by Cate Beauman
“Great.” She smiled back and walked outside, her smile dimming as she settled herself in the front seat, securing her safety belt.
“That guy was coughing all over the place.”
“That guy is very sick.”
“Hopefully he didn’t give the baby anything.”
Reagan shook her head. “Henry’s not contagious. Whatever he has Faith isn’t going to catch. His oxygen saturation is dangerously poor.” She looked toward the door as the couple walked out of the store, Daisy with her bag of goodies and Henry puffing a cigarette to life.
Shane raised an eyebrow her way.
She narrowed her eyes, scoffing. “Try to have some compassion.”
He shook his head. “I don’t get it. If you’re coughing like that, why the hell would you want to go and fill your lungs with smoke?”
“Addictions are a powerful thing.”
“I guess.” He turned over the engine.
“If you’ve never had one it’s hard to understand. Since we haven’t, we’re in no place to judge.”
He moved to put the SUV into gear, pausing with his hand on the gearshift. “I’m not trying to be insensitive. It just seems like common sense to me. You’re looking at this clinically.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s my job.”
He shrugged. “Maybe he would be able to breathe if he stopped.”
“It would help, but I doubt it will solve the problem.”
He frowned. “Are you thinking it’s cancer or something?”
“I can’t say definitively, but it’s serious nonetheless.”
“Hopefully he’ll change his mind and come in.”
“Hopefully.” She looked at Henry struggling into the driver’s side, then glanced back at the mirror Shane had attached to the headrest in front of Faith’s car seat, looking at the sleeping baby. “We should go. Ms. Lindy’s coming in at ten so I can examine her knee.”
He reversed and pulled onto the road. “Another one. I think it’s safe to say the morning hikes are paying off. What’s this, four patients in the last week?”
She smiled. “Three.” But she wouldn’t be happy until she had a full patient load. Everyone in this area needed regular medical attention. There were bound to be more Henry’s scattered all over the mountain. She tossed a glance over her shoulder at the beat-up pickup driving in the opposite direction. “I don’t understand why they won’t let me help.”
“They’re coming—slow and steady.”
“Yeah.” But Henry didn’t have time for slow and steady. He needed help now.
~~~~
Shane turned over dozens of hot dogs and flipped just as many hamburgers on the grill, surrounded by the families that showed up for Reagan’s food swap. Fewer people came than she’d expected, but the event appeared to be a success nonetheless. The evening sky was clear, and the late summer temperatures tolerable. The people of The Gap had exchanged corn and beans, huckleberries and wild grapes, among many other fruits and vegetables. And he’d overheard Reagan talking with two of the women about incorporating homemade jams and smoked meats next week, along with other fresh produce.
He zeroed in on The Gap’s new physician, watching her rub her hand up and down Faith’s back in the sling as she stood among a small group of women and children. She’d dressed casually in jean shorts and a black tank top, but she’d also added a hint of makeup, which she never did. Doc always looked good, but this evening she was smoking hot. He returned his attention to the food on the grill, checking the temperature on the burgers, and slid them onto the platter. “Hot dogs and hamburgers are ready,” he called, setting them on the dining room table he and Reagan had dragged outside.
Several kids came running as he tuned in to the familiar, non-stop hacking coming from under the shade tree a few feet away. He glanced Henry’s way, watching the crotchety fifty-something fight his way out of the lawn chair he sat in seconds after arriving over an hour ago. Shane grabbed a bottled water and walked over to the man. “Can I bring you a hot dog or hamburger?”
“I’ll help myself just fine, thank you.”
The water was for Henry, but Shane twisted off the cap and drank, knowing he would refuse. “You got it. There’s potato salad and coleslaw—a whole bunch of other stuff too.”
“Thank you kindly.” Henry coughed again, gasping and hacking, then sat back down.
Shane frowned, noting the blood on Henry’s fingers before he wiped the bright red smear on his overalls. “How about some water?”
“Moonshine does me good,” he wheezed.
“Right.” Shane nodded. “If you’ll excuse me.” He strolled over to Reagan. “Ladies,” he interrupted the group with a big smile, rubbing his hands down Reagan’s soft arms as he walked up behind her. “Hot dogs and hamburgers are ready if any of you would like to help yourselves.” He tugged her gently back against his chest, moving his head close to her ear. “Henry’s coughing up blood.”
Her gaze whipped up to his. “What?”
“Henry had blood on his fingers after his latest coughing fit.”
They both looked in his direction as he tried to stand again and fell over in his chair.
“Shit,” Shane muttered and hurried over. “Are you all right?” he asked, helping the man back into his seat with the assistance of a couple of the other men.
“Just lost my balance is all.”
Reagan rushed over. “Take Faith,” she said to Shane.
Shane lifted the sleeping baby from the pack, and Reagan bent down at Henry’s side. “Mr. Henry, I’m hoping I might be able to get a listen to those lungs.”
“I’m feelin’ just fine.”
“I can go get my stethoscope—”
“I won’t have no woman listenin’ to nothin’ of mine.” He struggled to his feet. “Takin’ on a man’s job far as I’m concerned.” He started toward the beat-up pickup.
“Doc Reagan.” Daisy took her wrist as concern clouded her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She gave Daisy a small smile and eased her away from the crowd gathered around. “Ms. Daisy, I would really like to help Mr. Henry. He needs an examination and x-ray, which I can do right here in the office.”
“I appreciate your concern, but Henry saw Doc Hargus just a couple months ago.”
She blinked. “A couple months ago?”
Daisy nodded. “Late June, it was. Gave him a clean bill of health.”
“But his cough—”
“Just mighty allergies, Doc Hargus says.”
Her brow furrowed. “Doctor Hargus said Henry’s cough is a result of allergies?”
“Sure did. Gave us some prescription cure, but Henry ain’t much for medicine.”
Her frown deepened, and she licked her lips. “Doctor Hargus is the physician from the mine?”
“Yes, ma’am. Been there close to ten years I’m thinkin’.”
Shane studied Reagan as she pressed her lips firm, humming in her throat as she nodded. Doc’s sexy brain was working overtime.
“Ms. Daisy, I would really love to see him. We might be able to get Mr. Henry some oxygen treatments ordered up and sent right to your home.”
“Doc Hargus will be back next month.”
Henry coughed again, leaning against the truck, fighting for his breath.
“I’d hate Mr. Henry to go a whole month without a little relief. I can see him tomorrow. We might be able to get that cough under control.”
Daisy sighed. “He’s a proud man, Doc Reagan. Mighty proud.”
Reagan smiled sympathetically. “Some people prefer male doctors. I completely understand, but I also think he’s in need of a little care.”
Shane stared at the beautiful woman standing inches away, admiring her, wanting her. Henry had insulted her and maybe even embarrassed her in front of the very people she was trying to win over, but she wasn’t able to let him walk away without trying to help.
“I’ll try to send him on back tomorrow.”
>
“I hope you’ll come along too.”
She nodded. “We’ll be in if I can make him see what’s right.”
“You’re welcome any time. I’d be happy to send my notes on to Doctor Hargus if that will make Mr. Henry more comfortable.”
“You’re real kind, Doc Reagan. Real kind.”
“Thank you.”
Daisy walked to where her husband waited as Reagan met Shane’s gaze.
“What?” He closed the distance between them.
She tossed a look over her shoulder and moved even closer, standing toe to toe. “Something’s not right. Daisy must’ve misunderstood Doctor Hargus’s diagnosis.”
“The allergies?”
“Yes.” She swiped her hair back. “I’m not a pulmonologist by any means. Emergency medicine’s my specialty, but I can tell you without a doubt Henry doesn’t have allergies. He’s coughing up blood for heaven’s sake.”
“Daisy probably got something mixed up.”
She nodded.
He studied her troubled eyes. “But you don’t think so.”
“I don’t know.” She jerked her shoulders. “I don’t know what I think, but I’m certainly concerned.”
“Hopefully he’ll come tomorrow and you can get it figured out.”
“Hopefully.” She sighed, stroking her finger over Faith’s cheek. “I’m going to go mingle. I’d like to see if we can win over a few more community members before everyone decides to leave.”
He glanced around at men and women conversing and kids playing or helping themselves to the cookies and brownies on the table. “Things are going great.”
“Yeah,” she said on another deep sigh, taking a step away.
“Hey Doc?” He snagged her hand.
She stopped. “Yes?”
“You’ll always be a winner in my book.” He winked, hoping to make her smile, grinning when she did. “Everything’s going to work out.”
She nodded.
“I’ll dress up a couple of burgers for us.”
“Sounds good.” She sent him another smile. “Thanks.”
“You got it.” Reagan was trying her hardest to show these people they could trust her. The least he could do was make her a sandwich and provide a little comic relief.
Chapter Ten
“Okay, Mr. Henry.” Reagan helped her reluctant patient free himself from the lead shield she’d wrapped around his waist. “You can put your shirt back on and sit with Daisy in the examination room. I’m going to look at the images we just took and hopefully have some answers for you in just a few minutes.” Although she was fairly certain she knew what was wrong with Henry as she listened to his wheezing inhales and exhales while he pulled his t-shirt over his head.
“Allergies is what I got.”
“I’m sure I’ll only be a couple of minutes,” she repeated, keeping her friendly smile pasted in place. The last hour had been pure hell. Coaxing Henry into answering her questions and convincing him to actually follow her to the tiny lead-lined room at the back of clinic had taken plenty of Daisy’s prodding and a small act of God. “I appreciate your patience with all of this.”
“Missin’ my game shows is what I’m doing,” he grumbled and walked out.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the doorframe, taking a moment before she removed her weighted apron and rolled the portable x-ray machine into the corner of the small space. She’d met more than her fair share of difficult patients over the past several years, but Henry was in a class all his own. He’d tested her patience, constantly arguing with her and questioning every inquiry she made. And he’d dished out more than a few sexist comments, but whether Henry liked it or not, he needed her help.
She moved down the hall to her office, sitting at her desk, uploading the images she’d just taken onto her laptop. Her brow furrowed as she studied the front-to-back view, switched to the lateral image, then back to the original. “Yikes,” she whispered, zooming in on the huge mass of fibroids present in both of Henry’s lungs. “Damn.” She shook her head. Henry was in worse shape than she originally thought.
She clicked open another window, looking at similar images she’d pulled up on the Mayo Clinic’s website at two this morning while she fed Faith her bottle and researched different lung diseases. Henry had all of the symptoms of pneumoconiosis. The x-rays appeared to confirm her suspicions.
She knocked over the box of pills at her elbow and her frown deepened as she picked up the over-the-counter pack of antihistamines and the bronchodilator Doctor Hargus had prescribed. None of this made any sense. She’d been certain Daisy had misinterpreted Doctor Hargus’s diagnosis, but Daisy was exactly right, and the items she held in her hands were even more confusing. Henry Dooley didn’t have asthma or allergies; he was dying. How had the mine’s physician missed such a glaringly obvious advanced disease? Henry assured her Doctor Hargus had taken x-rays two months ago, yet the very sick man in the next room had been ill for far longer than sixty days. From the reading she’d done this morning, he would have had Progressive Massive Fibrosis for years.
Standing, hoping for more answers, she picked up her computer, bringing it with her to the sage-green examination room she’d used for the limited testing she was able to do here in the office. “Knock, knock.”
A quiet argument ceased as she opened the door, sending Daisy and Henry a small smile, watching Daisy take her husband’s hand.
“What’s he got, Doc Reagan? What’s wrong with Henry?”
She rolled the stool closer to the couple and sat down, dreading the news she was about to share. Licking her lips, she clasped her hands on top of her laptop. “I did quite a bit of reading last night about some of Henry’s symptoms, the chronic cough and shortness of breath, which led me down a couple of different paths and a starting point for our appointment today. After completing some of the simple tests we did here this afternoon, along with the chest x-rays, I believe Henry has a condition called pneumoconiosis.”
“I never heard of no such thing,” Henry grumbled.
“Perhaps you’ve heard the term ‘black lung disease.’”
Henry rushed to his feet, wheezing. “I ain’t got no black lung.”
Her heart went out to the miserable man as she recognized the fear in his eyes. “Mr. Henry, I’m concerned you do.”
“I won’t be hearin’ none more about this.”
“Henry, sit down,” Daisy demanded, her voice quaking.
“Don’t you be talkin’ to me like that, Daisy. I won’t be havin’ no woman raisin’ her tone to me.”
“Please sit, Henry,” Daisy tried again.
He sat on a huff that turned into a long, nasty coughing spell.
“Mr. Henry.” Reagan handed Daisy a tissue and rubbed the pale woman’s arm as she spoke. “There are two forms of pneumoconiosis—simple and a more serious form known as progressive massive fibrosis. I believe you have progressive massive fibrosis.”
“Dear baby Jesus.” Daisy’s voice broke. “What can we do to fix it?”
“At this time there’s no cure, but we can treat Mr. Henry’s symptoms.”
“Why didn’t Doc Hargus tell us about this? Why’d he say allergies?” Daisy demanded, then blew her nose.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. There may’ve been a mix up with the x-rays, or perhaps Mr. Henry’s got lost. Mr. Henry, you’re sure you had an x-ray in June?”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “I ain’t stupid, girl.”
“Of course you’re not. I’m planning to give Doctor Hargus a call later this afternoon, and I’d like to send you to a specialist in Lexington.”
“That be more’n two hours away,” he barked.
She nodded. “But I think Doctor Jacobson will be a good resource for you and Ms. Daisy. I looked into our options and he seems to be the best. He’s a very well-respected specialist in Kentucky. He has the highest rating out of all of the physicians in the area. He’ll be able to perform the pulmonary fun
ctions tests I’m not equipped to handle here.”
“If you didn’t perform the tests then you ain’t able to say one way or the other.”
“I’m certainly not a pulmonologist, Mr. Henry, and I hope you’ll get a second opinion, but your symptoms and thirty years in the mining profession are pointing me in this direction. Let me show you what I mean.” She rolled closer to the husband and wife and opened her laptop. “This image on the left is Mr. Henry’s lungs. Do you see these large white masses?” She pointed to the cobweb-like scatters. “This is scar tissue making it hard for Mr. Henry to breathe. This picture here on the right is that of another patient with a confirmed case of advanced black lung disease.”
Daisy expelled a long breath. “They look the same.”
Reagan nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“There ain’t never been no one diagnosed in The Gap.” Henry crossed his arms. “Corpus Minin’s got one of the best safety records in the state. Worked for them my whole life. They take care of their men.”
“Again, Mr. Henry, I want you to get the second opinion. I would be happy to call Doctor Jacobson for you and schedule an appointment. In the meantime, I’ll send home a tank of oxygen and a mask that should help with some of the dizziness and confusion, which I believe is due to your low oxygen saturation. You won’t be able to smoke though.”
“Keep your oxygen,” Henry spat. “I need my smokes.”
Her heart went out to the man. First a devastating diagnosis, now the idea of having to give up his cigarettes. “Your symptoms will be easier to manage if you can cut down or quit smoking altogether.”
He shook his head. “Black lung’s a killer. If it’s got me, it’s got me, but I ain’t givin’ up my smokes.”
“Will you go to the appointment in Lexington if I set it up?”
“No, ma’am, I won’t.”
“Yes, he will. He’ll go, Doc Reagan, and we’ll be takin’ the oxygen.”
“Now, Daisy—”
“We’ll be takin’ the appointment and the oxygen.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you the oxygen if Mr. Henry’s going to keep smoking. It’s extremely dangerous.”
