They kept walking, heading uphill and out of the deepest part of the flow. That’s when Logan recognized Michael’s unresponsiveness and the heat coming from his little body. He bent to place his cheek near Michael’s nose to ensure the child was breathing. When he reached his truck he laid him on the bench seat and pulled a towel from beneath it.
After closing the door to keep out the rain, Logan reached for Michael’s forehead. He was burning with fever, and Logan immediately peeled the wet clothes from his body. When he was naked, he wrapped him in the blanket and placed him in Jessie’s lap. He turned to thank Jessie’s Good Samaritan, to offer him a ride, but the man was already heading toward one of the houses, where an older woman stood in swirling waters. Logan cranked the engine and drove toward the brewery. It was only a few miles away and once he pulled away from the flooded neighborhood, he gained speed. When he turned into the brewery, Jessie’s worried voice filled his ears.
“What are we doing here? I need you to take me to the hospital.” Her voice was scratchy and low, her confusion clear. “Michael is sick.”
His heart broke at the fear riding her. He pulled right up to the front door, then turned to Jessie. He stared into her anxious eyes, hoping she’d be able to read his confidence. “There isn’t time. The underpasses are flooded.” He didn’t ask her permission, just lifted Michael into his arms and hurried him into the empty bar.
Jessie ran after him and pulled his arm, “No! I have to get to a hospital; he needs a doctor!”
“Jessie, I’m a licensed pediatrician. I have everything he needs.”
He gestured with a head nod for her to open his office door. Once inside, he laid Michael on the couch. He opened a metal cabinet and handed medical supplies to Jessie.
She watched with wide eyes and parted mouth as he handed her saline pouches, tubing, needles, syringes, and other paraphernalia. Her movements were controlled and stoic. He asked her about Michael’s symptoms as he worked, trying to gain information and settle Jessie at the same time. He’d noticed her limping and with her son in this condition, she might very well be in a state of shock, in need of attention herself. But he needed to tend to Michael first.
With Jessie at his side, Logan knelt in front of the couch. He took Michael’s temperature first, not surprised at the reading of 104.2, but not as alarmed as Jessie obviously was. He was more worried about Michael’s lethargy. He lifted Michael’s hand and inserted a small gauge IV needle and cannula into a vein. Then he attached a line from the IV to the port in Michael’s hand. He concocted a make-do IV pole out of a coat hanger and gave it to Jessie to hold. Then he intravenously administered a fever reducer and a saline solution.
As the medication flowed into Michael’s system, Logan checked his vital signs. He listened to his heart with a stethoscope, then used it to check his breathing. He took his blood pressure and then moved on to his reflexes. Everything was within normal limits. He turned to Jessie, took the IV pole from her and hung it on a nail in the wall behind the couch. Then he cradled her face in his palms.
“You’re doing great, Jessie. And so is Michael.” He passed his thumb across her lower lip. “You’re doing great, baby.”
She turned her attention back to Michael, stroking the hair away from his face, but she held on to Logan with her other hand.
After about ten minutes, he again took Michael’s temperature. “One oh two point nine—it’s dropping fast. He’s responding. Outside of any congestion in the lungs, bronchioles, or nasal passages, my diagnosis is flu.”
Ten minutes after that, Michael opened his eyes and stared up at his mother and then at Logan, his eyes going wide. “Logan!” Michael reached his needle-pierced hand up to Logan’s face.
Logan smiled, but gently lowered his hand down to his stomach.
After closing the door to keep out the rain, Logan reached for Michael’s forehead. He was burning with fever, and Logan immediately peeled the wet clothes from his body. When he was naked, he wrapped him in the blanket and placed him in Jessie’s lap. He turned to thank Jessie’s Good Samaritan, to offer him a ride, but the man was already heading toward one of the houses, where an older woman stood in swirling waters. Logan cranked the engine and drove toward the brewery. It was only a few miles away and once he pulled away from the flooded neighborhood, he gained speed. When he turned into the brewery, Jessie’s worried voice filled his ears.
“What are we doing here? I need you to take me to the hospital.” Her voice was scratchy and low, her confusion clear. “Michael is sick.”
His heart broke at the fear riding her. He pulled right up to the front door, then turned to Jessie. He stared into her anxious eyes, hoping she’d be able to read his confidence. “There isn’t time. The underpasses are flooded.” He didn’t ask her permission, just lifted Michael into his arms and hurried him into the empty bar.
Jessie ran after him and pulled his arm, “No! I have to get to a hospital; he needs a doctor!”
“Jessie, I’m a licensed pediatrician. I have everything he needs.”
He gestured with a head nod for her to open his office door. Once inside, he laid Michael on the couch. He opened a metal cabinet and handed medical supplies to Jessie.
She watched with wide eyes and parted mouth as he handed her saline pouches, tubing, needles, syringes, and other paraphernalia. Her movements were controlled and stoic. He asked her about Michael’s symptoms as he worked, trying to gain information and settle Jessie at the same time. He’d noticed her limping and with her son in this condition, she might very well be in a state of shock, in need of attention herself. But he needed to tend to Michael first.
With Jessie at his side, Logan knelt in front of the couch. He took Michael’s temperature first, not surprised at the reading of 104.2, but not as alarmed as Jessie obviously was. He was more worried about Michael’s lethargy. He lifted Michael’s hand and inserted a small gauge IV needle and cannula into a vein. Then he attached a line from the IV to the port in Michael’s hand. He concocted a make-do IV pole out of a coat hanger and gave it to Jessie to hold. Then he intravenously administered a fever reducer and a saline solution.
As the medication flowed into Michael’s system, Logan checked his vital signs. He listened to his heart with a stethoscope, then used it to check his breathing. He took his blood pressure and then moved on to his reflexes. Everything was within normal limits. He turned to Jessie, took the IV pole from her and hung it on a nail in the wall behind the couch. Then he cradled her face in his palms.
“You’re doing great, Jessie. And so is Michael.” He passed his thumb across her lower lip. “You’re doing great, baby.”
She turned her attention back to Michael, stroking the hair away from his face, but she held on to Logan with her other hand.
After about ten minutes, he again took Michael’s temperature. “One oh two point nine—it’s dropping fast. He’s responding. Outside of any congestion in the lungs, bronchioles, or nasal passages, my diagnosis is flu.”
Ten minutes after that, Michael opened his eyes and stared up at his mother and then at Logan, his eyes going wide. “Logan!” Michael reached his needle-pierced hand up to Logan’s face.
Logan smiled, but gently lowered his hand down to his stomach.
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