Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
E lla
Graham’s outburst about the fireworks had me concerned. But what concerned me more were the pills I found in his bathroom. That drug was used to treat sleep disturbances in patients with PTSD. He would have known I’d know that, but he kept his explanation short.
My brain was fried from the day, and all I wanted was some sleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Graham and my grandmother. I tossed and turned. Thoughts about both of them plagued me. I wanted to ask Graham why he lied to me about not living in California as a child, but after his outburst over the fireworks, I felt it wasn’t a good time.
My alarm went off. Grabbing my phone, I shut it off. Fuck. I’d barely slept all night—maybe two hours at best. Stumbling into the bathroom, I turned on the shower and poured some eucalyptus essential oil under the steam. It always helped to wake me up. After dressing, I grabbed my purse and bag and headed to the hospital.
“Good morning, Mr. Riley.” I smiled, walking into pre-op.
“Morning, Dr. Kind.”
I checked his vitals. “Are you ready for your by-pass?”
“Yep. I sure am.”
“Good. I’m going to scrub in, and I’ll see you shortly.” I smiled.
“You’re very pretty, Dr. Kind.”
“Thank you, Mr. Riley. I’ll see you soon.”
I went into the scrub room and began scrubbing in.
“Dr. Kind?” Linda, the nurse anesthetist, poked her head in.
“Yeah, Linda?”
“We have to cancel Mr. Riley’s surgery.”
“What? Why?” My brows furrowed.
“He’s been eating hot tamales since he arrived.”
“The candy?”
“Yep. His wife had been giving them to him while we weren’t looking. He had three of them in his mouth when we went to give him a relaxer before taking him to the O.R.”
“For fuck’s sake.” I shook my head. “Is he still in pre-op?”
“He sure is.”
“I’ll be there in a second.”
Drying my hands, I stormed out of the scrub room and to the pre-op area. Pulling back the curtain, I stared at Mr. Riley.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been eating hot tamales right before surgery? What part of nothing to eat or drink after midnight did you not understand?” I looked at his wife, who was sitting in the chair. “What is wrong with you?”
“Don’t blame her, Dr. Kind. I was hungry,” Mr. Riley said.
“Hungry? You were hungry? Are you serious? You’re overweight, unhealthy, had a heart attack, and you’re eating hot tamales right before surgery?” I shouted.
“Hey, Dr. Kind. What’s going on in here?” My Uncle Conner walked over.
“Did you ever stop to think that those damn hot tamales have something to do with your arteries being blocked? You’re on borrowed time, Mr. Riley. Think about that!” I pointed at him. “We’ll have to reschedule your surgery, and next time, you’re staying in this hospital the night before with a sitter so they can keep an eye on you like a child!” I walked away.
“Hey, hey, hey.” My Uncle Conner grabbed my arm and stopped me. “I always knew you were a fierce doctor, but damn, Ella.”
I placed the back of my hand on my forehead and sighed. “He was eating hot tamales before surgery.”
“Yes, I know. In fact, the entire pre-op knows that now.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night, Uncle Conner.”
“Why?”
“Too much on the brain. I have to go. I’ll see you later.” I walked away.
I was sitting in my office when Uncle Christian walked in.
“I heard you yelled at a patient in pre-op.” A smirk crossed his lips. “You’re the talk of the hospital.”
“What else is new?” I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair. “My overweight artery-clogged patient was eating hot tamales in the pre-op room.”
“Did you have to yell at him?” His brow arched.
“Yes, because he’s not taking his health seriously. Ugh.” I brought my hands up to my face.
“What’s really going on? This isn’t like you.”
“Graham and Grandma,” I blurted out.
“Barb? What about her?” He frowned. “Was she here yesterday for something other than lunch?”
I stared at him and didn’t say a word.
“I can access any patient’s medical records I want. You know that.”
“She has late-onset Alzheimer’s.”
“Shit.” He shook his head. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I made her come in for an MRI, and there’s significant atrophy of the brain.”
“Fuck. How is she taking it?”
“I don’t really know. When she left yesterday, she told me not to tell the family until she was ready for them to know.”
“What’s going on with Graham?”
“I went to his apartment last night after work, and people outside were setting off fireworks. It rattled him to his core, Uncle Christian. It was almost as if he went into a full-blown panic. He shouted at me, then apologized. I found Prazosin in his bathroom. When I asked him about it, he said he has trouble sleeping sometimes and takes one.”
“Prazosin is a drug for high blood pressure,” he said.
“But it’s also used in treating PTSD nightmares. When he spent the night after the party, he had a nightmare. I had to wake him from it.”
“Did he tell you what his nightmare was about?”
“He said he dreamt that he was in surgery, made a mistake, and the patient died. I believed him because those are common dreams for a surgeon. But now, after finding that bottle of Prazosin, I’m not so sure his nightmare was what he said it was.”
“Something in his past caused him to get on that medication. Do you think he has PTSD?”
“After witnessing last night with the fireworks, I’d say so. But the thing was, he said they sounded like gunshots. I don’t know, Uncle Christian. Something isn’t right.”
“From what I have seen and heard, he’s an excellent surgeon. I know how much you love to fix people. But sometimes, you must walk away from situations beyond your control. Not everyone can be fixed.”
“Aunt Charlotte would disagree with you.”
“Yeah, I know.” He chuckled. “Anyway. I spoke with Mr. Riley and rescheduled his surgery for tomorrow morning at eleven a.m.”
“Eleven a.m.? He’ll starve to death.”
“Then he shouldn’t have been so dumb in the first place. He’s up on the cardiac floor for the rest of today and tonight. Per your instructions, a patient sitter will be in the room with him after midnight to make sure his wife doesn’t sneak anything in and give it to him. Maybe you should go apologize to him.”
“I will. I’ll go now.” I stood up. “Thanks, Uncle Christian.” I hugged him.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Do me a favor and try not to yell at any more patients.” He winked.
I walked into Mr. Riley’s room and saw him eating a McDonald’s Big Mac and a large fry. He tried to hide it when he saw me, but it was too late.
“Did you come to yell at me some more, Dr. Kind?”
“I’m sorry about this morning.” I walked over to his bedside. “I had a bad night and didn’t get much sleep. But I was also angry because you keep feeding your body that crap.” I pointed to the Big Mac. “I thought we talked about changing your eating habits.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just my job is stressful. My wife is stressful. My kids are stressful. Hell, my entire life is one big ball of stress. This comfort food helps me get through it.”
I understand, but there are other ways to relieve stress.”
“Like?”
“You can try running.”
“And drop dead of a heart attack?”
“You’ll still do that if you keep eating that.” I pointed. “Just consider it. And again, I’m sorry for earlier.”
“I accept your apology, Dr. Kind. But did you really have to schedule my surgery for eleven a.m. tomorrow?”
“Dr. Christian did that. I have a craniotomy first thing in the morning. You’ll be my next surgery.”
“You sure are one smart cookie. Speaking of?—”
“No, Mr. Riley. No cookies.” I pointed at him before walking out of his room.