mom to live with me instead of going to a halfway house, I told Cynthia.”
“Well, I’m put out with her. I’d like to talk to that girl, set her straight about what’s important in life.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” He shook his head. “But Brandon and little Ebenezer are blessed to have you watching over them.”
“I’m the one who’s blessed. I have a wonderful husband whose family loves me and this baby coming. I have you and Tim and Aunt Tessie will be home soon. What more could I want?”
Ana Dolores Ramírez—Ana Dolores Ramírez, M.D.—tossed a newspaper off the only comfortable chair in the gray, dingy break room and fell into it. After taking a drink of her cold coffee, she leaned back, almost asleep.
What an evening: a terrible accident on I-35, and a fire in a crowded restaurant, all that in addition to the normal everyday emergencies like broken bones, ODs and injuries from gang and domestic violence. Why had she ever thought she wanted to work in an emergency room?
Well, yes, she knew. She loved the excitement, the challenge, the urgency to save people, the fight against death, bringing healing from tumult and despair.
Another reason was the memory of the doctors who had worked so hard to save her leg and the staff in the E.R. who had saved her mother’s life.
“It’s harder than it looks, isn’t it?” Dr. Leslie Harmon, the Director of Emergency Services, entered the lounge.
Ana yawned. “Why are you here so late?”
“I was called in when the cases started to back up. I wanted to come in during a busy stretch on this shift to evaluate how the E.R. staff handles a heavy load.”
“How’d we do?”
“Very well.” Dr. Harmon rubbed her neck and rotated her shoulders. “I was particularly impressed with one of the CAs. The new guy—dark-haired, handsome kid—seemed really sharp. Who is he?”
Before she could reply, Ana’s pager went off. Checking the message, she pulled herself up with a groan. “Not a very long break, but I’ve got to go.” She gulped the last of her coffee and tossed the paper cup in the overflowing trash can as she headed back to the emergency room.
“What’s coming in?” Ana pushed through the swinging doors, instantly alert. Paramedics pushed gurneys into the hallway while a clerk wrote the names of the incoming patients on the large white board at the central desk and nurses began to take vitals. Instant activity and a huge increase in the noise level.
“Another traffic accident,” the new orderly said.
What was his name? She took a peek at his ID tag as she picked up a chart to make notes in. “Thanks, Fuller.” As Dr. Harmon had said, he seemed pretty bright. More than just a strong body to lift and position patients. Earlier tonight, he’d recognized the signs of shock and taken quick action, more like a paramedic. He’d also helped with triage, stepping in when he saw how thin the staff was stretched. His assessments hadn’t been perfect, but he’d done well enough with those minor cases. After she’d quickly doubled-checked his decisions, she’d been able to concentrate on major traumas.
As the injured were quickly evaluated and moved to treatment rooms, to surgery or to wait in the hall, Ana noticed a boy about six years old standing by one of the gurneys. The woman on the gurney was pale, her eyes closed. Blood stained the bandages the EMTs had applied to her forehead and chest.
When his mother’s gurney was pulled into a cubicle, the boy grabbed the side of it and ran to keep up. “Mama,” he sobbed.
“Fuller,” Ana called.
After he pushed a gurney against the wall, Mike hurried over to where Dr. Ramírez stood next a gurney with a little boy hanging on to it.
“This kid came in with a family from an accident. Please take care of him.”
“What? Babysit?” He didn’t remember that on the job description. His duties were all medical and nursing.
“We need to keep him away from his mother until we can stabilize her. Find the paramedics. Ask them if he has family here or if there’s someone coming to pick him.”
“Shouldn’t social services—”
“Yes, they should and they usually do take care of the children of our patients, but they’re backed up and shorthanded. Can’t be here for a couple of hours. I need to treat his mother now. I’d appreciate your handling this.”
While Mike watched and wondered what he should do next, she bent her knees to be on the child’s level. “My name’s Ana. What’s your name?”
The child studied her solemnly. “Stevie.”
“Well, Stevie, because your mommy was in an accident, we need to patch her up a little. I promise we’ll take very good care of her.” Gesturing toward Mike, she added, “This young man is going to keep you company while we do that. Okay?”
Then she stood and turned back toward the trauma room.
What was he going to do? Mike gulped as he watched her walk away. Saying “no” wasn’t an option. “But, Dr. Ramírez, I don’t know anything about children,” he protested.
“Do it,” she said in the clear, firm voice Mike figured no one ignored. “Please.”
He turned and started toward the boy as Dr. Ramírez entered a cubicle.
No one, not even lowly orderlies, ignored Dr. Ramírez’s voice when it got that certain tone. For that reason, yes, he was going to look after the boy even though, no, he didn’t know anything about children.
The boy slumped, his spine curved in exhaustion, but still he kept a tight hold on the gurney that held his mother.
The sight of the child broke Mike’s heart. Even worse, he had no idea of what to do. Mike squatted so he was on the same level as the boy’s sad eyes. “Hi, Stevie. Where’s your family?”
The child shook with sobs and clung more tightly to the gurney.
That had gone really well. Trying again, Mike took the child’s hand from the rail and held it although the boy fought to put it back. Was this the right thing to do?
“The doctors need to take care of your mother, buddy,” Mike explained calmly. “They can’t get around very well with you here.”
The child looked at his hand in Mike’s then glanced up. “Is she going to be okay?”
“These are the best doctors in the world. They’re going to do everything they can to make sure she’s all right, but they need enough room to do that.”
The boy nodded and stopped his efforts to pull his hand from Mike’s.
Mike wiped the child’s eyes and nose as he stuffed a handful of tissues in the kid’s free hand. “Well, Stevie, do you want to thank the paramedics who helped you? They’re really cool guys.” When the boy didn’t resist, Mike led him into the hall.
“The paramedics are down there.” When Mike pointed the boy nodded. “I’m going to talk to them now.”
Yawning, Stevie pulled away to wiggle onto a chair. He leaned back and closed his eyes as Mike walked toward the emergency entrance. The flashing red lights of ambulances pulling up outside lit up the area in flickering streaks of red.
“Hey, guys,” Mike greeted the paramedics, keeping his voice low. “Did you bring that kid in?” He gestured toward Stevie.
“Yeah, an accident on MLK. The family in a van was hit when a drunk ran a light.”
“What are the kid’s injuries?”
“Didn’t find anything serious. Probably should have that cut on his forehead checked later, but that’s it.”
“Do you have a last name? Any identification? Is there family around?”
“The family members who came in with him are all in the E.R., pretty badly injured. The cops are running the name down and getting in touch with relatives,” the older paramedic said.
“Thanks.”
As he walked back down the corridor, he saw Stevie had fallen asleep. Mike picked him up and carried him to the E.R.
“Orderly,” Dr. Yamaguchi, the on-call orthopedic surgeon, said as Mike entered the department. “Now.”
Mike nodded at Stevie. “Dr. Ramírez wants me to take care of this kid. His mother’s in the E.R. and we can’t find a family member.”
Dr. Yamaguchi glanced at the kid. “Put him in the emergency bed on the end and check on him when you can, but you have to transport patients.”
“Yes, sir.”
For the next few hours, Mike checked on Stevie whenever he wasn’t pushing gurneys or following the instructions from the medical staff.
Once when Mike entered the cubicle where Stevie had been sleeping, Dr. Ramírez was trying to examine him. Stevie had pulled away from her and cowered as far away from the doctor as possible.
“Hey, buddy, it’s okay. Remember those great doctors I told you about?” Mike asked. Stevie nodded. “This is one of them.”
“Will you stay?” the kid whispered.
“As long as I can.” Mike took Stevie’s hand.
“Guess you’re here for a while,” Dr. Ramírez said.
“Guess so.” The prospect would have alarmed Mike a few hours ago but not now. For the first time since he started work, he felt as if he belonged here, as if he had an important role to play and this was part of it.
“Orderly,” came a shout from another exam room. “Transport to X-ray.”
Then again, maybe not.
