parking lot.
The office window was dark and deserted, a sign-in chart left haphazardly on the counter, a pen tied to a string swung below the clipboard in a lazy arc. The waiting room overflowed with a dozen people in varying degrees of discomfort, an unsmiling mother holding her youngster over the garbage can in the corner where he unreservedly vomited. Two other children and a dad looked ready to join him. Grace walked down the hall, as apparently no one was available to invite her to her appointment. At the door marked “Doctor’s Office,” she knocked.
She took the resulting groan as an invitation to enter. A sandy-haired man in a white doctor’s coat slumped in a maroon leather desk chair. His eyes were closed. “I just need a second, Matty,” he said faintly.
“I’m Grace Runyon, Doctor, ah, Evans, about the job. I see you’re busy, though, so I’ll…”
The man’s eyes snapped open at this, and as quickly, closed again.
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry but we’re in the midst of an early season flu outbreak and I really don’t want you catching it. If you could come back later, that would be great.”
“I never get sick.”
Doctor Evans opened one foggy hazel eye. “Never? Really? In that case, you’re hired.” He carefully got to his feet. He’d probably unfold to at least six-two standing fully straight.
“No, wait.” He rested his knuckles on the clean desk top, hunched over, and watched her. “What do you do for the flu?”
She wondered at the trick question. “Um, not much, unless there’s obvious dehydration determined by patient information, skin touch, and a look at the eyes. Then we re-hydrate, IV if necessary, watch for spiked temp and bring it down if pushing one hundred three for more than a few hours.”
“Okay, how about a busted collarbone?” he asked, without apparently needing to impress her with technical jargon.
“Well, again, not much. Visual exam, X-ray. MRI if suspected soft tissue damage or internal fixation is needed. Otherwise, stabilization with a sling, painkillers, and follow up, possible PT,” she said, curious about the nature of these two obvious tests.
“Okay, now you’re hired. I’ll check your references and see about transferring your license later. Right now, we have patients who need to be told there’s ‘not much’ we can do for them, and Tony Vandergroot, age eleven, who needs a sling. I have about half an hour,”— he looked up to the ceiling, rising to his tiptoes, stretching and taking a deep breath— “I think, before I collapse. Matty is done in, and Nancy went home about ten this morning. Come on. You can tell Tony no skateboarding for six weeks.” He pulled an X-ray off the viewer mounted on the wall behind the door of his office and ushered her back into the hallway.
He grinned weakly. “Baptism by fire. Welcome to East Bay Community Clinic.”
* * * *
The schedule Greg set up for her was perfect. Grace worked six-hour shifts for the most part, Mondays and Tuesdays and Thursdays, trading some on-call days when Greg and Matty needed extra help. The job offer had happened so fast, she’d been stunned, but giddy. Piece of cake. She’d called Shelby to crow.
“I owe you big time! What do you want?”
“For you to be happy,” Shelby replied. “And a healthy baby, of course.”
“Your desire shall be granted.” Grace giggled and hung up, squashing down a flare of doubt, replacing it with relief. Then wondering what she’d gotten herself into. She quickly booted up her computer and started to read through a year’s worth of medical journals.
* * * *
The doctor was not nearly as young as he first appeared to Grace, so exhausted as he sat at his desk. On closer inspection she noted fine lines around the outside of his pale hazel eyes and silver threaded through his thick blond hair. He had been surprised to know that she was the new neighbor at the Marshall place, and her primary reason for working the short hours was to
The office window was dark and deserted, a sign-in chart left haphazardly on the counter, a pen tied to a string swung below the clipboard in a lazy arc. The waiting room overflowed with a dozen people in varying degrees of discomfort, an unsmiling mother holding her youngster over the garbage can in the corner where he unreservedly vomited. Two other children and a dad looked ready to join him. Grace walked down the hall, as apparently no one was available to invite her to her appointment. At the door marked “Doctor’s Office,” she knocked.
She took the resulting groan as an invitation to enter. A sandy-haired man in a white doctor’s coat slumped in a maroon leather desk chair. His eyes were closed. “I just need a second, Matty,” he said faintly.
“I’m Grace Runyon, Doctor, ah, Evans, about the job. I see you’re busy, though, so I’ll…”
The man’s eyes snapped open at this, and as quickly, closed again.
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry but we’re in the midst of an early season flu outbreak and I really don’t want you catching it. If you could come back later, that would be great.”
“I never get sick.”
Doctor Evans opened one foggy hazel eye. “Never? Really? In that case, you’re hired.” He carefully got to his feet. He’d probably unfold to at least six-two standing fully straight.
“No, wait.” He rested his knuckles on the clean desk top, hunched over, and watched her. “What do you do for the flu?”
She wondered at the trick question. “Um, not much, unless there’s obvious dehydration determined by patient information, skin touch, and a look at the eyes. Then we re-hydrate, IV if necessary, watch for spiked temp and bring it down if pushing one hundred three for more than a few hours.”
“Okay, how about a busted collarbone?” he asked, without apparently needing to impress her with technical jargon.
“Well, again, not much. Visual exam, X-ray. MRI if suspected soft tissue damage or internal fixation is needed. Otherwise, stabilization with a sling, painkillers, and follow up, possible PT,” she said, curious about the nature of these two obvious tests.
“Okay, now you’re hired. I’ll check your references and see about transferring your license later. Right now, we have patients who need to be told there’s ‘not much’ we can do for them, and Tony Vandergroot, age eleven, who needs a sling. I have about half an hour,”— he looked up to the ceiling, rising to his tiptoes, stretching and taking a deep breath— “I think, before I collapse. Matty is done in, and Nancy went home about ten this morning. Come on. You can tell Tony no skateboarding for six weeks.” He pulled an X-ray off the viewer mounted on the wall behind the door of his office and ushered her back into the hallway.
He grinned weakly. “Baptism by fire. Welcome to East Bay Community Clinic.”
* * * *
The schedule Greg set up for her was perfect. Grace worked six-hour shifts for the most part, Mondays and Tuesdays and Thursdays, trading some on-call days when Greg and Matty needed extra help. The job offer had happened so fast, she’d been stunned, but giddy. Piece of cake. She’d called Shelby to crow.
“I owe you big time! What do you want?”
“For you to be happy,” Shelby replied. “And a healthy baby, of course.”
“Your desire shall be granted.” Grace giggled and hung up, squashing down a flare of doubt, replacing it with relief. Then wondering what she’d gotten herself into. She quickly booted up her computer and started to read through a year’s worth of medical journals.
* * * *
The doctor was not nearly as young as he first appeared to Grace, so exhausted as he sat at his desk. On closer inspection she noted fine lines around the outside of his pale hazel eyes and silver threaded through his thick blond hair. He had been surprised to know that she was the new neighbor at the Marshall place, and her primary reason for working the short hours was to
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