Fic: All I Want For Christmas Is ... Inappropriate (NC-17, 2/6)
Back to Part 1b
Part 2.
Noon, December 29th.
Jim was relieved to be home. He was relieved to be able to run to his own bathroom when he needed to; relieved not to have any tubes sticking out of him or monitors attached to him; and relieved to have the opportunity to sleep in peace without being woken up constantly to be “checked up on.”
It wasn’t his fault he was allergic to the first antibiotic they gave him. And okay, maybe it was his fault that he got salmonella in the first place, but he’d learned his lesson. No sir, no raw, unpasteurized animal products would ever cross James T. Kirk’s lips again. Ever. For any reason.
Not even to earn himself another trip to the ER, for a chance to see that hot doctor again.
Jim had hoped beyond hope that perhaps Dr. McCoy would stop by upstairs to visit him. He’d eked various tidbits of information out of the staff of the medical floor he’d been admitted to-such as, that the ER staff worked twelve-hour shifts, 7:30 to 7:30. Jim hoped the fine doctor might pop in-just to see how his patient was doing-after or before one of his shifts. But it didn’t happen.
After Jim was released from the hospital, he spent a day shut in his room, and another day on the couch. He was feeling much better-only had to run to the bathroom rarely, and was able to keep some clear liquids down. But he just didn’t feel like doing anything, which caught his mother’s attention.
“I’m not entirely sure, Jim, but I think you might be moping,” Winona said, on Jim’s third day out of the hospital.
“Moping? Why would I be moping? Sure, I was really sick and all, but I’m getting better, right?” Jim said.
“Just don’t get sick again,” Winona said. “The last place I ever want to go again is to that horrible emergency room.”
“Why?” Jim said, cocking his head. “I mean, I was kind of out of it, but it seemed like everyone did a really good job.”
“Oh, I suppose I’m still annoyed at that rude doctor,” Winona said. “Making it seem like the fact we were all sick was our fault, and that we were a bunch of stupid hick idiots. I know I’m probably exaggerating, and taking things too personally, like I always do, but I just didn’t like him.”
Jim’s eyes goggled at his mother. “Uh, did we have the same doctor?”
“The cranky fellow, with the Southern accent? I’m sure we did have the same doctor. In fact, I had the impression he was the only doctor on duty, or I would’ve asked to see someone else. Why do you ask?”
“Uh … I just kind of thought he was okay, actually. I mean, not just okay. Good. I thought he was good. And I hate doctors,” he added, thinking, usually.
“Well,” Winona said, hands on her hips as she scowled at her son, “I suppose he probably was perfectly competent, medically. It’s just I’ve rarely encountered such a grating bedside manner. Maybe I’m taking it too personally, but I didn’t like him.”
“Oh,” Jim said. “Well, I did. He was … nice to me. I mean, I was puking all over the place, and shitting myself, and I was so embarrassed I wanted to die, but he … just made me sure everything was gonna be okay.”
“He just made me sure I was a total idiot,” Winona said.
“I even threw up on his coat, and it wasn’t a big deal. He was nice,” Jim repeated.
Winona squinted at her son.
“James T. Kirk, I do believe you have a crush on that doctor,” she said.
“Aw, c’mon, Mom!” But Jim’s blush, which was glaringly obvious on top of the paleness from his illness, gave him away.
Winona sighed, and sat down next to him on the sofa.
“Let me tell you something, Jim. It’s extremely common for people to develop a crush on someone who’s taken care of them at a particularly vulnerable time. Take for example Jeanine. And by the way, she will never hear from you that I mentioned this, or I’ll force-feed you some more of that eggnog-are we clear?”
“Crystal,” Jim said, shuddering. “But what about Jeanine?” He didn’t really see how his mother’s college friend could have anything to do with this.
“When you were small, she was in a terrible car accident. The firefighters had to literally cut her out of her car. One of them stayed in the car with her the whole time, steadying her head and neck, and talking her through the whole thing. To make a long story short, she ended up with a huge crush on the guy, and took cookies to the fire station to try to see him again. He didn’t really have any idea who she was-just another person he helped in the course of his job. She ended up embarrassing herself by showing up at the station again to see this guy, who turned out to be happily married. The station’s captain could see what was going on, and took her aside one day and told her not to come back. He told her how common that sort of thing was, and not to be embarrassed, but she was mortified.”
“So your doctor,” Winona continued, “was just doing his job, Jim. He was being nice to you, and taking care of you, because that’s what he does. All day, every day, with lots and lots of people.”
“Oh,” Jim said, in a small voice. “I guess that’s probably true.”
“Aw, sweetheart,” Winona said. “I’m sorry.”
“No … no, it’s okay. I guess that was a bubble that kind of needed to be burst.” Jim rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “But … I guess I just kind of thought maybe something was going on between us. I mean, looks, and stuff. I guess it was probably like you said, though.”
“Jim …”
“I’m gonna go take a nap.”
Jim slowly climbed the stairs, went to his room, and closed the door. He closed the blinds against the midday sun reflecting off the snowy ground, and climbed into his bed. He rolled over on his side, and clutched a pillow to his chest. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was a furrowed brow, flared nostrils, and hazel eyes that seemed to be trying to tell him something.
~!~!~!~
7:30 p.m., December 29th.
Len tossed his keys on the desk that was his for the night at the ER, and started looking through his email. One message from the lab was flagged as “urgent,” so he checked it out right away.
All four salmonella tests he’d run on his Christmas night shift had come back positive. Not that he was the least bit surprised-the histories the patients gave, combined with the symptoms, made it unlikely to be anything other than a food-borne illness, and salmonella seemed the most likely.
The lab, as required, had notified the health department, and was sending letters to the patients. Nothing would change in the course of any treatment they might still need, but it was required by law to notify the patients that the results were positive.
He wondered, for the millionth time, how Jim Kirk was faring. He’d resisted temptation, on his shift two nights ago, to look at Jim’s hospital records, because he really didn’t have an excuse. But now, since he knew what the diagnosis was, it wouldn’t be outside the bounds of professionalism and ethics to look at his chart to see how he fared during his hospital stay.
Or, at least, that was what Len told himself, as he clicked on the link that would take him to Jim’s on-line chart.
Jim was discharged home on the 27th, with instructions to follow up with his family doctor on the 30th. Len remembered that Jim had made it clear that he disliked doctors-had a strong phobia, if he was interpreting the patient’s declaration of iatrophobia correctly.
He looked at the database field that should hold the name of the patient’s primary care physician, and it was blank.
Leonard drummed his fingers on the desk, and wrestled with his conscience. It really wasn’t his responsibility to make sure that this patient had appropriate follow-up. Hell, it wasn’t even the responsibility of the hospitalists who’d cared for him during his stay on the medical floor. It was the kid’s own responsibility. And Len had a sneaking suspicion that this guy wasn’t going to go see anyone by the 30th. He probably wouldn’t have gotten the letter by then, notifying him of his official diagnosis with a health-department reportable illness, so he might not take his illness seriously.
He looked at the field containing the patient’s home telephone number, and copied the information down onto a sticky note.
Len searched his soul for a moment. Would he be contemplating phoning for follow-up if the severely ill, physicianless patient had been Mrs. Kirk, the brother, or the sister-in-law? He decided he would, if all the information he had were exactly the same, only the person was not someone he found himself inappropriately attracted to.
He knew the dangers of becoming involved with a patient. He understood the power that someone perceived as a rescuer, or an angel of mercy, could potentially have over the person they were helping, whether they meant to or not. He was pretty sure the attraction had been mutual-in fact, he would’ve bet on it-but he also was well aware of the fact that the attraction that the patient felt for him was almost certainly based in that well-known syndrome of patients being attracted to their doctors.
So he’d be nothing but professional, and overly courteous, and he’d do anything he could-except take advantage of the power dynamic-to get Jim Kirk to go to a follow-up appointment.
He picked up the phone on the desk, and punched in the Kirks’ number, purposely using the home’s landline rather than Jim’s cell phone-less personal that way, he thought.
The phone rang three times on the other end, and a masculine voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Dr. McCoy from the Emergency Department up at the hospital in Iowa City. I’m trying to reach Jim Kirk, please, with some news from the lab.”
“Uh, that’s me. Is there something wrong?”
“I’m just calling to let you know that the test came back positive for salmonella. You should be getting a letter from the lab. But I’m also calling to make sure you’ve made an appointment for a follow-up visit. It’s important-just to make sure you’re continuing to improve as expected.”
There was a pause on the line. “Okay. I haven’t made an appointment,” Jim said finally, “but I will.”
“Do you have a doctor?” Len asked, knowing perfectly well he didn’t.
“Uh, I’m sure there’s one around somewhere.”
Len sighed. Here he was, butting into this guy’s business. And here he was, about to overstep his bounds. But the last thing he wanted was for this kid to end up in his ER again with complications that could’ve been avoided.
“Look. It’s the twenty-ninth. You were supposed to follow up by, when, the thirtieth? That’s tomorrow. As a new patient, you won’t be able to get an appointment tomorrow. Then the next day is New Year’s Eve, then Friday is New Year’s Day, and then it’s the weekend. Monday puts you at January third.”
“So, uh, what should I do, then?”
“If I make you an appointment with someone for tomorrow, will you go?” He almost said ‘please,’ but realized that would somehow sound more personal. “I know a guy who will probably be willing to squeeze you in.”
There was another pause, longer this time.
“Okay. Sure. I’ll go.”
“Thank you. I’ll have their office get in touch with you.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Take care, now.”
“I will. Thanks. Bye.”
Leonard put the handset back in its cradle, and sighed heavily. He dredged though his memories of local physicians he’d gotten to know during his months in Iowa, and one idea came to mind straight away.
The practice he had in mind for this patient had evening hours, so he called right away. He was astounded to be put through to the doctor almost immediately.
“Brad? Len McCoy, here, from the U of I ED.”
“Len! What can I do for you?”
“Listen, I’ve got a reluctant patient, who doesn’t have a primary care physician, and who really needs follow-up, sooner rather than later. I thought of you because I think you’ll have the light touch he needs, but you also won’t take any bullshit from him. Any chance you could squeeze him in tomorrow?”
There was a short pause and some clicking while the doctor on the other end of the line checked his calendar on the computer. “Sure-I can work him in at noon. What’s the story?”
Len gave him the rundown of the history of Jim Kirk’s illness. “He’s scared sick of doctors, and I thought you would have that gentle touch.”
Brad laughed. “You must’ve scared the shit out of him, then!”
“Yeah, sure. The shit didn’t seem to need much help, actually. But thanks for taking him on-I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
“One more thing-could someone from your office call him to confirm? I need to … back away slowly.”
“You scared him that bad, huh?” Luckily Brad didn’t wait for the answer, and continued. “But sure-I’ll have the receptionist call him now.”
“Thanks-I really appreciate it.”
Len put the phone down, and closed Jim Kirk’s chart for the very last time.
Continue to Part 3