Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
REECE - A LITTLE EARLIER
I follow the ambulance to the hospital in Bend, eighteen miles from Wild Pine Ranch on a two-lane highway, dread elevating my heart rate and squeezing my lungs. Thankfully, the “rush hour” traffic—which is hardly worth mentioning—has abated, leaving the roads mostly empty. The sun drops behind the mountains on my right as we hurtle down the lonely stretch.
Bend is a little busier, since it’s early evening and a much larger city, but we get to the hospital without delays. Following the ambulance rewards me with all green lights, and I pull into the Emergency Room driveway right behind the big square Rotheberg Fire Department truck. I veer off to the left to find parking, locating a slot in the first row. Then I run for the front doors, beeping the truck locks over my shoulder. I reach the entrance before the paramedics have finished opening the ambulance doors.
After they remove the stretcher carrying Dad from the back of the truck, I give Mum a hand down. Her cold fingers clutch my hand like a lifeline. “They don’t think it’s a heart attack, but they aren’t sure,” she whispers.
“That’s why we’re here. The docs will figure it out.” I put an arm around her and guide her into the hospital.
Inside, a drunk argues with the nurse at the desk, but she passes him off to an orderly and meets the paramedics as they roll my dad into the room. They exchange information on his vital signs as they walk, then park him in a three-walled bay. As the staff connects wires to machines, Mum and I scoot past them and huddle in a corner of the room. A man reads out vital signs, and someone else types them into a computer. One of the paramedics pats Mum’s shoulder. “He’s stable. The doc will be here in a second. He’s going to be fine.” Then they all disappear like water out of a leaky bucket. The last one rolls a sliding glass door across the wide opening as he departs.
We look at Dad who smiles cheerfully. The expression looks odd on his usually stoic face. “That was fun.” The words come out heavy and slow, thick with Texas drawl.
“They gave him something for the pain.” Mum moves closer and puts a hand on his arm. “I’ve never seen him so happy and friendly. He invited the paramedics over for a barbeque this weekend.”
“Really? Dad? He doesn’t like people that much.” Or so he claims. I’ve always thought it was for show. In general people love him, and he rarely gets short with anyone.
He waves a lackadaisical arm, the IV line hampering his movement. “They were nice boys.”
“One of those boys was a girl, Slim,” Mum says.
“Nice kids. Took great care of me. Even laughed at my jokes.”
“He told jokes?” I gape at my father.
Mum points at the IV bag. “They gave him the good stuff.”
I’m pretty sure the clear bag holds saline, not an endless supply of happy-meds, but I don’t say anything.
The glass door slides open, and a middle-aged woman with a messy bun and a long white coat enters, reading an iPad. Without looking up, she says, “I’m Dr. Thompson. How are you feeling?”
“Ah’m as happy as a puppy in a basket of clean laundry.”
Dr. Thompson looks up in surprise and frowns. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
“No one else has, either.” I step forward. “Someone might have overdone the sedative.”
Her eyes go narrow, and she looks at the tablet again. “I can assure you, Mr.—” She breaks off and waits, staring at me, brows raised.
“Turner. Reece Turner. His son. I wasn’t trying to imply any malpractice. Just warning you that he might be a bit… effusive.”
She nods abruptly. “Noted. Mr. Turner—” She breaks off, holding an index finger up at me, then points at Dad. “Sir, tell me what happened.”
While Dad fills in the doc and she checks his vital signs again, Mum leans close and lowers her voice. “Don’t upset the doctor, dear.”
I roll my eyes. “Not intentional, I assure you.”
The doctor clears her throat. “Based on preliminary tests, we see no signs of myocardial infarction. The EKG the paramedics ran came up negative. We’ll do a troponin test—that’s a blood test to check for damage to the heart—and depending on the results, we can run a CT scan. But at this point, we believe the pain is due to damage during the fall. I’ve ordered a series of X-rays. Once we’ve stabilized any broken bones, we’ll need to figure out why he fell. I assume he doesn’t have a history of falling?”
Mum shakes her head. “No. He’s always been rock steady. He used to slackline when he was younger.”
“He did?” I stare in surprise at my dad.
“Much younger.” Mum turns back to the doctor. “What kind of tests?”
“He doesn’t have any symptoms leading me to suspect a stroke, but we’ll still do a CT scan. It could be a TIA—transient ischemic attack. What they call a mini stroke.”
“How do you test for that?” Mum frowns and her voice cracks as she squeezes Dad’s hand. I put an arm around her.
“We’ll do a CT on his brain to check for bleeding, but as I said, I don’t think that’s a factor. If the blood tests indicate a possibility of heart attack, we will do one on the heart as well. But at this point, we need to focus on the causes of the pain, which appear to be structural.” She takes pity on our glazed expressions. “I think he has some broken bones. We’ll know as soon as we get the images.”
As she finishes, a pair of orderlies appear and start disconnecting leads. The doctor slides the glass door all the way open, and the other two wheel Dad away.
“Weeee!” Dad sings as he departs.
The doctor turns back to us. “I’ll have admitting get him a room. You can wait here.”
The big bay feels empty with the bed gone. I direct Mum to a chair in the corner. “Do you need anything? Water? Food?”
She slides her purse off her shoulder and opens it in her lap. “I have the McVities.” She offers me the roll of cookies.
I take the package with a chuckle and remove a cookie. Trust my mum to bring a snack.
“Are you going to call Andi?” She takes the packet back and slides another biscuit out.
“I—should I?”
“I think she’d want to know Slim is okay.”
I frown, cookie forgotten. “Why would she need to know that? I mean, he was fine when she left.”
“I texted her from the ambulance.” Mum nibbles her biscuit. “When they were running the EKG.” At my inarticulate sound, she looks up. “What? Is there a problem with her knowing?”
I shake my head. “No, ma’am.”
She sighs and pats my arm. “She hasn’t answered my text yet, so maybe she’s busy. But you should let her know he’s okay.”
“We don’t know that for sure, but—” I quail under her glare. “I’ll text her.”
“You should call.” She closes her purse with a snap and stands. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Mum—”
As she heads for the still open wall, a nurse appears, carrying a tablet. “We’ve admitted Mr. Turner. They’ll take him up when he’s done in radiology. I can show you where his room is.”
“Thank you, dear. Would you like a biscuit?” Mum offers the tube of cookies to the nurse.
Her face goes slack in surprise, then her lips make an O, and she takes the McVities. “Ooh, I tried these in England. I love them!” As she pries one of the cookies out of the cylindrical packet, she motions for us to follow her down the hall. We stop at an elevator, and she presses the up button. “Take this up to three. He’ll be in 342. Thanks for the cookie.”
Mum refuses to take the packet back. “You can keep those. I have more at home.”
“Are you sure?” At Mum’s nod, her eyes crinkle in a smile. “Thank you! I might even share them with the rest of the ER.”