Kim then turned to the order sheet and was pleased to see that Claire had followed up on her word: she’d requested a pediatric gastroenterology consult for that day.
“Now, that’s one delightful child.” a lilting voice said.
Kim looked up. Glancing over his shoulder was a plump nurse with a face red from exertion. Her blond hair was permed into a multitude of tight ringlets. Her cheeks were dimpled. Her name tag indicated she was Janet Emery.
“Have you been looking in on her?” Kim asked.
“Yup,” Janet said. “Her room’s in my area. Cute as a button, that one.”
“How has she been doing?” Kim asked.
“Okay, I guess,” Janet said without a lot of conviction.
“That doesn’t sound too positive,” Kim said. A minute sliver of fear eked its way up his spine, giving him an involuntary shiver.
“The last time she was up, she seemed weak,” Janet said. “Of course, it might have been because she was sleeping. She rang for me to come help her back to bed.”
“I understand from the chart that you didn’t get to see how much blood she might have passed,” Kim said.
“That’s right,” Janet said. “The poor thing is embarrassed to beat the band. I tried to tell her not to flush after she uses the toilet, but she does anyway. What can you do?”
Kim made a mental note to talk to Claire about that problem and to Becky as well. It would be important to know if the blood was mere spotting or worse.
“Are you a consult on the case?” Janet asked.
“No,” Kim said. “I’m Dr. Reggis, Becky’s father.”
“Oh my goodness,” Janet said. “I thought you were a consult. I hope I didn’t say anything out of line.”
“Not at all,” Kim said. “I certainly got the feeling you care for her.”
“Absolutely,” Janet said. “I just adore children. That’s why I work this floor.”
Kim went off to see his inpatients and then attend the series of hospital conferences scheduled for that morning. Like Mondays, Wednesdays were particularly busy with respect to his administrative responsibilities. Consequently, he didn’t get back to Becky’s floor until almost ten. When he did, the ward clerk informed him that Becky was off to X-ray. He was also told that Tracy had come in and was with her.
“Can you tell me about the status of the gastroenterology consult?” Kim asked.
“It’s been ordered,” the clerk said. “If that’s what you mean.
“Any idea when it will be?” Kim asked.
“Sometime this afternoon, I’d guess,” the clerk said.
“Would you mind giving me a call when it does happen?” Kim asked. He handed the clerk one of his cards.
“Not at all,” the clerk said.
Kim thanked him and hurried off to his office. He would have preferred to see Becky and talk to her, even if for a moment, but he didn’t have the time. He was already behind schedule, a fact that he was philosophical about, since it tended to happen more often than not.
“Well, Mr. Amendola,” Kim said, “do you have any questions?”
Mr. Amendola was a heavyset plumber in his early sixties. He was intimidated by modern medicine and horrified by Kim’s verdict: he needed a valve in his heart replaced. A few weeks earlier, he’d been blissfully unaware he even had valves in his heart. Now, after experiencing some scary symptoms, he knew that one of them was bad and had the potential to kill him.
Kim ran a nervous hand through his hair as Mr. Amendola pondered the last question. Kim’s eyes wandered out the window to the pale wintery sky. He had been preoccupied ever since Tracy had called an hour earlier to say she thought Becky didn’t look good, that she was glassy-eyed and listless.
With a waiting-room full of patients, Kim’s response had been to instruct Tracy to page Claire and to tell her Becky’s status. He also told Tracy to remind the clerk to call him when the gastroenterology consult arrived.
“Maybe I should talk to my children,” Mr. Amendola said.
“Excuse me?” Kim said. He’d forgotten what he’d asked the man.
“My children,” Mr. Amendola said. “I got to ask them what they think the old man should do.”