Resisting Her Rebel Doc. Joanna Neil
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Caitlin was astonished by that piece of news. ‘My word, he doesn’t let the grass grow under his feet, does he?’
‘Too right. I heard he’d been talking with designers while he was working out his notice at his previous hospital. We all love the changes he’s made. It’s only been a few weeks and everything’s so different here.’ She paused by the entrance to the observation ward. ‘You must be Caitlin,’ she said with a smile. ‘Am I right?’
‘Well, yes …’ Puzzled, Caitlin frowned. ‘How did you know?’
The nurse’s bright eyes sparkled. ‘Dr Driscoll asked me to look out for you—he said I wouldn’t be able to miss you. You had glorious hair, he said, beautiful auburn curls, and he told me what you were wearing. He’s with a patient in Forest right now but he said to send you along.’ Still smiling, she led the way. All the wards, Caitlin discovered, were divided into bays with names derived from the environment, like Forest, Lakeside, Beechwood.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Brodie murmured, looking across the room, his mouth curving briefly as Caitlin entered the ward. ‘I’m glad you could make it.’
She smiled in acknowledgment. He looked good, and the muscles in her midriff tightened involuntarily in response. He was half sitting on the bed. One long leg extended to the floor, the material of his trousers stretched tautly over his muscular thigh; the other leg was bent beneath him so as not to crowd out his small patient, a thin boy of around two years old.
‘This lady is a doctor like me, Sammy. She’s come to see how we’re doing.’
Sammy didn’t react. Instead, he lowered his head and remained silent, looking at the fresh plaster cast on his leg. Brodie sent him a quizzical glance. He silently indicated to Caitlin to take a seat by the bedside.
‘His mother’s with the nurse at the moment,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s talking to her about the break in his leg bone and advising her on painkillers and so on.’
Caitlin nodded and went to sit down. She felt sorry for the little boy. With that injury perhaps it was no wonder the poor child didn’t feel like responding.
Brodie turned his attention back to Sammy. ‘Do you want to see my stethoscope?’ he asked, showing it to the infant, letting him hold the instrument. ‘If I put the disc on my chest, like this, I can hear noises through these earpieces … see?’ He demonstrated, undoing a couple of buttons on his shirt and slipping the diaphragm through the opening. The little boy watched, his curiosity piqued in spite of his anxieties.
‘Oh,’ Brodie said, feigning surprise, ‘I can hear a bump, bump, bump. Do you want to listen?’
The boy nodded, leaning forward to allow Brodie carefully to place the earpieces in his ears.
His eyes widened. Brodie moved the diaphragm around and said, ‘Squeaks and gurgles, gurgles and squeaks. Do you want to listen to your chest?’
Sammy nodded slowly and, when Brodie carefully placed the disc on the boy’s chest, the child listened, open-mouthed. He still wasn’t talking but clearly he was intrigued.
‘Do you think I could have a listen?’ Brodie asked and he nodded.
Brodie ran the stethoscope over Sammy’s chest once more. ‘Hmm. Just like me, lots of funny squeaks and crackles,’ he said after a while, folding the stethoscope and putting it in his pocket. ‘Thanks, Sammy.’ He picked up the boy’s chart from the end of the bed and wrote something on it, getting to his feet and handing the folder to the nurse who was assisting.
A moment later, he glanced back at the child. ‘The nurse will help you to put your shirt back on and then you can lie back and try to get some rest. Your mummy will be back soon. Okay?’
Sammy nodded.
Caitlin followed as Brodie walked away from the bed and spoke quietly to the nurse. ‘There’s some infection there, I think, so we’ll start him on a broad-spectrum antibiotic and get an X-ray done. He’s very thin and pale,’ he added. ‘I’m a bit concerned about his general health as well as the injury to his leg—I think we’ll keep him in here under observation for a few days.’
‘Okay.’
He left the room with Caitlin but at the door she turned and said quietly, ‘Bye, Sammy.’
The infant looked at her shyly, not answering, and as they walked out into the corridor Brodie commented briefly, ‘He seems to be very withdrawn. No one’s been able to get a natural response from him.’
‘How did he come to break his leg?’
‘His parents said he fell from a climbing frame in the back garden. He’ll be in plaster for a few weeks.’ He frowned. ‘The worry is, there was evidence of earlier fractures when we did X-rays. He was treated at another hospital for those, but the consultant there brought in a social worker.’
She looked at him in shock. ‘Do you think it might be child abuse?’
‘It’s a possibility, and the fact that he’s so quiet and withdrawn doesn’t help. I’d prefer to make some more checks, though, before involving the police.’
She shook her head. ‘I just can’t imagine why anyone would hurt a child. It’s unbearable.’
‘Yes, it is. But Sammy’s parents do seem caring, if a little naive, and at least he’ll be safe here in the meantime.’
They went back to the main reception area and she tried to push the boy’s plight to the back of her mind as Brodie began showing her around the unit. Each ward was set out in a series of small bays that clustered around a central point housing the nursing station. He stopped to check up on various patients as they went along.
‘It’s a beautifully designed children’s unit,’ she remarked some time later as they stopped off at the cafeteria to take a break for coffee.
‘That’s true,’ he agreed, ‘But I think there are things we can do to make it even better for the patients and their families. There are some children—like Sammy, perhaps—who need more than medicine and good nursing care to help them to get well. I want to do what I can to help them feel good about themselves.’
She sent him an oblique glance. ‘That’s a tall order,’ she murmured, but perhaps if anyone could do it he could. He certainly seemed to have the determination to set things in motion. But then, he’d always had boundless energy and drive, even though he might have used it to the wrong ends years ago when he was a teenager.
‘Well, if I’m to be any good at my job, I need to feel I’m making a difference,’ he said. ‘It’s important to me.’
She studied him thoughtfully. He was an enigma—so focused, so different from the restless, cynical young man she had known before. ‘That must be why you’ve come so far in such a short time. Your career obviously means a lot to you.’
‘Yes, it does … very much so. I’ve always aimed at getting as far as I can up the ladder. I try to make all the improvements I can to a place where I work and then move on—at least, that’s how it’s been up to now.’
So he probably wouldn’t be staying around here once he’d made his mark. She frowned. But this time he’d bought a house and he planned to do it up—would that make a difference to his plans? Probably not. Houses could be sold just as easily as they’d been bought.
He finished his coffee and then glanced at the watch on his wrist. ‘I must go and look in on another young patient,’ he murmured in a faintly apologetic tone.
‘That’s okay. I’ve enjoyed shadowing you, seeing how you work.’
He looked at her steadily. ‘So, do you think you might want to work with us?’
She nodded. ‘Yes—but only on a part-time basis to begin with, if that’s possible. I’ll need to be close at hand for my mother when she’s back at home.’
He