Never Say Never, page 10
Disconcerted, Malcolm rose from the exam table and pulled off his white coat. “If you want, I can give you a ride to the hospital.”
“That’s very kind of you, Malcolm, but Monique is outside.” Sabrina wasn’t sure she could sit alone with Malcolm in his car for the ride to the hospital and not rip his clothes off.
“It’s no problem at all. I’m finished with my patients for the day.”
“Are you sure?” Sabrina was at a loss for words because there was really no logical reason why she couldn’t go with Malcolm other than the fact that she was extremely attracted to him and therefore he made her nervous.
“I believe Ms. Jackson has two children to attend to, doesn’t she?” Malcolm said. He wanted to drive them because any time spent with Sabrina was better than none at all. “Trust me, with a doctor present, you get treated immediately. But if you’d like to go to the ER and sit for hours waiting to be seen, then by all means, don’t let me stop you.”
“Well in that case, how can I resist?” Sabrina helped Jasmine off the exam table and onto the floor. “Can you walk, sweetheart?”
“Yes, Mom. I’m better now. It doesn’t hurt as bad. Dr. Malcolm made me feel much better. I like him a lot,” Jasmine replied as they headed for the doorway.
Sabrina smiled. Apparently she wasn’t the only one Malcolm had made an impression on.
In reception, Malcolm gave Nurse Turner some final orders while Sabrina spoke with the coach. She shook his hand and thanked him for his assistance. Monique and her two children were also in the waiting area anxious to hear about Jasmine’s condition. They rushed over to Jasmine to make sure she was okay.
“She’s fine. It’s just a sprain,” Sabrina said, giving Monique an update. “But Malcolm and I are going to take Jasmine over to the hospital, just to be on the safe side.”
“Malcolm, huh?” Monique’s eyebrow rose and she gave Sabrina a secret wink. “Well, then I guess I’m not needed here. Give me a call later and let me know how Jasmine is doing.”
“Sure thing.”
“C’mon, kids,” Monique yelled at her crew from the front door. “Let’s get home so I can start dinner.” Brianna and Brandon gave Jasmine a quick hug before leaving.
“Aren’t they the coolest?” Jasmine stated right after they left.
“Who’s the coolest?” Malcolm asked as he approached the duo.
“I was just telling Mom about my best friends,” Jasmine said, taking Malcolm’s hand and heading toward the door.
“See you in the morning,” Malcolm called out to Grace over his shoulder.
He couldn’t see it, but from where Grace was, it sure looked like they were a family.
While Jasmine was with the technician having her X-ray taken, Malcolm and Sabrina sat in awkward silence next to each other in uncomfortable hospital waiting room chairs. They were both trying to maintain the appearance that they were unaffected by the other’s presence.
Malcolm was the first to break the ice. “I really enjoyed our date,” he said casually, turning to her.
“So did I,” Sabrina returned politely.
“Then we should do it again.” Malcolm picked up her delicate hand in his large one. “I want to learn more about what makes Sabrina Parker tick.”
“Hmmm, you’re a mystery to me too, Malcolm,” Sabrina said, pulling her hand out of his. “I don’t know if you realize it, but you keep a lot on the inside. I’d like to know more.”
“Do I?” Malcolm laughed. He supposed he kept his feelings close to the vest, but that was him. He’d been more open and honest with her than he had with any other woman.
“Yes, you do.”
“Then I guess there’s room for improvement on my part, huh?”
Sabrina eagerly shook her head. “And I have just the idea.”
“And what might that be?”
Sabrina didn’t have time to expound on it any further, because the X-ray tech came back with Jasmine and the test results.
Malcolm rose to speak with the technician while Jasmine sat next to Sabrina. Sabrina watched them speak in hushed tones before Malcolm strolled back over.
“Good news,” he said, directing his attention Sabrina’s way. “The arm isn’t broken. Jasmine only needs to take it easy on that arm for a couple of weeks before returning to her normal lifestyle.”
“That’s great,” Sabrina said, smiling up at Malcolm. “After she’s better, why don’t you come out with Jazzy and me? I promised her we’d go rollerblading in the park sometime soon.”
At Malcolm’s dumbfounded expression, Sabrina continued, “Kind of like ice skating, but not on ice.”
Malcolm shook his head. “Sorry, never done it.” And he wasn’t all that sure he wanted to learn.
“You’ll love it, Dr. Malcolm,” Jasmine chimed in. “It’s loads of fun, even if you do fall on your butt.”
If it meant time he could spend with two of his favorite ladies, he supposed he could give it a try. “Sounds dangerous. Sign me up.”
“Great.” Sabrina assisted Jasmine out of her chair. “I’ll set it up. You just remember to wear long sleeves.”
Chapter 10
“So she’s okay?” Tre asked from the other end of the line later that evening. Sabrina had felt it was her duty to keep him informed, even though he rarely called Jasmine himself. Since they’d arrived, Tre hadn’t picked up the phone even once to check on Jasmine to see how she was adjusting to life in Savannah.
Doesn’t he know how much it hurts Jazzy when he doesn’t return her calls? His negligence killed Sabrina a bit each day.
“Yes, she’s fine,” Sabrina replied, not offering any further explanation.
“Thank God.” Tre sighed in relief. “So, how did it happen?”
“Jasmine was playing softball and—”
“Softball? Since when did my little girl who plays with Barbies turn into a tomboy?” Tre queried harshly.
“Somewhere between seven and eight,” Sabrina offered sarcastically from her perch atop the bed. “Of course, I’m not surprised you didn’t notice. You were never very good at paying attention to anyone else’s needs but your own.”
“Don’t start, Sabrina,” Tre warned as he paced the floor of Melanie’s apartment. “Do you really want to start another fight?”
“No, I don’t Tre,” Sabrina began, “but you really should make more time for Jasmine. I realize you have a busy lifestyle, but our daughter still needs a father.”
“Well, well. I’m surprised to hear you say that. From the way you’ve been behaving, you’d think you’d made Jasmine all by yourself. And in case you don’t remember,” Tre whispered into the phone, “you and I burned up that bedroom in Jamaica and gave passion a new name.”
Sabrina remembered all too well the night they’d conceived Jasmine. It was one of those rare occasions early on in their marriage when Tre had actually taken the time to be romantic. He’d gotten a bonus from his job and had splurged on a weekend getaway to Jamaica. They’d frolicked in the sun, basking in the crystal-blue water, and made love until the sun rose the following morning, but Sabrina didn’t want to go down that road with Tre. He was the one who’d been unfaithful and destroyed their marriage. And every happy memory they’d ever shared was now sullied by that one act.
“Tre, honey, aren’t you coming back to bed?” Sabrina heard a female voice coo through the phone. Melanie. Yes, the evil, deceptive witch who had ruined her marriage. Just thinking of that woman caused Sabrina to see red and reminded her of what a jerk Tre really was.
“Well, I’ve got to go, Sabrina,” Tre said as he watched Melanie parade in front of him in a sexy Frederick’s of Hollywood number.
“Don’t you want to talk to Jasmine?” Sabrina asked.
“No, not right now. But tell her I love her and I’ll call her.” Seconds later, Sabrina heard a dial tone. Furious, she slammed the phone down on the nightstand.
It infuriated Sabrina to know that Jasmine did not come first with Tre. Yet lately Jasmine seemed to love Tre the most while she treated Sabrina like a second-class citizen.
Turning off the lights and pulling the comforter over her head, Sabrina could only hope that one day Tre would not break their daughter’s heart.
The next morning, Malcolm nervously drove to Memorial Health. Why hadn’t the clog-dissolving medication worked? Why did he have to have a cardiac patient so soon into his family practice? He’d thought he wouldn’t see a heart case for quite some time at the clinic. Nervous tension ran through his entire body at the prospect of having to perform an angiography. He hadn’t been in a catherization lab in well over a year and he wasn’t all that sure he was ready, but what other choice did he have? Dr. Baker was retired, therefore, he alone was qualified enough to perform the procedure. It wasn’t like he wasn’t well-qualified, so why did he have a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach?
Once he arrived at the hospital, he stopped by the catherization lab. He found everything in order and had enough time to change clothes before checking in on Mr. Gibson.
The familiar scent of antiseptic greeted him as he walked through the halls of Memorial Health on his way to Mr. Gibson’s room. Several candy stripers smiled adoringly up at him as he passed them along the way. Now that he remembered.
He found Mr. Gibson prepped and ready for surgery.
“How are you feeling?” Malcolm asked, stepping into the room.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Mr. Gibson said, “but this one is kind of scared.” He pointed to his wife.
Mrs. Gibson’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Please take care of him, doc.”
Malcolm smiled inwardly. Never let them see you sweat.
“I’ll do my best,” Malcolm replied. He wished he could reassure her more, but he no longer believed that miracles were possible every time.
Once his patient was settled comfortably and had been given a local anesthetic and intravenous sedation, Malcolm went into the viewing area to wash his hands again. In the mirror, he stared at the reflection of the scared man in front of him. What had happened to the invincible Dr. Malcolm Winters, superman of Cardiology, able to perform miracles in a single bound?
Malcolm didn’t see that superhero standing in front of him now. Instead, he saw a rookie afraid of performing his first solo procedure. Images of Michael falling onto the floor at Dinah and Walter’s anniversary party haunted him.
Malcolm shook his head and blinked several times to erase the negative picture while he furiously scrubbed his hands. Get it together, Malcolm! he told himself before entering the lab. The X-ray technician was standing by, waiting for word from Malcolm on when to begin.
When the lab nurse handed Malcolm the catheter attached to a fluoroscope, he stared at it and her for several long moments before finally accepting. The instrument shook in his hands. It was all up to him now.
“Are you ready, Dr. Winters?” the X-ray technician asked. “I can insert the radiographic contrast if you are.”
Taking a deep breath, Malcolm replied, “Yes, let’s begin.”
The procedure was over fairly quickly, taking Malcolm only two hours to perform. Once it was complete, he sutured up Mr. Gibson’s leg. There was a small risk of complication from the angiography, but although he’d been nervous, the procedure was a success.
“He’s all yours, Dr. Jeffries,” Malcolm commented to the anesthesiologist as he pulled off his mask and prepared to leave.
Once he was back in the locker room, Malcolm forced air back into his lungs. He’d hardly taken a breath during the procedure for fear he was making a wrong move. Thank God it was over, but the procedure had shown him one thing: He hadn’t lost his touch.
“Great job, Dr. Winters,” the anesthesiologist said a short while later as Malcolm packed up his bag.
“Thanks. Thanks a lot,” Malcolm said as he left the locker room.
He found Mrs. Gibson sitting in the waiting area. When she saw Malcolm, she rose from her chair and rushed toward him. “How is he, Dr. Winters?”
“He’s doing just fine, Mrs. Gibson. You can take him home tomorrow morning.” Malcolm sought to reassure the frazzled woman’s nerves. “Now it’s just a wait-and-see game.”
A few hours later at Parker House, Malcolm woke up with a start, bathed in sweat. He’d been having that dream again. The same one he’d been having since Michael’s death. The one where he was in surgery trying to repair Michael’s aortic dissection, except this time, he was the surgeon and try as he might, he couldn’t repair the damage and his twin died on the operating table.
Jumping up from the king-sized bed, Malcolm padded to the adjoining bathroom. He flicked on the switch, flooding the room with light. The cold water he splashed on his face did little to ease the nightmare that had plagued him for the last year.
Instead, he relived the last year.
His twin had come to him several months before his death complaining of chest pains. Malcolm had run all kinds of tests and had found nothing. He’d missed something and because of it, Michael was dead. The guilt had crippled him.
After Michael’s death, he’d felt inept as a cardiologist. He was so paralyzed with fear that he hadn’t been able to treat his patients. Sure, he’d taken some customary time off as the chief of staff had suggested, but it had done little to alleviate his guilt.
He just replayed his actions over and over. The chest X-ray and MRI had revealed nothing, causing Malcolm to allow Michael to resume his normal lifestyle. Normal to Michael meant skiing, rock climbing or whitewater rafting with his buddies. Malcolm hated that Michael had an affinity for risking his life, but his stubborn twin refused to listen to reason. “I like taking risks,” he’d told Malcolm. “That’s what makes me who I am.”
So Malcolm had let him continue as if nothing were wrong. No precautions. He just threw his brother to the wind. He’d been wrong, however. Dead wrong.
He should have insisted on another opinion, allowed a fellow heart man to take a look. Top of his field at the time, he’d been cocky and assumed that he was infallible. He never figured that his thirty-five-year-old brother could have a tear in the inner wall of his abdominal aortic artery. It was a condition normally found in men much older.
He couldn’t see a heart attack in Michael’s future because all signs indicated that he was the picture of health. Was there anything I could have done to prevent it? That question lived with him each and every day.
Could they have performed surgery and repaired the aortic rupture if he’d diagnosed it earlier? If the tear was caught prior to a rupture, at least half of patients survived. Of course, now he would never know. He would forever be haunted by the last image of Michael, crumpled on the floor. Malcolm would never forget his pallor and clammy skin, his profuse sweating and shortness of breath. And the feeling of powerlessness Malcolm had felt as he’d desperately tried to save him.
He’d done his best before the ambulance arrived. He gave Michael mouth-to-mouth to resuscitate him, but it didn’t work. The rapid blood loss had caused an irreversible shock to Michael’s system. Once they admitted him and got Michael to surgery, he died on the table.
Malcolm glanced up at the ravaged image in the mirror. He looked haggard with bloodshot eyes. Quickly, he turned on his heel into the bedroom. He found his sweat pants on a nearby chair and pulled them over his hips. Throwing the matching sweater over his head, Malcolm rushed out the door.
Malcolm frantically walked down the corridor of Memorial to the nurse’s station. “Excuse me, nurse, I’m Dr. Winters and I’m here to check on my patient, Mr. Gibson.”
The redhead reviewed the charts and responded, “I’m sorry, Dr. Winters. Mr. Gibson suffered a massive heart attack earlier this evening and was taken up to the Coronary Care Unit. I think the surgeon on duty is working on him now.”
Horror crossed Malcolm’s face. “He’s in surgery? Why in the hell wasn’t I paged? I’m his primary care physician after all.” Malcolm snatched his pager off his hip and checked the memory. There were no earlier messages on it. He was furious with the Memorial Health University Medical Center staff. At Malcolm’s thunderous expression, the nurse attempted to explain. “I’m sorry, doctor. There wasn’t time. The surgeon wanted to get him to surgery.”
“So what?” Malcolm yelled, running his fingers across his forehead. “After the surgeon took him to the O.R. someone could have paged me. How inept is this hospital?” Malcolm said, rushing down the hall to the elevators.
Frantically, he pressed the buttons and paced the floor. When the elevator finally arrived, he was going out of his mind with worry and rushed inside.
When the doors finally opened on his patient’s floor, he shot through them and ran down the hall, nearly colliding with a stack of supplies. He pushed through the Intensive Care doors and was on his way to the O.R. when he saw Mrs. Gibson sitting in the waiting room.
She was clutching a handkerchief. He could see that she had been crying; her eyes were swollen.
“Mrs. Gibson?” Malcolm said, striding toward her with his hands extended. “Have you heard anything?” he asked, taking a seat beside her.
“No, Dr. Winters. They haven’t told me anything.” She took both his hands and squeezed them tightly. “I’ve been out here for an hour, and no one’s told me what’s happened to my husband.”
Malcolm released her hand and jumped up. “Stay right here, Mrs. Gibson. I’ll find out your husband’s condition.” He stormed over to the nurse’s desk. “I want an update on Mr. Gibson’s condition.” He pulled out his I.D. and flashed it to the nurse. “I’m his primary doctor, Dr. Winters.”
“I understand, sir,” the nurse acknowledged, “but the surgery is still ongoing.”
