Fic: All I Want For Christmas Is ... Inappropriate (NC-17, 1a/6)
Title: All I Want For Christmas Is ... Inappropriate
Author: kel_1970
Rating: NC-17 by the end.
Word count: 37,750 (Yeah, it got away from me. Just a little bit.)
Warnings: Part 1: Intense medical yuckiness.
space_wrapped Prompt:109. AU: Leonard hates staffing the emergency room during the holiday season; if it's not stupid people falling from ladders while hanging lights or pretending to be Santa on the roof, it's someone slicing open their hand trying the carve the family goose. When the whole Kirk family comes in with acute food poisoning, Leonard knows it's bad form to flirt with one Mr. Jim Kirk over an emesis basin, but he can't help it.
All I want for Christmas is … Inappropriate
Leonard McCoy strode into the University of Iowa Hospital Emergency Department just before seven thirty in the evening on Christmas. A year ago, he would’ve done anything-anything-to get out of a Christmas shift. Not just because anyone who came to the hospital on Christmas probably really had something serious going on, but because it was a family time.
But that was when he had a family.
Jocelyn wasn’t answering the phone. Len even tried calling from a pay phone, which he hadn’t realized how hard it would be to find, in case she was just blocking his calls. He tried all her numbers, plus his ex-in-laws’ number, but nobody answered anywhere. She was just plain shutting him out, viciously not allowing him to speak to his daughter on her favorite holiday.
He wondered, as he started looking through the charts of the patients in the various exam rooms, what Jocelyn was telling Joanna about why she hadn’t gotten to speak to her father today.
Or, even worse, maybe Joanna hadn’t noticed that she hadn’t talked with Daddy on Christmas.
Sure, Len thought, I fucked up bad. Real bad. But does my one affair trump Joce’s three, just because mine happened to be with a man? Hell, her affairs were all with men, too.
Len resolved to speak with his lawyer, first thing after the holidays, because no matter what was happening in Georgia, no matter why his daughter was being kept from him, it was unacceptable.
Their initial custody agreement had been based on the assumption that Leonard wouldn’t be leaving the Atlanta area. He certainly hadn’t planned to. At first, Jocelyn’s father, the director of the hospital Len was working at, had fired Leonard-without any reason except personal conflict, which Leonard couldn’t disagree with. But then, her father had spread vicious and untrue rumors about him, seemingly to every hospital in the state, and Leonard had had to leave Georgia to find employment.
“Merry Christmas, Len!” said a hearty voice from behind Len’s seat at a computer terminal.
Leonard jumped a foot in the air.
“Jesus, Jacob,” Len sighed. “You have to stop doing that!” He spun his chair around to see Jacob Steinhart, the doctor he was about to take over from.
“But it’s so much fun!” Jacob said. “And whoops, I see you’re not in the mood. Sorry.”
“Never mind,” Len said. “So what’s on deck? Room twelve looks potentially problematic.”
“He’s waiting on the cath lab,” Jacob said. “Room eight needs some sutures-sorry I didn’t get to it, but the guy in twelve came in just at the wrong time.”
“No problem,” Len said. “Any spectacularly stupid Christmasy accidents that’ll cheer me up?”
Jacob didn’t hesitate. “Oh yeah. This guy was deep-frying his turkey, and-”
“Wait wait, don’t tell me-he dropped a frozen turkey in the hot oil?”
“No, that’s so last year. He sloshed oil on the deck, and slipped and cracked his head open on the deck rail.”
Leonard frowned. “That’s not all that spectacular.”
“Oh, but I didn’t finish. He fell right near the stairs to the yard, and grabbed the railing to try to stay upright. It didn’t work. There was a Santa of some sort on the railing, and he caught his hand in the sleigh and ended up with a compound fracture of the radius and ulna, on top of a concussion and thirty staples in his head.”
Len whistled. “Okay, now that’s a Christmas to remember. Or maybe not, if he got any amnesia with the concussion. Wow.”
“Well, let’s hope you don’t get any that top that one,” Jacob said. “Anyhow-I have a date with the wife and kids for Chinese, so I’m outta here. Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks,” Len said. “Have a good night.”
Leonard finished looking over the charts, and talked to the charge nurse briefly. He checked on the cardiac patient in twelve, who was stable for the moment. The clot-busting medication that Dr. Steinhart had given didn’t seem to be doing the trick, so the patient was waiting his turn for balloon angioplasty.
“Julianna, can you come into eight in a second and set me up for sutures?”
“Sure-I just finished discharging six, so I’m all yours,” the nurse said.
He knocked on the wall outside of room eight, where a patient was awaiting sutures to a sliced hand.
“Yep,” the patient said, and Len pulled the curtain back.
“Mr. Swanson? I’m Dr. McCoy-I just took over from Dr. Steinhart, and I’ll be taking care of your stitches.”
“It’s about time,” the patient griped. “I’ve been here for like three hours.”
Len didn’t bother mentioning that on most nights, the wait would be even longer.
“Sorry about the wait, but another patient came in who was really sick. In any case, I’ll do your sutures right away.”
“Yeah, okay. So, uh, how does this work? I can’t say I like the idea of, uh, getting a sewing needle stuck in and out and in and out of my hand.” The patient’s face was suddenly several shades paler than it had been when he was complaining about the wait.
“I’ll numb the area with a few shots of lidocaine. I’m not gonna lie-that stuff stings like the dickens when it goes in, but only for a few seconds. Then, once it’s working, you won’t feel a thing when I stitch up that hand. Okay?”
“I guess,” the man said. A sheen of sweat appeared on his upper lip. “How many stitches do you think I’ll need?”
Leonard examined the wound carefully. “Five or six.”
“Oh God,” the patient said, flopping back in his bed, just as the nurse arrived and started getting out the supplies.
“Let’s get this over with, why don’t we,” Len said.
“Okay,” the man said weakly. “Sorry if I pass out. I’m really a wimp when it comes to this stuff.”
“It’ll be fine,” Leonard said. “It’s just a few stitches. Lidocaine, please, nurse.”
Julianna handed him the syringe, and Leonard gently prepped the areas where he’d be putting the local anesthetic in.
“Ow ow ow!”
Leonard bit back an annoyed noise that he really would have preferred to let out.
“I’ll try to make this quick,” he said instead.
He held the man’s hand gently at the wrist, and put in the first shot. He had to be less gentle at the wrist when the man nearly yanked his hand away as he yelled.
Leonard gritted his teeth. “Mr. Swanson, you’re going to need to try to hold still.”
“All right, all right! I’m trying!”
Like hell you are, Len thought, as he grasped the man’s wrist firmly before putting in the next shot.
“Ow ow! Fuck! That stings like a motherfucker!”
And I’ve seen four-year-olds who tolerate this a lot better than you, Len thought. Maybe a teddy bear would help. He put the next two shots in as quickly as he could, and set the syringe down on the tray.
“All right-that’s the worst part done. The anesthetic needs to work for ten minutes or so, and then I’ll be back to put in the stitches. Okay?”
“And that won’t hurt, right? You said it wouldn’t hurt, after the shots.”
“That’s right. If you feel anything, I can always add a little more lidocaine, but I don’t think you’ll need it.”
“Okay,” the patient said shakily.
“See you in ten,” Leonard said, yanking the curtain shut on his way out.
He returned to his computer terminal, and gently beat his head against the desk a few times.
“Unbefuckinglievable,” he muttered to himself. He typed a brief note into Mr. Swanson’s chart, just barely restraining himself from using any subjective language. As he finished, the radio console behind him came to life.
“UI Hospital, please pick up for Riverside Ambulance.”
Leonard turned around, and picked up the handset.
“Go ahead, Riverside.”
“BLS crew on scene with a male patient, age twenty-six, conscious and breathing, but not alert per normal, with a fever of one-oh-two point five and severe vomiting and diarrhea for twelve hours. He had a brief loss of consciousness following a bout of vomiting at home, after which the family called 9-1-1. Last vomitus contained bright red blood. He has a history of stomach flu beginning seven days ago and ending two days ago. Three other family members are also ill, and are arriving separately by car. Pulse is 120 and thready, BP is 80/50, and respirations were twenty-four, decreasing to eighteen with four liters O2 by nasal cannula. Occasional arrhythmias have been noted on the monitor. IV attempted times two unsuccessfully. ETA twenty-five minutes. Please advise.”
Leonard frowned. This guy really needed fluids, and he needed them now. But since they had only a Basic Life Support crew, more invasive interventions weren’t on the table.
“One more IV attempt, Riverside, then get on the road. Get me a blood glucose level, and update in five minutes.”
“Copy, UI: attempt IV once more, BGL, and update in five. Riverside out.”
Leonard drummed his fingers on the desk, and waited for the ambulance to get back to him. The timing was going to be tricky-he didn’t want to rush his way through Swanson’s stitches, but he needed to be available when the ambulance from Riverside came in with this patient.
He stood up, and went to find Julianna. She was in the process of triaging an incoming patient, an elderly woman who looked like she might have broken her wrist. He signaled to the nurse that he needed her.
“Excuse me a moment,” Julianna said to the patient and her husband, who was hovering anxiously.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Riverside is bringing us an unstable dehydration patient who’s going to need my attention as soon as they roll in. Can you let me know the minute room eight is ready for those stitches?”
“Sure. Can you write an order for x-rays for this patient?”
“Yep. Just the wrist?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Send me the chart when you’re done, and I’ll write the orders.”
“Thanks,” Julianna said. “Looks like it’s gonna be one of those nights.”
“For sure,” Len said. “The dehydration patient has three other ill family members, all coming in by car.”
“Terrific. I’ll be ready for them.”
The radio station came to life again.
“UI, from Riverside.”
Len hurried to the radio.
“Go ahead, Riverside.”
“Third IV attempt unsuccessful. Patient’s BGL is thirty-one. Attempted oral glucose, but patient was unable to tolerate and vomited twice. BP 78 palp, pulse 122 and thready, with arrhythmias noted on monitor approximately twice per minute. Respirations twenty. Please advise.”
“Expedite your response. Update if there are any changes.”
“Copy that, UI. Going hot, and updating upon changes.”
Leonard heard the sirens kick in just as the ambulance’s transmission ended. He was worried about this patient. In an ideal world, he’d have a paramedic-the most advanced level of EMT-in the rig with him, who could do a 12-lead EKG, and determine what kind of arrhythmias the patient was having. And, a paramedic could also drill a catheter into a bone for emergency fluid delivery, which, at this point, he would have ordered for this patient. But it wasn’t an ideal world. Riverside was a small town, with a volunteer ambulance service.
He quickly wrote up the orders for the elderly woman’s x-rays, and waited for an update from Riverside’s volunteer ambulance crew.
“Dr. McCoy?” Julianna said, sending Len a foot in the air again. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s my fault. What’s up?”
“Eight’s ready for his sutures.”
“Right-thanks. Can you keep an ear on the radio? Riverside’s patient isn’t sounding so good.”
“Sure thing.”
Leonard returned to room eight, and gloved up. “You ready to get sewn up, so you can get out of here?”
“You bet. It’s not gonna hurt, right?” The patient’s eyes darted nervously to the suture tray.
“It shouldn’t. You’ll feel pressure and pulling, but you shouldn’t feel any pain. Some people prefer not to see what’s going on,” Len said, “so feel free to close your eyes or look away.” He knew he’d be dealing with justifiable puking soon enough, and didn’t really need any as a warm-up. “If you feel any pain, let me know if it’s intolerable, and I can add some more lidocaine.”
“Okay. Uh, let’s get this over with.” Swanson closed his eyes tightly.
Leonard started stitching.
“Ow!”
“Uh, did that truly hurt?” Leonard asked, surprised by the outburst.
“Um … no, I just thought it was going to.”
“I see.”
Len continued his work. It was just a laceration to the meat of the thumb, caused by a slip of a knife, but he didn’t want to leave any more of a scar than was necessary. Six careful sutures later, he inspected his work, and was satisfied.
“All done, Mr. Swanson.”
The man opened his eyes. “Really? That wasn’t so bad. Thanks, Doc!”
“You’re welcome. Now-the nurse will give you your discharge instructions-how to take care of the stitches, and when to get them out. Take care, and I hope the rest of your holiday is pleasant.”
“Thanks. You too. But you’re probably stuck here all night, huh?”
“It’s all right. I’m new in town, so I’m not missing anything tonight.” Except my beautiful daughter, Len thought. “Take care, now,” he said, as he exited the treatment room.
“What’s the news from Riverside?” he asked.
“Riverside reports no change,” the nurse said. “ETA is now seven minutes. And Cardiology just picked up room twelve.”
“Thanks.”
Len finished Swanson’s charting, and used the bathroom, because Lord only knew when he’d get another chance, with a whole family coming in with what sounded like a nasty case of food poisoning.
Just as Len emerged from the restroom, he heard the beeping of a rig backing up in the ambulance bay. The doors whooshed open, letting in a blast of cold air, and the Riverside EMTs wheeled the patient in. The unignorable smell of a violently ill patient followed shortly afterwards.
“This is Jim Kirk; since our last report he’s become markedly more lethargic,” the EMT said, handing the nearby nurse the middle copy of the paperwork she’d done en route.
“Room two,” the nurse said.
They wheeled the gurney into the small room, and the four of them-the two EMTs, Len, and the nurse-worked together to transfer Jim onto the bed. An aide stripped away and bagged the patient’s soiled clothing, and cleaned him up a bit as Dr. McCoy started examining the patient, who was too lethargic to protest being stripped.
Len leaned towards the patient, whose eyes were closed.
“Mr. Kirk?”
Nothing.
“Jim?”
The young man’s eyes struggled opened, and Len was immediately struck by their sapphire-blue color, sharp even through the haze of severe dehydration.
“Huh?”
“Mr. Kirk, I’m Dr. McCoy. Do you know where you are?”
“Uh …”
The patient’s eyes started to slide shut again.
“Mr. Kirk! Jim! Come on, now; I need you to stay with us.”
The patient didn’t open his eyes. Len grabbed him firmly by the muscle between his shoulder and his neck, and squeezed hard, to try to get a pain response. The patient moaned and tried to pull away slightly, but didn’t open his eyes.
“Nurse, IV pack, Ringer’s. And get him on a twelve-lead.”
Len surveyed the fellow’s arms, as the nurse started applying electrodes to the patient’s chest. With his BP in the toilet the way it was-along with a good percentage of his body weight, Len guessed-it was no surprise that the EMTs had had a hard time starting the IV, but Len knew he could do it. And he would have to-he could tell from the way the patient’s skin felt cold and clammy that he was getting shockier by the minute.
He pumped a BP cuff up on the guy’s left arm, and was able to palpate a vein that might just work. He held his breath as he pulled the too-loose skin tight, trying to anchor the vein so it wouldn’t roll, and slid the needle in. He saw the flash of blood, and released his breath as he pulled the needle, leaving the catheter in place. He hooked the bag of fluid up to the catheter, and set the valve to wide open, so the fluid would drip in as quickly as possible.
Just as he finished starting the IV, the patient vomited, and started coughing, but only weakly.
“Suction!” Len called, and a nurse used a wall-mounted suction device to remove the vomit from the patient’s upper airway.
“Ms. Sanders, I need a bolus of D25W,” he said. “We’ve gotta get this guy more alert so he can protect his airway.”
The nurse quickly handed him a large syringe filled with the sugar solution. Len pushed it through the IV port, and then flushed it with saline.
Len tried again to rouse his patient.
“Mr. Kirk? Can you open your eyes?”
The startlingly blue eyes opened, and this time, stayed that way. He blinked a few times, looking back and forth between the nurse and Len. His eyes settled on Len.
“I’m so fucked up,” he said hoarsely.
“You’re pretty sick,” Len said. “Can you tell me what’s been going on?”
“Puked all day. Had the runs all day. Feel like crap.”
“Did I hear right that you were sick last week, too?”
The young man nodded. “Yeah. Nothing like this, though. That was just a bug. This is … this is total hell. And oh shit, look out.”
“What?” Len asked, stupidly looking behind him. But it was too late. The patient leaned forward reflexively as his abdominal muscles did their part in making him vomit. On Len’s white coat.
The nurse grabbed a sickly yellow plastic basin to catch the rest. Once the heaves had subsided, the patient flopped, panting, back onto the raised bed, face pale and sweaty.
“Sorry,” the patient croaked out.
“It’s all right,” Len said mildly. There were indeed flecks of blood in the vomit on his coat, but it was bright red blood. From the small quantity, it was probably just a burst vessel from violent vomiting, and nothing more sinister.
“The EMTs said other people in your family are sick as well?” Len said.
“Yeah. Mom, brother, sister-in-law. Kids are okay. Oh shit!”
This time, the basin was handy. Jim Kirk dry-heaved several times, and lay back again, panting.
Len watched the cardiac monitor as Jim lay there, sweating and shaking. He saw several PVCs go by during the bout of vomiting, and the patient’s heart rate remained markedly elevated. Len didn’t like it-not one bit.
“Jesus. Fuck this. You gotta help me, Doc.”
“You’ve got an IV, which will get you rehydrated. I’m ordering some blood work to check on a few things, like your electrolytes and your kidney function. And I gave you something to boost your blood sugar, which was pretty low. That helped with your alertness, but I’m afraid there’s really nothing I can do about the vomiting at the moment,” Len said. He desperately wanted to make it all stop, but antinausea meds were generally contraindicated in suspected food poisoning. He watched the monitor again, and saw another PVC.
“What was that?” Jim said in alarm, clutching his chest.
“Tell me what you felt,” Len said.
“It was like my heart stopped for a second!”
The kid looked absolutely terrified.
“You’re having some arrhythmias-irregular heartbeats-probably from the dehydration. Have you ever had anything like that before?”
“No! Oh man, am I having a heart attack? I can’t be! I’m only twen-”
Jim’s imploring speech was interrupted by another bout of retching, which brought up watery bile and some more blood. His heart rate shot up to nearly 150, and his eyes were darting around wildly.
“It’s not a heart attack. I promise,” Len said. “The IV fluids should help soon. Listen-let’s get you a second IV, okay? To move things along a little.”
“Whatever you say, Doc. ’Cause this totally sucks.”
The nurse set another IV pack on the tray next to the bed.
“Doctor, do you want me to put the IV in?” the nurse asked.
“No no!” Jim said, flailing to grab Len’s arm. “No, you do it, Doc-please!”
“All right,” Len said soothingly. The kid was scared to death, and Len’s heart was breaking for him. “I’ll do it, okay? You try to relax, okay? Slow breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
Len watched as the patient took a few breaths, and noticed that the guy’s attention kept turning to the steadily-beeping cardiac monitor. He reached up and shut down the volume control for the heart-rate function, eliminating the constant frantic echo of the patient’s elevated heart rate. With that noise gone, and after a few calming breaths, the patient’s heart rate went down to 120-still tachycardic, but better than 140.
“Good,” Len said. “That’s real good, Mr. Kirk. Now, I’ll start that other IV. Like I said, it won’t stop the vomiting, but rehydration should help with the irregular heartbeats.”
“Jim,” the guy said.
“Okay, Jim,” Len said, as he pumped up a BP cuff on Jim’s right arm. The two best places for an IV had already been tried by the EMTs, but there was a vein in the back of his right hand that looked all right.
“Sorry, this is going to sting,” Len said, as he prepped the spot he’d chosen.
“I usually pass out when people stick me with needles, but I prob’ly won’ even notice,” the kid slurred, exhaustion taking over as the panic subsided.
Another nurse came to the entrance of the room. “Dr. McCoy, the other sick family members are here.”
“All right-you two triage them and get them set up in rooms, and I’ll come have a look when things are more stable here.”
The two nurses left the room, leaving Len with the patient. Len finished prepping the back of Jim’s hand, and stuck the vein with the needle. He swore silently as he had to fish around until he got the catheter well placed. Once it was in, he taped everything down, and hooked up another bag of fluids, letting it run wide open.
“Jim, I’m gonna go have a look at-”
The kid lurched forwards again, and added some more watery bile to the emesis basin he held in his lap. Leonard found himself holding Jim’s head, and gently pushing the hair off his sweaty forehead.
“Okay?” he said gently when the round of heaving was over.
“Fuck no,” the kid groaned, and Leonard couldn’t help grinning at the total honesty of the remark as he wet a washcloth and gently wiped his patient’s face. He also couldn’t help noticing that behind the day’s worth of stubble, the hollow cheeks, and the sunken eyes, Jim was extremely good-looking.
Len had to get out of there. Fast. And not because of the smell.
“Jim, I’m gonna go have a look at your family, all right?”
“’kay.”
“They’re gonna wanna know how you’re doing. Can I talk to them about you?”
“Course. Family,” Jim said.
“Didn’t want to assume. You rest up, as best as you can.”
“You comin’ back?”
“Of course. I have a couple more patients to look in on, but I promise, I’ll come back soon to check on you.”
“’kay. Thanks.”
Len watched as Jim lay back and closed his eyes. When he realized he was no longer watching with a physician’s eyes, but with … something else entirely, he scowled at himself, left the room, and yanked the curtain shut angrily on the way out.
The triage nurse caught him as he started washing his hands at one of the sink stations.
“I’ve got the rest of the Kirks in one, three, and four. They’re all stable, but miserable. The mom’s in one-she’s the next worse off, and she also thinks she knows what did this.”
“Got it,” Len said. “I’ll go talk to the mom.” He dried his hands on some paper towels, and tossed them in the trash. He entered room one, just as a mid-fiftyish woman retched into her own yellow basin.
“Mrs. Kirk?”
The woman nodded as Len scanned the chart.
“I’m Dr. McCoy. It sounds like your whole family maybe ate something that’s making you sick.”
“How’s Jim?” she asked, clearly having only one thing on her mind at the moment. “He was so sick.”
“Better. He was dangerously dehydrated, and his blood sugar was low, but he’s more alert now. He’s got two IVs in, for rehydration and electrolytes. He’s looking better.”
Mrs. Kirk sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. He passed out in the bathroom, so I called 9-1-1. None of the rest of us are nearly as sick as Jim, but we figured we should all come in and get checked out, since he’s so bad and we probably all have the same thing.”
“Did you all get sick at the same time?”
Mrs. Kirk nodded, but then hesitated.
“Mrs. Kirk?”
“Well … Jim was throwing up before the rest of us this morning, but honestly I just thought he was hung over. I’m afraid I wasn’t very sympathetic. I yelled at him for making himself sick by drinking too much so soon after his stomach bug last week,” she said. The tears squeezing through the corners of her eyes proved she wasn’t nearly as dehydrated as Jim.
“He’ll be all right,” Dr. McCoy said gently. “Let’s talk about you for a moment. It looks like you’re feeling pretty sick, but all your vital signs are in the normal range except for the fever you’re running. I’m going to have a nurse get you an electrolyte drink-like a sports drink, really-to sip on very, very slowly. You may still vomit, but most people in your situation can do well with oral rehydration therapy. Do you think you can try that?”
“I’ll try,” Mrs. Kirk said wanly. “And … ah, is there a restroom nearby?”
“Right across the hall.”
Mrs. Kirk raced out of the room. Len made a note in her chart on the laptop in the room, and went over the charts for the other two family members while he waited for her to return.
“Sorry,” Mrs. Kirk said.
“Not a problem. The nurse who admitted you said you had an idea about what might have caused this illness?”
Mrs. Kirk nodded. “Yes-you see, only the adults got sick. The children-Sam’s boys-are fine. The only thing we could think of that we all had, but they didn’t, was the neighbors’ homemade spiked egg nog that all us adults indulged in last night. So I think there must’ve been something wrong with the brandy they put in it, if that’s even possible.”
“Nope,” Len said dryly. “Raw eggs. Salmonella. Classic. Nobody should ever eat raw eggs. Or drink them, for that matter. Ever.”
“But the eggs were fresh!” Mrs. Kirk protested. “The Petersens have their own chickens, and they would’ve just gotten the eggs that morning! I know you’re not really supposed to have raw eggs, but honestly, we all thought that was just because you never knew how long grocery store eggs have been sitting around by the time you get them! That’s why I thought it had to be the brandy, somehow.”
Len shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Even the freshest eggs can already be contaminated. Which it seems you’ve all learned the hard way.”
The bathroom door opened and closed again across the hallway-probably another Kirk, Len thought.
“Now I feel so stupid,” Mrs. Kirk said.
Well, you should, Len thought. “It would be a good idea to call your neighbors-to see if they’re sick, too.”
“Oh, God,” Mrs. Kirk said, burying her face in her hands. “They’ll feel awful if it turns out to be the eggnog. Which I suppose we’ll never know for sure. But if they’re sick too, I’d put money on it being the eggnog.”
“I’d pretty much put money on it at this point anyhow,” Len said. “I’ll have the nurse bring you the electrolyte drink. You’ll probably feel terrible for a few days, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t go home tonight if you can keep even a little liquid down.”
“All right,” Mrs. Kirk said. “Honestly, we wouldn’t normally come to the hospital for something like this-it’s just that Jim was so, so sick, and we figured we all had the same thing.”
“Did anyone else in the family have the stomach bug he had last week?” Len asked.
“Just Jim,” Mrs. Kirk said. “Is that why he’s so much sicker than everyone else?”
“Hard to say,” Len said, “but it’s certainly possible. And right now, I need to check on the rest of your family. So you try to rest, and the nurse will bring you the drink.”
“All right. Thank you, Dr. McCoy.”
“You’re welcome. No more raw eggs. Ever.”
Leonard got much the same story from the two other Kirks, Jim’s brother Sam, and Sam’s wife Aurelan, when he visited the other two rooms. He had the nurses get stool samples from all four patients-a task he was happy to pass the buck on-to send to the lab to confirm his tentative diagnosis of salmonellosis. He ordered the electrolyte drink for Sam and Aurelan, and, after washing his hands for what seemed like the millionth time, sat down at the computer to write a note in each patient’s chart. He checked on the elderly woman, whose wrist was indeed fractured, gave her a small dose of painkillers, and wrote a note for the on-call orthopedist, who was still in surgery from a car accident earlier that day.
Len decided to try to call Joanna one last time, even though it was late enough that she should’ve been sleeping for hours. Once again, his call seemed to be blocked or ignored. He shoved his phone back in his pocket again in disgust, and did his best to return his mind to his work.
Continue to Part 1b, because LJ doesn't like long chapters