“I’m fine.” She took the cup from him, even though she didn’t drink coffee. “Thank you.”
He picked up the other cup, took a careful sip and watched her. “What just happened?”
Rather than answer, she countered with a question of her own. “Where’s your dog?”
“In with a patient.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be with her at all times?” Per hospital protocol developed specifically for his and Tori’s probationary period.
“Patients open up to Tori. Part of what makes me so good at my job is knowing when I’m in the way.”
“Typical man,” she said, feeling back to normal, “letting the woman do the work while you go for coffee.”
“I brought the coffee up with us. Do you have panic attacks often?”
Not recently. She took a sip of coffee. “It wasn’t a panic attack,” she lied. “More like an allergic reaction to a new irritant in my life.”
He smiled, unperturbed by her verbal jab. “Guess I’d better start carrying around some antihistamines in my pocket.”
“I have things to do. Did you come here for a reason?”
“To check your ankle.” He squatted down, picked up her right foot in his hand, and slid off her shoe.
“Impressive colors. But look at these.” He pointed to depressions in her edema. “Your shoe is too tight.”
“No, it’s not.” But, boy, it felt good to have it off.
He gently rotated her foot watching her face as he did. “Decent range of motion. Moderate discomfort. How’d you sleep?”
Woke up every time she’d changed position. “Like a baby.”
“Keeping it elevated?”
She pointed to the garbage can. “As much as I can. I’m a nurse, I know how to treat a sprained ankle, Kyle.”
“You’re sure that’s all it is?”
She hoped. “Yes.”
A loud bang followed by frantic dog barking echoed through the hallway.
Without a word, Kyle placed her foot on the floor and ran from the office.
Victoria slipped on her shoe and followed.
Kyle slammed into room 514 where he’d left Tori with Mrs. Teeton, a fifty-four-year-old female, ten days post-op radical abdominal hysterectomy for treatment of stage II cervical cancer. Undergoing combination chemotherapy and radiation. Suffering from severe adjustment reaction to her diagnosis, debilitating fatigue, and deconditioning. Completely dependent for all ADLs—activities of daily living.
The balding woman sat with her bare legs on the cold hospital floor, her upper torso, arms, and head draped over Tori’s back. “Mrs. Teeton. Are you okay?” he asked, dropping to the floor beside her.
“I’m so weak,” she said quietly, her cheeks wet with tears. “Can’t even sit up by myself.”
Kyle handed her a tissue from the bedside table. “You are going to get through this phase of treatment, and I’m going to show up every day, several times a day, to help.”
“What happened?” Victoria asked as she half ran, half hopped into the room, and, ignoring the bits of food spattered on the floor from the overturned meal tray, got right down on her knees next to Kyle. “What hurts, Mrs. Teeton?”
The pale, sickly woman tried to lift her head, couldn’t, and set it on Tori’s fur. “My pride.”
“Before we get you back into bed I want to check you for injury,” Kyle said. “Can you move your arms and legs for me?”
“I’m crushing poor Tori,” Mrs. Teeton worried.
“A dainty little thing like you?” Kyle asked. “I think she’s mistaken you for a blanket. She looks about ready to fall asleep.”
Victoria smiled, a bright, encouraging smile he remembered from the hours she’d spent tutoring him. The one that used to make him feel all warm inside. And you know what? Still did.
“He’s right,” Victoria said.
Kyle patted the dog’s head. “Good girl.” She opened a sleepy eye.
With his assistance, Mrs. Teeton moved her arms, legs, and head without a report of physical discomfort. “I’m going to lift you into bed.” She felt like a child in his arms. A small woman, like Victoria, Mrs. Teeton had all but stopped eating since her diagnosis three weeks ago, losing an estimated eleven desperately needed pounds. Too weak to participate in her own care and refusing psychological counseling, she had the highest acuity ranking of any patient on Kyle’s roster.
Once in bed, Victoria took over, checking the patient’s abdominal incision and taking her blood pressure before tucking her into bed. “The incision looks good. Your blood pressure is low. Before I put a call in to your doctor, tell us what happened.”
“I’m so tired.”
“It’s important.” Kyle put his hand on her lower leg, touch a big part of his therapy.
“I wanted to give Tori a treat from my breakfast,” Mrs. Teeton said, her eyes closed.
“That breakfast is for you to eat, not Tori. And I told you, she’s trained not to accept food from patients.”
A hint of a smile curved her lips. “Wanted to see. Sat up but so dizzy.” She sounded about to drift off to sleep. “Started to roll forward. Tori caught me.” She mumbled something ending with, “Good dog.”
“That’s the most I’ve heard her say since admission. And I visit her every day,” Victoria said quietly, looking at Mrs. Teeton’s sleeping form.
“Tori gets them talking.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” She looked up at him, her beautiful blue eyes soft and warm. “You were great with her. So gentle and kind.”
The hint of disbelief he detected bothered him. Before he could call her on it she headed for the door. “I’ll call Dr. Starzi. Would you please put up all four bedrails and make sure her call-bell is within reach?”
As he was in the process of raising the last bed rail, someone walked into the room. A nurse, dressed in what he’d recently learned were 5E’s trademark lavender scrubs. Brown hair up in a messy knot, girl-next-door pretty. Even with the surprise of her pregnant belly, Kyle recognized her instantly. His friend Ali Forshay, who Victoria had befriended back in tenth grade, as unlikely a pair as he and Victoria had been. Some kids had accused Victoria of slumming, others had called Ali and Kyle her charity projects.
Maybe they had been.
Good, a friendly face. He clicked the railing into place. One of the two he’d hoped to see while back in town. At least he’d thought so until he noticed her scowl.
She observed the patient then pulled the cord to turn off the overhead light. With narrowed eyes and pursed lips she pointed at him and then the window.
Did she expect him to jump?
A second later she grabbed him by the lab coat and pulled him deeper into the room, yanking the curtain partition into place as she did. The second bed lay flat, empty and raised to the highest position with the covers folded down at the foot of the bed, likely waiting for the occupant to return from the OR.
“Why did you come back?” she whispered curtly.
Because Dr. Starzi was the best oncologist around and Kyle refused