Page 41 of The Fault Between Us
It was easy enough for a doctor to spout platitudes. Doctors breezed in and out of the exam rooms, gave their opinions and wrote prescriptions. It was nurses that did the hard work. Nurses watched their patients suffer. They gave the families the bad news and watched the tears flow. Bridget had seen more than one softhearted nurse give up her career because she’d let herself get too close. A professional distance was absolutely necessary if she wanted to keep doing her job—and didn’t God want her to help people?
“Reilly?” Larkin’s voice rose as did her dark brows. “The follow-up calls?”
Bridget jerked her gaze to receive the full brunt of Larkin’s glare. “Of course,” she said, reaching for the stack of charts. “I’ll get to that immediately.”
Larkin stubbed out her cigarette. “See that you do.” The green glass ashtray showed evidence of at least half a pack of the menthol cigarettes Larkin favored. After the supervising nurse signed off on the roster and left the floor, Bridget dumped the stubs in the trash can. Bridget could see her recommendation going straight in the same trash can if she didn’t snap to it.
Half an hour later, she had only one call left to make. She dialed the number on Beth Henshaw’s chart, noting that it was identical to Claire’s except for the last digit. She held the receiver to her ear,imagining the party line ringing in Claire’s little kitchen. “May I speak with Mrs. Henshaw?” she asked when a gruff male voice answered. “Mrs. Beth Henshaw?”
“She can’t come to the phone,” the man growled. “Who is this?”
Goodness, there was no need to be rude. “This is the nurse calling from Mammoth,” she answered. “Mrs. Henshaw needs to make a follow-up appointment.”
With a decisive click, the line went dead. “Of all the nerve!” she said, looking at the telephone receiver as if it was the culprit.
“What was that?” Dr. Sampson appeared at the desk. Today, he wore an electric-blue tie that set off his eyes and his California tan.
“Remember the pregnancy last week?”
“You mean Beth Henshaw?”
She nodded. “Livingston doesn’t have her in their records, and just now when I called to talk to her about setting up a prenatal appointment, that—that so-and-so father-in-law,” she sputtered, “he hung up on me!”
Dr. Sampson leaned a hip on the desk and frowned. “That poor girl has been through a lot, and so have her in-laws.”
“What do you mean?” Bridget sat down and looked at the chart again, but nothing struck her as unusual. First trimester. Heat, anemia, dehydration resulting in a fainting spell. Mrs. Henshaw had been discharged into the care of her in-laws—a bulky man with a gruff manner and his wife, a frail-looking older woman with a white streak in her hair.
“Did you speak to her when she was here last week?” Dr. Sampson asked.
“Of course I did.” Bridget talked to her about prenatal vitamins and drinking more water, and she’d very clearly told her to make an appointment in Livingston.
“Then you know that Beth’s husband died two weeks ago.”
Bridget hadn’t known. She met Dr. Sampson’s eyes, then looked away in annoyance. Was this his little lesson to her after their talk in the car? “I’m sorry for her,” she said, and she honestly was, “but she needs an examination.”
Dr. Sampson held out his hand for the telephone receiver. “Dial her again and let me talk.”
Just after lunch, Beth Henshaw walked into the hospital with the brawny older man on one side, and the gaunt woman on the other. “Mrs. Henshaw,” Bridget said, keeping her gaze upon the young woman, who looked pale and shaky. “Dr. Sampson will see you now.”
“Iris will go with her,” the older man ordered.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Henshaw,” Bridget said crisply. “You and your wife will be quite comfortable in the waiting room.”
In the examination room, she shut the door firmly behind them. “Let’s change you into a gown.” She directed Beth to sit on the table.
Beth Henshaw remained standing, her arms crossed over her body.
Bridget had expected this. Many young women resisted such an intimate examination. “Don’t fret,” she said. “Dr. Sampson is a wonderful doctor, and I’ll be right here.”
Beth Henshaw’s face crumpled and she began to sob.
Bridget guided her to sit on the examination table and offered the girl a paper tissue. Beth covered her face with her hands and sobbed harder. Bridget sat down beside her, glancing at her wristwatch. What was keeping Dr. Sampson? She patted Beth’s hand. “There, there,” Bridget said. “What’s all this about?”
“I—I—” Beth took a great gulping breath. “Want to go home.”
Bridget nodded with relief. “Of course you can, when we’ve finished your examination.”
“No,” the girl said with a violent shake of her head. “Home to my folks in Coeur d’Alene.”
