A Healing Love. Doris English
But sometimes children subconsciously pattern their lives after their parents’ in an effort to win their approval. This is especially true if they admire them.”
Laura turned from her grandfather before he could see the uncertainty his words had stirred in her. She dropped onto her chaise nestled in the alcove, where the morning sun streamed in, then looked up into her grandfather’s eyes, a resolute smile on her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I think I’m quite comfortable with my situation—helping Dad and Mark at the clinic, seeing Mom every day and living here with you. Really, who could want more?”
“Comfortable? Hmm.” Jonah stroked his chin pensively before adding, “But are you fulfilled?”
The acrid smell of disinfectant greeted Laura as she entered the hospital, and the familiar rush of adrenaline pumped her heart faster. To be even a small part of God’s healing process always excited her. Today was no different. Here, she could forget the nagging questions Jonah had stirred, the brief disloyal yearnings she had felt in Louisville. Wasn’t it enough to serve in this great field of medicine? Did it matter where, so long as she did?
“Hi, Doc Laura! We didn’t expect to see you today. Figured you’d be all tuckered out after yesterday,” Francie Dunwoody greeted the young doctor in a familiar Appalachian drawl that identified her as a local.
“I’m stiff but moving, Francie. Would have been tempting to stay put today, but I didn’t want to miss out on any excitement.” Laura smiled, accustomed to the almost maternal interest the staff took in her. She knew that behind her back they often speculated about her and Mark’s relationship, but as yet none had been so bold as to broach the subject with her.
“Your dad just went up to see the new patient. He’s got everybody buzzing. How he ever survived that crash is a real mystery. You know…” She chattered on as Laura walked briskly down the polished hallway with a wave of the hand, smiling as she compared Francie’s down-home chatter with the cool diction of Ms. Brown of Metropolitan Surgeons and Associates. Sometimes Francie definitely talked too much, but when people were distressed she was a godsend at encouraging and comforting them. Come to think of it, Laura would take Francie’s warm jabber over Ms. Brown’s frosty competence any day.
Laura took the stairs two at a time, sore, aching muscles forgotten. Arriving at her office a good half hour before shift change, Laura felt a new confidence and contentment. She grabbed her white jacket and slipped it over her navy turtleneck and denim skirt.
Looking in the mirror, she laughed aloud at her image. Francie is not the only “down-home.” employee in this hospital. With that she twisted her blond cloud of lustrous curls into a ponytail and tied it with a red-and-blue gingham ribbon. She looked little more than a teenager as she raced out the door toward ICU, where Tom Watson and Dr. Brad Jeremiah resided in adjoining rooms.
Picking up Tom’s chart, she noted Brad’s was missing. Her father or Mark must be with him. She ducked her head into Tom’s room, where Joan Johnson, head nurse on the surgery wing, intercepted her. “Dr. Laura, your dad wants you in temp ICU right away. Dr. Mark is already with him.”
Laura heard low masculine voices as she let herself into the sterile pale-green room where two floor nurses checked charts by a desk lamp. The overhead lights were dim and the blinds drawn, shutting out the bright afternoon sun and the glorious view outside the window of the deep narrow gorge that was Thunderbolt Canyon.
The room was sparsely furnished. With only the necessary equipment, it served as a temporary ICU unit when the primary unit was filled to capacity. The need for additional room in surgery and research had reached a critical stage, but so far the elder Dr. McBride had not found sufficient funding to finance the expansion plans. What a far cry this was from the streamlined, well-equipped units she had visited with Darlene. But then, funding proved no problem for Darlene’s clinic. Yet, did these patients deserve any less?
She moved the curtain aside, stepped in beside Mark and met the steady gaze of her father. Laura’s heart lurched.
“Dad?” she asked a little breathlessly. “Joan said you needed me.”
He lifted his head, the light catching silver threads in his hair. Lines of fatigue etched his eyes and mouth. Laura’s heart pounded harder.
“I do. Mark and I both have appointments and will be leaving shortly. I’ve opted to keep the patient in ICU until tomorrow.”
“How is he?”
“About the same—his vital signs are stable, but he hasn’t regained consciousness yet.”
“Is he still sedated from the surgery?”
“Yes, but we don’t know whether it’s that or…”
“Or what?”
“He’s unresponsive from his injury.”
“From a broken leg?” Laura questioned.
“His injuries proved a little more complicated than we thought. After Mark finished, inner cranial pressure started building up and we had to go in to relieve it. Now we’re just waiting to see what damage, permanent or temporary, was done.”
Laura’s heart sank. How would the arrogant Dr. Jeremiah cope with news that he could very well have a permanent disability? “What is the prognosis?”
“We won’t know until he regains consciousness, and that’s where you come in. I’d like for you to stay with him. There is a possibility that we might have to go in and relieve the pressure again, so he needs careful observation and a doctor on duty, just in case.”
“Sure thing. I guess you’ve written everything I need to know on the chart.”
“Not quite. There’s a matter of just how much damage may have occurred.”
“Then you’re sure there is damage?”
“Too much blood for there not to be, I fear.”
Laura nodded in agreement. “If a third surgery is required will one of you be available?”
“No, my dear, you’re it. Dr. Merritt is on standby to assist you if needed.”
She shuddered and remembered Darlene. “Dad, do you think I should get in touch with Darlene?”
“Whatever for, Laura?”
“To tell her about Brad.”
“Brad? Brad who?”
“Brad Jeremiah. Your patient.”
“You know him?”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell us? No! We’ve worked all night trying to find out this young man’s identity so we could contact his family—we needed permission to operate. Finally, we could safely wait no longer and went ahead. If he survives with a permanent disability, no telling what kind of liability that will incur. But I felt I had no other choice,” David McBride explained, the impatience with his daughter bordering on anger.
Laura dropped her head before her father could read the dismay in her eyes. “I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly last evening. We were so busy in the copter, and then later I went home. Until this moment I didn’t realize I had not told you who he is. I’m so sorry.”
David sighed. “What matters now is who this Brad Jeremiah is and if we can get in touch with the family.”
“His name is Dr. Michael Bradford Jeremiah, and he’s a physician in the same practice with Darlene. I met him briefly Sunday night at his apartment.”
Mark quirked an inquisitive brow in her direction.
Laura blushed and stammered, “I-it was a party with some of Darlene’s associates. She took me there.”
Mark drawled, trying to lighten the moment, “I didn’t know you went to Louisville to go a-partyin’ at some rich and handsome doctor’s digs. I’d have canceled