“Yes, in fact, I was.” Emma was getting her back up, as my grandma used to say. She was beginning to understand that I wasn’t looking to praise her for the PICC line suggestion. “I talk to Noah every now and then, because he’s a nice guy, and he’s worried about his wife. I try to reassure him—and I try to be a listening ear. You know they haven’t told anyone else outside their immediate family about Angela being sick, so he can’t unload on his teammates, and he doesn’t want to share his concerns with his parents or hers, because all of them are looking at Noah to be strong. I’m just trying to help where I can.”
“That’s not your place, though.” I folded my arms over my chest. “If Noah or Angela need someone to listen to them, someone to support them, there are counselors and an entire psych department. It’s not your job. There is such a thing as boundaries, Dr. Carson.”
“I’m well aware of that,Dr. Girard.” Emma lifted her chin. “I know about boundaries. I’m perfectly capable of maintaining them. But part of my job is to look at the whole person and determine how things like emotional health and spiritual angst might be impacting the success of the treatment. You know . . . the treatment planyouare implementing. I’m doing what I can to make your job run more smoothly. After all, in the best of all worlds, a naturopathic doctor works in support of not only her patients but of the other physicians on the case.”
It was as though she was reciting from a textbook, and I had a feeling that in this case, I was doomed to come out the loser. “Look, I’m not trying to start anything. I was just blindsided by the change in Angela’s plan. I’d appreciate it if we could, you know, actually consult on decisions before you make promises that we both have to deliver on.”
“I put it in the case notes.” Emma’s frustration was almost palpable. “If you bothered to read them, and maybe even . . . I don’t know,respond, we might be on the same page more often than not.” Giving her head a little shake, she lifted her eyes to the ceiling, as though appealing to a higher power and walked away from me, giving me an appealing if somewhat frustrating view of her fine backside as she went.
I wanted to go hide in my office, but I couldn’t walk away from Mr. Brewer like that. I managed to go back into his room and put aside everything else I was feeling until I finished our conversation, promising to come back with the next day with the details of his care plan.
Once I was safely back at my desk, I opened up my tablet and scanned Angela’s file. I saw my notes, the orders, the meds . . . and then, at the very top in the left corner, a tab labeledConsulting Notes. There was a small number ten next to that tab. I hadn’t seen it. I hadn’t even really known it existed; when other doctors offered input, they either called me, emailed or wrote their notes longhand, so I could add them to the file. But Emma, who had been trained on software like this in her previous job, where she had routinely given input into patient care, would’ve known exactly how to put that tab to use.
I probably owed her an apology . . . and I’d probably give it to her . . . eventually.
8
Emma
I hadn’t realized that part of responsibilities at St. Agnes would be calming down after Deacon Girard had gotten me all riled up. I didn’t know that was going to be a regular part of the gig. Yet here I was . . . again.
I’d managed to grit my teeth through the rest of the afternoon, doing my best to hide any residual frustration about my spat with Deacon. I knew it shouldn’t matter. He’d disagreed with something I’d done—which, apparently, he hadn’t even known about because he hadn’t bothered to read my notes on the file. It was infuriating—and over something so stupid.
As I drove home in the setting sun, still in a little bit of a funk, I called Jenny. Today was her day off, so I hadn’t seen her. Actually, I hadn’t seen much of my friend since Nico had swept back into her life. He wasn’t living with her—he was up to his neck in work, since the restaurant was opening in a week—but he drove over several nights a week, and she’d made the trip to St. Pete more than once, as well. I swore she walked around with perpetual cartoon hearts circling her head these days.
“Hellooooo,” she sang as she answered the phone. “What’s up, buttercup?”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling. She really was a lovable goof.
“Not that much. Just needed to check something with you. Did you have a good day off?”
“Oh, the very best.” She sighed, and envy crept up on me. “Nico was busy this morning, but we ended up meeting halfway between here and St. Petersburg. He’d found this park, and he made me a delicious lunch, and we sat alongside a lake to eat it . . . it was so romantic and perfect.” She paused. “And then we sat in his car afterward and made out like teenagers.”
“Okay, that’s plenty of detail for your sad single friend,” I groaned. “I’m so damn happy for you, Jen but that doesn’t mean I’m not jealous as hell. Nico is gorgeous, and he loves you beyond the telling of it. Any woman would be just a little green.”
“I know, right?” Jenny giggled. “But enough about me and my newly awesome love life. What did you need to check?”
I turned off the road down my own bumpy trail. “You’ve put in PICC lines before, right?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Angela Spencer decided she’d rather go with a PICC instead of having a new port installed, and I was hoping you could do it tomorrow morning. I trust you, and I know you’ll have a calming influence on her. She needs that.”
“Is everything okay with her?” Jenny’s concern was evident in her tone, and I thought to myself,Angela brings out that caring vibe in everyone who knows her.
“Yeah, I think so. But over the past week, I’ve noticed she’s been a little higher-strung. Just a tad . . . brittle. It’s natural that she’d be more anxious going into this transplant, and I want to do everything I can to make sure she’s in the best possible place—before we start systematically destroying her systems.”
“Good plan.”
“Right. So I visited her a little more often, trying to get at the root of her specific worries. Between talking to her and talking to Noah, we isolated that one thing was particularly bothering her—and that was having the port re-installed. She’d had a rough time when her first port was put in, and then she had that infection which forced the doctors to remove it. She was really dreading having it done again. When I suggested the PICC line instead, she visibly relaxed. I’m not sure if it’s that she actually will prefer that or if it was the idea of having options. Sometimes, just giving patients a choice in these things can return to them a little bit of control.”
“Huh. I never would’ve thought about that.” Jenny paused for a beat. “But speaking of being revved up, you sound a little frustrated yourself. Do I need to quote the Bard here? ‘Physician, heal thyself.’” She giggled.
“Probably,” I agreed ruefully. “I guess Deacon didn’t see my note about the change, and he got all up in my face about going against his orders—again. I swear, Jen, he’s not like this with anyone else. I’ve seen him have rational, calm disagreements with other docs. What is it about me that makes him go coo-coo caveman?”
“That’s a verrrrrry interesting question.” I could hear suppressed laughter in my friend’s voice. “Let’s unpack this. Why is it, do you think?”
“I have no idea. He doesn’t really know me. He jumps to huge conclusions when it comes to my motives. And he’s always ready to believe I’m trying to undermine him.” I sat in my car outside of my trailer, letting the air conditioning blast on me for another few minutes while I finished my call. “It’s making me crazy, Jen.”
