Heidi Hormel – The Surgeon and the Cowgirl (страница 7)
When the session ended, Alex broke into a song that he’d made up on the spot about feeding Molly her apples and getting pony kisses. Payson went to him, while Karin stayed in the arena talking with one of the therapists and another mother.
“Dr. Mac,” Alex said. “Are you going to kiss Miss Jessie again?”
“Not this time. And no kisses from Molly, either,” he said, hoping that would quiet the boy. He was pretty sure he heard Jessie chuckle.
At the fence, the pony jammed her head between the rails, her lips smacking in anticipation of the apple in Alex’s hand. The adults stood a few steps away as Alex fed the pony and talked with her. He told her that he wouldn’t be back, but that she shouldn’t be sad. “There are other little boys and girls who will give you apples,” Alex told her, his voice quavering just a little. “Mommy said that someday we’ll come out to visit but that might not be for a little while.”
Payson had learned not to react to emotion from his patients and their parents. With Alex, he felt his heart wrench with every tear. He desperately wanted to tell his young patient that everything would be fine and that he’d be coming to Hope’s Ride as usual. But Payson shouldn’t make that promise. If he were director of pediatrics, then he would have leverage to get a “yes” to this and a lot of other options for his patients.
“Don’t worry, Alex,” he said, squatting beside the boy. “Mommy and I are working to see to it that you’ll be back soon. You can work hard on your therapy at the hospital, and I bet you’ll do even better the next time you’re here.”
“Are you sure?” Alex asked.
“Yep. No need for you to worry,” Payson said, avoiding looking at Jessie. He also didn’t think about the fact that he might just be lying to the boy, and what would happen if he couldn’t convince the foundation to pay for the treatment. “Do you think Molly’s done with her apple? Your mommy’s waiting for you.”
“See you, Molly,” Alex said, and patted the pony. His smile reached ear to ear. “’Bye, Miss Jessie.” He raised his arms for a hug. Payson saw her eyes close as she lifted the boy off the ground and squeezed him tight. When she put him down, Payson was stunned by the pain on her face.
As Alex made his way toward his mother, Payson stepped up to Jessie. “The foundation that helps pay for Alex’s therapy is withholding funds, according to Karin. I’ll give them a call. I’m sure that something can be worked out.”
Turning from him, Jessie said, “He’s not the first child who’s had to stop coming. Unfortunately, I’m sure he won’t be the last. That’s why Desert Valley is so important. More places would help out if the hospital gave us its Good Doctoring Seal of Approval.”
“I’m making the call to the foundation, Jessie.” His time at Hope’s Ride had totally messed with his schedule and now his brain was sorting through what he would face when he finally got back to his office. Helen had left six messages and sent him ten texts. The last said, Get your @ss in here.
“You’ll make the call today. You won’t forgot once you get back to the hospital,” Jessie said when she caught him at his vehicle.
“I said I’d do it,” he snapped, a little tired of her acting as if he was the bad guy around here.
“Make sure that you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you don’t believe in this program, and you’re just here so that you can get some meaningless title,” she said.
“Meaningless? It will mean control over how the children at this hospital are treated. It will mean being able to help more children, being able to offer newer, more effective treatments. And, to do it, I’ve been scaling back on surgery, which I—” He shook his head before going on. “I’ve taken on more administrative roles at the hospital. Your program...has changed my plan.”
“Of course. Can’t mess with the great doctor’s plans. Pushing papers is much more important than actually helping the kids.”
What the hell? Didn’t she understand what it had been like for him to have to say no to children and their parents as he’d started to make the transition to administration? “I was told that this was a ‘good trial’ to see how I would do as a director because I’ll be more or less coordinating the different staffs coming out to the program. If I get this right, I’ll have control over all care in pediatrics.”
“Now we get to the meat of it. You want to be in control, like always. Haven’t you learned anything? These are children, not science experiments.”
“I won’t apologize for looking for empirical evidence that your program and therapies make a difference. And I’m sure as hell not going to apologize for being a scientist.”
“Exactly how are you going to measure happiness, huh?” Jessie said.
“By how well the children are doing on their physical tests and evaluations. The hospital can’t base treatments on unicorns and rainbows. There has to be hard data. Do you think that I can tell parents that this is a treatment that will make their child smile? We don’t know if it will help him walk again, but isn’t it more important that he’s smiling? Yes, that’s exactly what parents want to hear from their doctor.” She was really starting to tick him off.
“You told me that medicine is as much an art as a science. When did you change your mind about that?”
Of all of the things that she would remember from his time as a student, why was that it? He’d thought that way early in his studies, when he’d been full of himself. “I was wrong. It’s only about science. I’ve got to go. We can have this discussion another day when I have data to show you.”
“I’ll hold you to that and I’ll expect an apology when you find out that I’m right. That the smiles are just as important as the positive MRIs.”
“It’s a bet.”
Two weeks into the “collaboration” with Desert Valley, Jessie wanted to give everyone the boot, from Payson to his team of experts—experts at being a pain in Jessie’s backside. She should have known that the orientation had gone too smoothly to be true. So far, the physical therapists had insisted that they needed another two weeks of observations, and the occupational therapists were still determining how they would “implement the use of adaptive devices.” The hospital’s risk-management adviser had had the vapors when he’d seen the horses and the carts that they used for the children who couldn’t walk. The man had actually had to sit down when the dogs and assorted barn cats rubbed against his pressed khakis.
Of course, the bank called and asked when they could expect the next payment on the line of credit that she’d taken out to buy supplies. Jessie was only a few days past due, but the bank didn’t care. She owed. She had to pay. This would have been simple enough if the money hadn’t been coming in at a trickle and going out like a fire hose. Jessie had also hoped to borrow a little more money until things turned around. The bank had said clearly and with no hesitation:
She’d tried talking with each of the team leaders from the hospital with the goal of getting a commitment to end the observation ASAP and get the hospital’s endorsement within weeks instead of months. With the hospital on board, Jessie was sure she could go back to the bank to get more credit, which would allow her to take care of her $10,000 balloon payment. Each hospital staffer had succinctly laid out a timeline and emphasized that there was no way to cut one observation or one data collection. Hope’s Ride was something totally new to them. They had to be completely sure of its validity and safety. There were no shortcuts.
“What evil idea are you hatching?” Payson asked. They were sitting in the arena watching the children ride, including the recently reinstated Alex.
“No evil idea,” she said absently. Could she ask the hospital’s therapists to do chores? Like clean the stables? That would mean fewer hours for her paid staff. She hated to cut their wages, but the situation was dire.
“If it involves road apples, it’s evil.”
Jessie startled herself with her own laughter. “It wasn’t my fault you were a city boy and didn’t know that road apples had nothing to do with trees.”
“My mother had the cook go to six grocery stores looking for them. You told me they were an ancient Native American ‘growth enhancer.’ And I heard you telling Alex about them. Still teasing us city kids, huh?”
Jessie couldn’t keep from grinning. She and Payson had known each other since high school, when more often than not they’d needled each other. “You got me back.”
“I did?”
“Sure. In biology lab, you convinced me that, according to my blood type, there was no way that my mama and daddy were my parents. Mrs. Lakewood gave me detention for yelling ‘You’re a damned liar’ at you.”
“That doesn’t count. You punched me after school. I fell and got a bloody nose. I ended up spending a week getting tested for all kinds of diseases because I refused to tell my mother that the bloody nose was the result of a