Dr. Oleander might be ready tochange his mind,” Abby said, certain that would be the case.
For an area its size Patience had excellent specialty coverage. Cardiology, pulmonology, neurology, even rheumatology, as well as most of the surgical specialties like urology, ENT, and orthopedics. But no dermatologist. Actually, Abby did not disagree with Oleander. Treating many of the common skin problems was a matter of applying common sense. The old and useful maxim regarding the specialty was:
If it’s dry, wet it, if it’s wet, dry it, and when in doubt, use steroids
. But from what Abby could tell, Claire Buchanan’s skin problem went beyond the bounds of common.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “It’s only a quarter of ten, and Dr. Oleander is my medical backup for tonight anyway. Would you feel better if I gave him a call?”
“Oh, I would. Thank you, Doctor. Thank you very much.”
Abby never liked encountering patients who were overawed by their physicians, although she did acknowledge that some patients seemed to be genetically bred to be so. It seemed to her to be the doctor’s responsibility to break down such barriers to communication. From all she could tell, George Oleander was a damn fine primary-care doctor. As chief of medicine, he unquestionably ran a tight ship. But he did have an air of confidence that might inhibit some patients from questioning his decisions or from asking for a second opinion.
She sent off another series of routine blood studies on Claire, just in case, and went back to the doctors’ office. Oleander answered before the second ring.
“George, hi, it’s Abby Dolan. Sorry to call you at this hour, especially since this isn’t about an emergency.”
“No problem, Abby. I was just reading and wondering why the hospital seemed so quiet.”
“Actually, it hasn’t been. But our one admission was a unit case, and Brian Price is in with her.”
At Oleander’s request she reviewed her odyssey with Hazel Cookman.
When she finished, the medical chief laughed roundly.
“I know those dogs of hers,” he said. “And they are tough. But I think I’d prefer a run-in with them to one with Hazel. It sounds like you did a great job, Abby. And you can bet that within a day or two everyone in Patience will have heard about it—or at least some
version
of it. It’s exactly what this community needs.”
“Thank you.”
Community
. Abby tried to remember how many times Lyle Quinn had invoked the word.
“I’m glad to hear this story, too,” Oleander continued, “because I’d been meaning to speak with you.”
“Again?”
“I’m afraid Dr. Bartholomew and just about everyone else has heard about what you did the other night, replacing the sutures he put in old Sam Ives.”
“Ives isn’t that old,” Abby said, feeling her temper begin to build. “And Dr. Bartholomew’s suture job was unacceptable.”
“He didn’t think so. Abby, Marty Bartholomew’s been a part of this community for years. At times he can be a bit of a horse’s behind, I’ll give you that. But he’s been available to folks in snowstorms at three in the morning. He delivered babies before our obstetricians came on board. He’s very much loved here.”
Abby knew that there was nothing to be gained by arguing her case in this court. Still, she had to choose her words and maintain her composure carefully.
“I did what I thought was best for the patient.”
“I understand, Abby. But as I said last week in my office, sometimes things in a community hospital work a little differently than in the big city. Now, what do you have for me tonight?”
His tone left no room for retort. The discussion was over. The point Abby had scored for her treatment ofHazel Cookman had offset the one she had lost for her abuse of the ego of Martin Bartholomew. It was time to move on.
Picking her way through her presentation so as not to say anything Oleander might interpret as inflammatory or confrontational,
For an area its size Patience had excellent specialty coverage. Cardiology, pulmonology, neurology, even rheumatology, as well as most of the surgical specialties like urology, ENT, and orthopedics. But no dermatologist. Actually, Abby did not disagree with Oleander. Treating many of the common skin problems was a matter of applying common sense. The old and useful maxim regarding the specialty was:
If it’s dry, wet it, if it’s wet, dry it, and when in doubt, use steroids
. But from what Abby could tell, Claire Buchanan’s skin problem went beyond the bounds of common.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “It’s only a quarter of ten, and Dr. Oleander is my medical backup for tonight anyway. Would you feel better if I gave him a call?”
“Oh, I would. Thank you, Doctor. Thank you very much.”
Abby never liked encountering patients who were overawed by their physicians, although she did acknowledge that some patients seemed to be genetically bred to be so. It seemed to her to be the doctor’s responsibility to break down such barriers to communication. From all she could tell, George Oleander was a damn fine primary-care doctor. As chief of medicine, he unquestionably ran a tight ship. But he did have an air of confidence that might inhibit some patients from questioning his decisions or from asking for a second opinion.
She sent off another series of routine blood studies on Claire, just in case, and went back to the doctors’ office. Oleander answered before the second ring.
“George, hi, it’s Abby Dolan. Sorry to call you at this hour, especially since this isn’t about an emergency.”
“No problem, Abby. I was just reading and wondering why the hospital seemed so quiet.”
“Actually, it hasn’t been. But our one admission was a unit case, and Brian Price is in with her.”
At Oleander’s request she reviewed her odyssey with Hazel Cookman.
When she finished, the medical chief laughed roundly.
“I know those dogs of hers,” he said. “And they are tough. But I think I’d prefer a run-in with them to one with Hazel. It sounds like you did a great job, Abby. And you can bet that within a day or two everyone in Patience will have heard about it—or at least some
version
of it. It’s exactly what this community needs.”
“Thank you.”
Community
. Abby tried to remember how many times Lyle Quinn had invoked the word.
“I’m glad to hear this story, too,” Oleander continued, “because I’d been meaning to speak with you.”
“Again?”
“I’m afraid Dr. Bartholomew and just about everyone else has heard about what you did the other night, replacing the sutures he put in old Sam Ives.”
“Ives isn’t that old,” Abby said, feeling her temper begin to build. “And Dr. Bartholomew’s suture job was unacceptable.”
“He didn’t think so. Abby, Marty Bartholomew’s been a part of this community for years. At times he can be a bit of a horse’s behind, I’ll give you that. But he’s been available to folks in snowstorms at three in the morning. He delivered babies before our obstetricians came on board. He’s very much loved here.”
Abby knew that there was nothing to be gained by arguing her case in this court. Still, she had to choose her words and maintain her composure carefully.
“I did what I thought was best for the patient.”
“I understand, Abby. But as I said last week in my office, sometimes things in a community hospital work a little differently than in the big city. Now, what do you have for me tonight?”
His tone left no room for retort. The discussion was over. The point Abby had scored for her treatment ofHazel Cookman had offset the one she had lost for her abuse of the ego of Martin Bartholomew. It was time to move on.
Picking her way through her presentation so as not to say anything Oleander might interpret as inflammatory or confrontational,
Similar Books
