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“What? What do you know?” he demanded.
“Nothing. Honestly. I haven’t treated her. Wait here. Let me go see what I can find out.”
He grabbed my wrist as he pleaded, “Can’t I just go back there?”
His request pulled at my heartstrings, but there was nothing I could do. I shut those feelings down and went into professional mode. “No. But I’ll be right back. I promise.”
I could see the panic in his eyes as he nodded and dropped his hand. I turned back to say goodbye to Dr. Mathis, but he wasn’t there. He was gone.
When I pressed my badge to the sensor, the automatic doors opened, and I walked toward the front desk. “Who has the patient in 112?”
“I do.” A third-year resident, Jeremy Kim, lifted his hand.
“I know Mrs. Rhodes, would you mind if I go?—”
“Knock yourself out.” He lifted his hands in the air, as if to surrender. “She’s not listening to me. She’s saying she’s going to discharge herself. Kelly’s getting an AMA.”
An AMA was a form that patients had to sign that stood for Against Medical Advice. I headed back across the E.R. and went into room 112. The lights were low, and Mrs. Rhodes had her eyes closed. She appeared even smaller and more fragile surrounded by the IVs and monitoring equipment that she was attached to.
As quietly as I could, I lowered down onto the rolling stool and pulled up her chart on the screen attached to the adjustable arm. I was busy reading it when I heard, “He sent you in here? Didn’t he?”
I glanced over and saw Mrs. Rhodes's eyes were open, and she was looking at me.
“Tell him to go home,” she stated firmly.
They say it takes one to know one; the ‘one’ in this case was stubbornness. I immediately recognized the look of absoluteness in her eyes. She meant what she was saying. Her feet were dug all the way in. Remi was not going to be permitted to see her.
Right, so not an easy breezy day after all. I should have knocked on the wood.
25
REMI
“When standing, time passes faster for your face than for your feet.” ~ Tim Rhodes
Frustrated did not begin to explain what I was feeling as I waited for Taylor to come back out and tell me what the hell was going on. Unable to sit still, I paced up and down the far wall of the waiting room. I’d spoken to the woman at the check-in desk, asking for updates and asking to see my mom at least a dozen times. I’d approached three nurses and one X-ray tech, who all told me that they would see what they could find out. Two of the nurses came back and told me the same thing: my mother was conscious, lucid, and did not want to see anyone.
Why wouldn’t my mom want to see me?
High fever. Weight loss. Loss of consciousness. Her symptoms kept repeating in my head.
As a hotshot, I didn’t go out on medical calls the way firefighters at a station would, so my EMT certification didn’t get used often. I’d thought about googling the symptoms, but I knew that would take me down a rabbit hole that would probably leave me with more questions than I had now.
I ran my hands through my hair as I paced. This hospital was not my favorite place. I’d been in this very emergency waiting room when doctors came out and told my mom that they’d done everything they could, but my dad was gone. She’d collapsed into my arms, and I’d held her as she sobbed, and now she didn’t even want to see me.
None of this made any sense.
The double doors opened, and Taylor walked out. I’d seen her in casual clothes, in pajamas, and in dresses, but this look might be my favorite. Well, naked was my favorite version. But if she had to be covered up in clothes, blue scrubs, a white lab coat, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail suited her. I knew this was not the time I should be playing out a porno in my head, but she was inspiring all sorts of medical fantasies.
Me lying on an exam table, and her asking where it hurts. Me explaining that the issue is with my penis. Her telling me that she can make it all better. I shook my head in an attempt to erase the X-rated scenario.
“Can I go back? Can I see her?” I asked from across the room. I closed the distance in two long strides.
From the look on her face, I knew the answer.
“She doesn’t want any visitors.”
“What is going on? Why did she collapse? Why was she unconscious?”
