Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(107)

Right after a light breakfast, she headed for Doc’s. She supposed it was in order to tell him right away, but when she walked into the house, she was greeted by quiet. Good, she thought. No patients yet. She went to Doc’s office and tapped lightly on the door, then pushed it open. He was sitting in the chair at his desk, leaning back, his eyes closed. Hmm. Doesn’t sleep in daylight, huh? She stood over him. It was good to see Doc docile for once.

Mel was about to leave and wait for a better time, but something made her take a closer look at Doc. His eyes were pinched closed, his face in a grimace and his coloring wasn’t right. He was gray. She reached down and squeezed his wrist with the forefingers of one hand. His pulse was racing. Mel felt Doc’s brow and found his skin clammy. His eyes opened into slits. “What is it?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he said. “Heartburn.”

Heartburn does not make your pulse race and your skin clammy, she thought. She ran for the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff in the exam room, returning to him. “You going to tell me what it is—or make me guess?”

“I told you… Nothing. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

She took his blood pressure, though she had to struggle with him for cooperation. “Did you have breakfast?” she asked him.

“A while ago.”

“What did you have? Bacon and eggs? Sausage?”

“It wasn’t that great. Preacher’s a little off on the cooking…”

His blood pressure was elevated. “Any chest pains?” she asked.

“No.”

She palpated his abdomen, although excess lipid tissue on his pot belly made it impossible to feel his internal organs while he was sitting upright. And he slapped at her hand, trying to push her away. But as she palpated, he grunted in pain. “How many of them have you had?” she asked him.

“How many what?”

“Attacks. Like this.”

“One or two,” he said.

“Don’t lie to the nice little nurse,” she chastised. “How long has this been going on?” She pulled the lids back on his eyes and they had begun to yellow. He was jaundicing. “You waiting for your liver to blow?”

“It’ll pass.”

He was having a major league gallbladder attack, and she wasn’t sure that was all. She didn’t even think about it—she picked up the phone and called the bar. “Jack,” she said, “come over, please. I have to get Doc to the hospital.” And she hung up.

“No,” Doc said.

“Yes,” she said. “If you argue with me now, I’ll get Jack and Preacher to put you in a fireman’s carry and dump you in the Hummer. That should make your belly feel good.” She looked at his face. “How’s your back?”

“Terrible. This one is kind of bad.”

“You’re getting jaundiced, Doc,” she said. “We can’t wait. I suspect you’re in a biliary crisis. I’m going to start an IV and I don’t want any lip.”

Before she could get the needle in, both Jack and Preacher arrived. “We’ll get him in the car and I’ll drive you,” Jack said. “What’s the matter with him?”

“I think it’s a gallbladder attack, but he’s not talking. It’s serious. His blood pressure is up and he’s in terrible pain.”

“Waste of time,” Doc said. “It’ll pass.”

“Please be still,” she implored. “I don’t want to have to ask these big boys to hold you down.”

Once the IV was in, she made a mad dash to the drug cabinet while Jack and Preacher each got on either side of him, walking him slowly out the door, Jack holding the Ringer’s over his head. When they got to the Hummer she joined them. Doc said, “I’m not lying down.”

“I think you should—”

“I can’t,” he said. “Bad enough sitting up.”

“All right then, we’ll take out the gurney and put up the backseat. I’ll pull the IV bag hook forward and sit beside you. Have you taken anything for the pain yet?”

“I was just starting to have very kind thoughts toward morphine,” he said. Jack adjusted the backseat, leaving the gurney on Doc’s porch. Doc climbed clumsily into the backseat. “We just don’t have good enough drugs,” he muttered.

“Can you make it to the hospital without drugs? Give the doctor a clean slate?”

“Arrrggghhh,” he grumbled.

“If you insist, I’ll give you something—but it would be better to let the E.R. decide what’s best.” She took a breath. “I grabbed some morphine.”

He peered at her through slits. “Hit me,” he said. “It’s just god-awful.”

She sighed and drew up a syringe from the vial in her bag, putting it right into the IV. It took only moments for him to say, “Ahhh…”

“Have you seen anyone about this?” she asked him.

“I’m a doctor, young woman. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, brother,” she said.

“There’s a clinic in Garberville,” Jack said as he started the car. “It’s closer than Valley Hospital.”

“We’re going to need a surgeon,” Mel informed him.