Protecting What's Mine(31)

Mack didn’t bother responding this time. It didn’t feel right carrying on a conversation while she was examining the woman’s cervix. Awkward conversations and pap smears. Another exciting day in the life of Mack O’Neil.

“And then there’s Barry and his freakin’ socks on the floor next to the hamper. I mean for fuck’s sake, Barry—sorry—you can lift the toilet lid and leave it up, but you can’t lift the damn hamper lid?”

“Little pinch,” Mack said, collecting the cells from the cervical wall.

Her patient winced but kept up the one-sided conversation.

Mack tucked the sample in the collection jar and screwed on the top.

“Are your periods regular?” she asked, ticking down the standard list of gynecological exam questions.

“They’re fine. I’m just stressed. But who isn’t? Ha. I mean, it could be worse. There could be two Barrys.”

“Any new medical developments in your family history?” Mack asked, sliding the speculum out of what her patient had referred to as her lady cave.

Ellen breathed a sigh of relief and scooted away from the edge of the exam table. “Not unless you count my mom passing out from her blood pressure meds.”

“We should talk about your blood pressure,” Mack said, glancing at the measurements Freida had taken earlier. They were high.

“Dr. Dunnigan is giving me until the end of the year to lower it lifestyle-wise. If it’s not lower by Christmas, she’s putting me on a prescription. I hate prescriptions, you know? Just one more thing to remember and worry about.”

When Ellen pushed her hand through her hair, Mack caught a whiff of cigarette smoke.

“You know, cigarette smoking isn’t the best of stress relievers.”

“Oh, ha. I don’t smoke,” Ellen said, looking shifty-eyed.

Secret smoker, Mack typed in her notes. At least unconscious patients couldn’t lie to you.

“Good. Because with borderline blood pressure, all that stress, and you being on oral contraceptives, you’d be cruising for a stroke.”

Ellen was uncharacteristically silent.

“So no smoking then?” Mack pressed.

Her patient shook her head. “Nope. No smoking.”

Mack’s eye twitched. Being lied to was a pet peeve. Being lied to by someone who was so wrapped up in their fabricated version of reality took her right back to childhood. But Ellen wasn’t Mack’s mother, she reminded herself.

“We’re all done here, Ellen. You can get dressed and check out at the front desk,” she said. She forced a smile and left the room.

The nice thing about being a doctor was that there was never enough time for moping. Mack didn’t have to come to terms with her annoying feelings about her past because her present was too busy.

She passed Russell in the hallway as he ducked out of the supply closet and headed in the direction of the break room.

He gave her a curt nod that she didn’t bother returning. They had a tentative, unfriendly truce, and she was comfortable with that.

Exam Room 2 held a grandfather and grandson duo. The younger of which was enthusiastically vomiting into the trash can.

“It’s okay, Tyrone, you’re not in trouble,” the grandfather, Leroy, promised, mopping the boy’s brow with a damp paper towel when he looked up wide-eyed at Mack like he’d gotten caught.

She flashed them both a sympathetic smile and checked the chart. “Hi there, Tyrone. How are you feeling?” Stupid question.

“Do you feel good enough to sit on the table, bud?” his grandfather asked.

Tyrone nodded wearily and, with Leroy’s help, climbed up on the exam table.

He was average height and weight for an eight-year-old. But unlike the average eight-year-old, he was dressed like a mini grandpa in shorts, a t-shirt, and suspenders. Mack couldn’t decide if it was adorable or creepy.

“I’m going to look you over real quick, okay?”

The boy nodded again. “Okay,” he rasped.

During the physical exam, Leroy kept up a running patter of conversation. His daughter was a single mom, and he and Tyrone were close. The school nurse called him when Tyrone threw up at school.

The boy’s lymph nodes were swollen, and he had a decently high fever.

She took out her scope. “Let’s take a look at your throat, buddy. Can you open wide and say ‘ah’?”

Tyrone did as he was told.

The poor kid’s tonsils were covered in white goop and red spots.

“It looks like strep throat,” she told the grandpa, reaching for a swab.

“What does strep throat look like?” Tyrone asked in a rasp.

“There’s white junk and red spots all over your tonsils.”

“Cool!”

“The test is fast, and we can do it here. If it comes back positive—which it will—I’ve got a prescription for antibiotics with Tyrone’s name on it.”

“When will he start feeling better?” Leroy asked.

“Once he starts the course of antibiotics, he should start feeling better within a day or two. Lots of fluids will help the antibiotics work to flush out the bacteria. You can give him acetaminophen for the pain.”

“Am I contagious?” the kid asked.

“Yes, you are. But after twenty-four hours on the medicine, you won’t be. I need you to ‘ah’ again while I swab your throat, okay? I promise I’ll be quick.”