Right As Rain (Complete)

Chapter 11

Maelee

For what seems like the twentieth time in the last hour, I check my pager. I push the small button to confirm it's on, watch its screen light up, and lay it back down on the desk. I haven't gotten a single call in three hours. Did the city of Los Angeles fall into a sinkhole? No, I definitely would have gotten a page then. There's an unnerving, anxious feeling in my chest. If it's this quiet now, all hell will break loose soon. I wish I could lead myself to belief this is just an easy day, but I can't. History speaks for itself. There is no such thing as an 'easy day'.

I look at my pager again. Still nothing. Maybe its service has been turned off somehow. I log on to the hospital's paging system and send myself a message. Within seconds, the small device vibrates frantically. I turn off the pager's sound and read the message aloud. "What in the actual fuck are you doing right now?" I say.

If only I knew pager, if only I knew.

At this point, I would almost be appreciative of the annoying nurse downstairs calling to ask me a stupid question. "Dr. Parker, can this patient who is NPO have sprite? His stomach is really hurting," she once asked.

I have heard, many times, there is no such thing as a stupid question. I suppose that is still true because her question was downright moronic. I couldn't even pretend it was anything less than a dumb ass, half-baked, harebrained waste of my time. I think my two-year-old goddaughter could probably grasp the meaning of "nothing by mouth."

I open Noah's chart to review the CT scan I ordered this morning. I'm glad to see the final report is already posted. Unfortunately, its results are completely normal. I open the image and review it myself, hoping to find something. Any tiny inconsistency could be my answer. You don't commonly hope your radiologist missed something, but today I am. The scan is clean, and I am no closer to figuring out what caused Noah's collapse or his hypoglycemia.

Many times steroids, like prednisone, can cause your sugar to be low. Sugars can stay low for months after stopping. I look back at his medication history. He denied taking any medications outside of an antibiotic and a B-12 shot in the last year. Alcohol can cause low blood sugar, so can liver failure. It would make sense that he drinks a lot, he's in a boy band after all. But his liver enzymes are perfect. That isn't it either. I pull his labs from earlier in the day. The results are one hundred percent ideal for a twenty-six year old healthy male. I have no idea what this could be. I was there. I witnessed Noah practically die. His heart stopped and his sugar was low enough to put him in a coma. This can't be a phantom event. It just can't.

I pull a textbook from my shelf and review previous cases of hypoglycemia in conjunction with cardiac arrest and their causes. I flip through several pages and blindly read the same paragraph four times, getting absolutely nowhere.

This isn't working.

I lay the book on my desk and recline my head back in my office chair. I can't deny it anymore. If I don't face it, I may never be able to focus again. "Jesus," I whisper to myself. Here goes.

Does he or does he not, have a girlfriend?

It shouldn't matter. I know that. I am a professional who is treating his friend. He gets more than enough attention, I'm sure. Can't he go flirt with someone else? He's making this too hard for me. There isn't a shortage of females in dire want of his affections. He needs to go bother one of them.

Whatever. As much as I would like to convince the inner Maelee she wants Hudson to leave her alone, it isn't true. I like the way his sweet smile makes me melt. I like how his flirty comments slip out and make my entire body warm. Wishing he would leave me alone is a lie. What I really wish is that he would have answered the damn girlfriend question.