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“My nurse will be in to give you some epinephrine, and I’ll be back in to check on you in a few minutes.”
He stepped out of the exam room, his gaze colliding with Darby’s the second he did so.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Thanks.”
Having had enough of the monosyllabic dialogue, Blake took a deep breath and went into his next patient’s room.
A month later, Darby was examining the right arm of an older man with a bad combover. “You’re sure you didn’t hit your arm?”
The man’s hearing wasn’t the best, and he stared at her, clearly not comprehending.
“Your arm—did you hit it?” she repeated louder.
He shook his head. “My fingers started hurting first, then the pain moved up my arm. When I took my shirt off last night, this is what I saw.”
“This” being the dark purplish discoloration that ran from his shoulder to fade into his palm. The entire underside of his arm looked as if someone had beaten him.
“Have you accidentally taken extra of your blood thinner?”
Again he couldn’t understand her, and she repeated her question.
His blood had to be overly thin. There could be little other explanation for his unusual symptoms. Still, under normal circumstances she’d have sought out Blake for a second opinion.
This was ridiculous. No matter what had happened last month, they were still partners. Partners who barely spoke, but partners. When they did speak, it was usually Blake asking about her mother, about her trips to Armadillo Lake over the weekends to stay with her family. Occasionally they spoke about patients, but never did they mention what had happened.
Darby kept hoping, kept praying that he’d relax, would realize that what they’d shared had been special. Instead they only seemed to be growing further apart. Each day felt more tense than the one before.
She was tired of it. Tired of walking on eggshells. Tired of his ignoring her. Tired of feeling like she’d lost her best friend.
She wanted his opinion on a patient, and by golly she was going to get it.
She excused herself and poked her head into the room where Blake had just finished with a patient. “Can I see you for a few minutes?”
She saw his hesitation, saw his eyes narrow before he answered. “What’s up?”
“I?
?d like you to take a look at Clinton Rogers’ arm. I suspect his blood is too thin but the results aren’t back yet.”
“What’s going on?”
“No history of injury, but pain in his right arm eight on a scale of ten, that started at the base of his middle finger and moved up his arm. Started yesterday. When he undressed last night his arm was deep purple and felt cold to him.”
“Why didn’t he go to the emergency room?”
“You tell me.” Mr. Rogers should have gone to the ER, but he hadn’t. Now it was her job to decide if he needed to be admitted or if he could be treated at home, probably with vitamin K injections, pending his laboratory results.
Blake followed her into the room, examined Mr.
Rogers’ arm, then spoke loudly to the older man. “I’m going to drain this pocket of blood.”
Darby nodded. She’d planned to do the same, but had opted to wait until the laboratory results were back prior to doing so.
