Chapter 2 #2
I hand her the prescription and watch as she eyes it with an expression I can only describe as doubtful.
"That's… it?" She purses her lips. "Just giving me a prescription and I'm on my way?"
"The condition is temporary. It will resolve post-delivery," I answer, already mentally moving on to my next patient.
Mrs. Beckham clears her throat behind me. "Dr. Reizenhart, perhaps Becky would feel more at ease if she could try some home remedies as well? Something more holistic?"
“There is no home remedy that will help with the kind of pain she's experiencing.” I exhale, reluctantly shaking my head. “The problems will resolve on their own once the baby is born.”
"I understand it's temporary, but I still have two months to go.
" Ms. Boulderbrook's eyes have narrowed, and there's a slight rumble in her chest that trolls typically produce when agitated.
"The pain is really bad, but I don’t want to take medicine if it affects my baby.
Isn't there anything else that might help? "
"Well, dear—" Mrs. Beckham interjects.
"Anything else you do will be for the placebo effect," I cut off the nurse. Facts are facts and it's better my patient learned the truth. "The medication will help. I can assure you."
When Becky Boulderbrook's lower lip trembles, I feel panic rising in my chest.
"There is something you can do." Mrs. Beckham interjects again, her warm voice just a tad sharper than before. "Dr. Wells used to recommend something for his pregnant patients with back pain. Works like a charm, he always said. Especially on trolls."
My eyebrow rises involuntarily. Whatever folk remedy my predecessor peddled, it likely has zero scientific basis. But Becky Boulderbrook's rapidly watering eyes and trembling lips reduce me to silence.
I never could face a crying woman.
“Take a clean sock and fill it with uncooked brown rice and dried lavender flowers,” Mrs. Beckham continues, unperturbed by my skepticism.
“If you have some peppermint essential oils at home, add a few drops as well. Tie it off at the end, then heat it in the microwave for about two minutes. The warm rice molds to your back and holds the heat. Place it right where it hurts on your lower back for ten minutes. It should help whenever you need it.”
"Really?" Becky Boulderbrook's expression brightens instantly. "That sounds wonderful. And so easy."
I open my mouth to explain that there is no way heat therapy will ease the pain on her strained tendons and ligaments when I notice her entire demeanor has changed. Her shoulders have relaxed, and the rumbling in her chest is gone.
"My grandmother used to make something similar for me when I was little, but she would place it in the freezer," Becky Boulderbrook says, her voice softer now. "I never thought about trying it for heat."
"Works for all sorts," Mrs. Beckham says with a wink. "Troll babies are a bit heavier than human ones, so you might want to make two rice bags."
The scientific part of my brain insists on correcting this oversimplification, but I pause when my patient suddenly slides off the examination table and embraces Mrs. Beckham in a careful hug, mindful of her pregnant belly.
"Thank you so much," the troll woman says, her yellow eyes glistening. "I was getting desperate. Now at least I feel there's something I can do instead of just taking medication."
Mrs. Beckham pats her back. "That's what we're here for, dear."
She glances meaningfully in my direction. I get the message. Sometimes, people need to feel like they can do something proactive for themselves. Patients who feel empowered are better at managing their symptoms. Now this is an actually proven fact.
Still doesn’t change it’s a placebo effect. But if it helps Becky Boulderbrook not to cry in my exam room, I’ll take it.
"The anti-inflammatory will help with the underlying inflammation." I clear my throat. "The rice, um, therapy may provide additional comfort between doses."
It's not entirely correct, but the smile that spreads across Becky Boulderbrook's face is unexpectedly satisfying.
"Thank you, Doctor." She nods in my direction before gathering her things.
As she waddles toward the door, I find myself adding, "Schedule a follow-up in two weeks. We should monitor your progress."
She nods. "I will. Thank you again."
After she leaves, Mrs. Beckham gives me an appraising look that I pretend not to notice as I update the patient's chart.
The rest of the day goes by, one patient at a time. I’m not surprised by the amount of appointments that await me. This town has been lacking a doctor for quite a while.
I see them one after the other. One elderly gnome gentleman with chronic sinus obstruction. A werewolf toddler with an ear infection.
A nasty case of the athlete’s foot on an orc high school soccer player.
Truth be told, I don’t see the hours go by. I’m not even aware of the time passing until Mrs. Beckham walks into the examination room with a prim grin on her face.
“That’s all for today, Dr. Reizenhart.” She walks past me and sprays the examination table with a disinfectant solution, already readying the room for the next day. I turn to watch her work, secretly impressed.
She is just what Dr. Wells told me before I bought his clinic. A hurricane of smiles and efficiency. I could do with less folk remedies peddled to my patients, but I have to admit, she is competent. And efficient.
Two of the qualities I admire most.
“Don't forget, the Knitters Club is hosting a welcome event for you this evening at the Wandering Gnome. Six o'clock sharp. Mrs. Primrose just called to ask me to remind you.”
I freeze in the act of removing my white coat.
"I wasn't informed of any welcome event."
Mrs. Beckham turns to me with a frown.
"It was in the welcome packet the mayor sent over to your cottage last week." Her tone is innocent, but I detect a hint of amusement in her eyes.
"I'll need to cancel. There's too much work to be done here before patients arrive tomorrow."
“Cancel?” Mrs. Beckham's hands actually stop their perpetual motion for a moment. "On Mrs. Primrose?"
She laughs, a tiny tinkling sound like miniature bells.
"Dr. Reizenhart, with all due respect, nobody cancels on Evelyn Primrose.
The last person who tried was Sheriff Wolfsbane himself, and she showed up at the station with her knitting bag and sat in his office until he agreed to attend.
She's not above dragging you there by those pointy elf ears of yours. "
I bristle at the notion of being dragged by my ears. I’m a doctor, not a naughty school child. "I have no interest in social gatherings outside of my medical practice."
"It's not about interest, Doctor. It's about becoming part of this community." Her expression softens. "Medicine in a small town like ours is more than procedures and prescriptions. It's about trust. And trust begins with knowing who's treating you."
I maintain my stoic expression, but internally, I acknowledge the logic of her statement. A physician who is known and trusted will have patients who actually follow medical advice. It's practical, not sentimental.
"I will make a brief appearance," I concede stiffly. "Very brief."
"Of course, Doctor." She nods, but there's a look in her eyes that suggests she believes I'll be stuck at the Wandering Gnome far longer than I intend.
She's wrong.
The sooner everyone in Saltford Bay understands how things will be run under my care, the better for all concerned.