A Time To Mend. Angela Hunt
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a video to cover the self-esteem issue. We have videos to cover everything from hair loss to mastectomy scars. We’d have even more videos if I had my way, because it is inefficient for us to give the same speech twenty times a day—”
“A video.” Temper flared in his eyes. “I’m afraid a video would not help Mrs. Baldovino. She needed assurance—calm, competent, masculine assurance—”
“Which is not your place to give,” Jacquelyn interrupted, setting her chin in a stubborn line. “What gives you the right to interfere in your patients’ personal lives? You are a doctor, a professional. One thing I learned from Dr. Winston is that a physician shouldn’t worry about trying to make his patients like him. There’s something seriously wrong with the personality of a doctor who cares too much about seeking his patients’ approval. A good doctor should only care about doing the right thing for his patient. If you do the right thing, your patients will like you. And if they don’t, well, at least you’ve done what’s right.”
“Are you saying—” a silken thread of warning vibrated in his voice “—that my personality is seriously skewed?”
A pair of doctors walking through the parking lot glanced curiously in their direction. Jacquelyn closed her eyes, horrified to think she might be overheard arguing with a doctor.
Jonah Martin hadn’t finished. “You’ve worked eight hours with me—how can you know I’m only seeking my patients’ approval?” His voice was low, like velvet, but edged with biting steel. “It must be wonderful to have such insight into other people’s characters.”
“I only wish I had your flair for sarcasm.” Jacquelyn’s face burned with humiliation and she looked abruptly away, unable to face the blue flame of cynicism in his eyes. “I don’t know you well, but I know doctors.”
“You should spend more time learning to know patients.” His accusing gaze remained riveted on her. “You forget, Nurse Wilkes—” he stepped closer and lowered his voice “—that unlike any other medical condition, to patients like Mrs. Baldovino, breast cancer is an intensely personal affair.”
“You don’t have to tell me—”
“Apparently I do. A refresher course in basic patient relations is obviously in order. Let’s say, for the moment, that Mrs. Baldovino had come to me with appendicitis. That course of treatment would be pretty straightforward once she found a competent surgeon. She wouldn’t have to concern herself with her surgeon’s philosophy of appendectomy. She wouldn’t have to worry about which type of surgery he’ll perform. Her chances for survival after the operation would be excellent. And she would have little or no concern about the small scar on the side of her abdomen. The loss of her appendix would have virtually no impact on her physical or social well-being, nor would it pose much of a threat to her self-image.”
Jacquelyn bit down hard on her lower lip, recognizing the point of his illustration.
“But Mrs. Baldovino came to me because she has breast cancer,” Jonah Martin finished, his straight glance seeming to accuse her of unspeakable ignorance. “And if you have a brain in that pretty little head of yours, I should not have to say anything more.”
Choking on the words she wanted to fling at him, her lower lip trembled as she returned his glare. A black veil moved painfully at the back of her mind, stirring memories of herself as a sixteen-year-old girl who had just learned that her mother would never get well; that the surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy had failed….
She turned away, her thoughts racing. He didn’t know about her mother or about the careful camouflage she had placed over her own pain. For an instant she was tempted to fling the knowledge in his face—I know about cancer, you arrogant imbecile—but then he’d want to know how she could know about cancer and not be more sympathetic toward her own patients.
Calm down, Jacquelyn. It’s your first day to work with him. This is just a misunderstanding; he’s on some macho kick or trying to prove something. This showdown isn’t worth risking your job….
Like a drowning swimmer, she mentally kicked toward the surface dispute and took a deep breath of reality. “I suppose I’m just not used to your approach,” she finally said, sheathing her anger. She looked up to face his scrutiny. “I’ve been working in the oncology department for five years, and you’ve only just arrived. Dr. Kastner and Dr. Winston are objective professionals, more detached with the patients—”
“I know hundreds of doctors like Winston and Kastner, and I respect them,” Dr. Martin said, shifting his weight as he raised his hands in a gesture of assurance. “But their attitude is impartial. They are like judges. They see the patient and the cancer standing before them as equals. They are happy if the patient wins, but they are not particularly on one side or the other.
“On the other hand, Nurse Wilkes—” his eyes darkened with emotion “—I am a defense attorney. The tougher the case, the bigger my challenge. I will fight for my client. I will not be intimidated by an aggressive cancer, but will fight it with all the vigor, skills and techniques that I can muster. A happy, confident patient is a stronger client, and a strong client increases our chances of winning the case.” The eyes he turned toward her smoldered now. Taking a step forward, he rested his hands on his hips and inclined his head toward her. “Can you understand that?”
Jacquelyn had to resist the urge to step away, so unnerved was she by the staggering challenge of his nearness. His burning eyes held her motionless, and she felt herself slowly nodding. “I can try,” she answered, suddenly anxious to be away. The pull of those blue eyes was hard to resist when he chose to be sincere—no wonder his desperate patients adored him!
“Good.” He hesitated for a moment, then quirked his eyebrow in a question. “I’m assuming you’ll want to continue working for me? I haven’t proven myself too much of an ogre?”
“Not too much,” she answered, amused by the almost vulnerable look on his face. For the briefest instant she thought she had somehow disarmed him, but then the chilly mask of professionalism fell over his features again.
“Good. I want you to know I was joking about the Baldovinos and the victory dinner. I fully expect to attend, but I wouldn’t think of pressuring you to join us. I’m sure you have a full and satisfying personal life of your own.”
The chilly nature of the man reveals itself again.
“Now that I understand you,” she said, deliberately injecting a light note into her voice, “please be assured that I wouldn’t think of accepting any invitation you might ever extend.” She moved toward her car door, calling to him over her shoulder. “I realize now that your theatrics are performed solely for the sake of your patients.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he answered, his face as implacable as stone as he watched her open the door. “You’re a good nurse. Today I saw you pull organization out of turmoil and instill calm in chaos. You might even manage to keep me on schedule. Nurses with that kind of ability are hard to find.”
“Thanks.” She rested her arms on the open car door, then gave him a tight smile. “And I wish you the best with Mrs. Baldovino. I hope you are able to have that lasagna dinner.”
He nodded formally, then turned and moved toward his car.
Jacquelyn felt her smile fade as she slid into the driver’s seat. Given Mrs. Baldovino’s current condition, she wasn’t likely to be making those dinner reservations any time soon.
If Jonah Martin could overturn the death sentence looming over Mrs. Baldovino’s chart, perhaps he was a miracle worker.
“Of course, I understand, Craig,” Jacquelyn mumbled. With one hand she held the phone to her ear, the other hand lay imprisoned beneath Bailey’s massive head. “State legislators don’t come around every day.”
Craig droned on about the lucrative deal he was about to sign, and Jacquelyn yawned. Stretching out on her wide antique bed for a nap had seemed like a good alternative to wasting the evening in