Page 84 of Luck Be Mine
The first-year residents appeared younger and more naive every year to her. The straight black hair, short stature, and clear eyes of this one suggested fresh from the classroom.
Doggedly, the resident continued. “He’s a veteran. You’re a veteran, too, right?”
Surprised, Cait shifted to give the woman her full attention. “Give me a brief, Doctor?”
“Patient is a fifty-two-year-old male, homeless, former Army, bee sting, allergic. He has a numb left forearm and hand from undetermined injury. He’s uncooperative edging into combative. I wondered if talking to someone who could understand his experiences would help. I’m sorry. I should have checked with Dr. Day first.”
While not her lane, veterans were her weak spot. “For future reference, yes. Looping in Dr. Day is advisable. But I can talk to him.” No surgeries on deck. No reason not to.
“He’s in treatment seven.” She handed off the tablet with his chart and dropped her hands behind her back.
“Go tell Dr. Day, and inform Bets so she knows where I am, please. Then join me.”
“Yes, Dr. Hunter. Thank you.”
Cait ran a practiced eye over the chart, noting the bee sting protocol by paramedics. At the treatment room, she slowly opened the drape. “Mr. Delaney?”
“God dammit, not another doctor.” The man was half on and half off the bed, IV dangling, his chest bare, and jeans barely in place. His similar height would put him at eye level with her husband; his bloodshot eyes, lean frame, tattoos up his arms and back, thinning gray hair, and the way he protected his right side suggested a long and varied life. Holding himself with sheer stubbornness, he ignored her.
She leaned out of the cubicle. “Orderly,” she called. She dropped the man’s chart on the counter and went to help him.
“Don’t touch me. I’m fine.” His eyes narrowed, and every line of his body broadcast he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Yeah, you’ll still be saying you’re fine when you slide to the floor and break an arm.” She moved in to help.
He slapped at her. “I can manage. I want out of here.”
The orderly pulled back the curtain, took one look, and stepped to take her place. “Settle down, man. Doc’s just here to help.” He bodily lifted the man back to the bed, minding the IV.
“Thanks, Tim. Tell Bets I need a nurse.” She settled in the rolling chair with his chart and decided the soft touch wouldn’t work with this guy.
Pulling out every conversation she’d had with Tommy, with Baxter, with Mackey, she settled for brisk and unsympathetic.
“Dr. Cait Hunter. What branch?”
“What are you talking about, girl?”
“Doc-tor, Mr. Delaney. Army, is it?” She kept her eyes on his chart. “I’d guess First Sergeant. Never heard of a first sergeant who, once gained, gave up the tough tone.”
“How would you know?”
“Army, too.”
“You were not.” The man’s eyes flashed, irritation in his stone-still posture.
“Eleven years. Left the service as a Captain. Surgeon 61J. Three tours of Afghanistan. Want to tell me what happened?”
“Says in my chart.”
“I want to hear it from you, if I may.”
“Got stung by a bee.”
“Your arm and hand? What happened there?”
“According to the Army, nothing.” He spit the words at her.
She studied his gray eyes, letting him read her reaction. “Bullshit. Start at the beginning. What’s your MOS?”
