The Healing Touch (Stories from hope haven)

by Hanson

  “Let's hope so,” Candace said.

  “Let's pray we’ll never have to use his plan, whether the board approves it or not.”

  People were still milling around in the community health room, and Maxine was talking to Penny at one end of the table. Neither of them looked happy.

  “Thank you all for coming,” the county nurse said after a few minutes. “I’ll start by passing on some good news. No doubt most of you have heard something about an obstetrics patient admitted with flu symptoms. She does indeed have flu, but only the seasonal strain. She was sent home as soon as the report came back from the state lab.”

  Candace raised her hand, and Maxine recognized her with a nod.

  “What will happen if she goes into labor before she gets a clean bill of health on the flu virus?”

  “I think James is best qualified to answer that question,” Maxine said. “His group has been working hard on an overall plan.”

  “Naturally we’re hoping that baby will be a real slowpoke,” James said, “but preparedness is all about planning for the worst scenario. If all we have to worry about is one sick OB patient, we can isolate her in the General Medicine Unit.”

  Dr. Weller nodded agreement, and James asked whether he would like to comment.

  “No, you’re doing fine,” the good-natured young doctor said.

  “The first thing we would have to do is cancel all optional surgery. Intensive Care, Birthing, and Cardiac Care Units would continue to receive patients under strict admission procedures.”

  Elena listened avidly, agreeing with almost everything he said, but she had a hard time seeing the cafeteria as an emergency ward.

  “People will still need to eat,” she said when James acknowledged her.

  “Of course, but it's possible to isolate the kitchen from the dining area and send out food through the back entrance. Remember, this is a plan for extreme emergencies. None of us expects an epidemic that serious.”

  “We can save valuable time if we plan for the worst possible situation,” Dr. Weller said in support of James.

  Elena knew James well, and his serious demeanor was more alarming than any of his preparations. Major disasters were events on the television. She had a hard time imagining Deerford in a crisis situation, but there was comfort in knowing they had a plan.

  The senior physician, Dr. Hamilton, was the next to voice his concerns.

  “Here's the situation, folks,” he said in an uncharacteristically grim tone. “Hope Haven now has control of all available vaccine in the county. We’ve decided to administer it only on the recommendations of physicians. They’re in the best position to target high-risk patients. In an epidemic, we’ll probably be besieged with requests, but we’ll be much too busy to screen them.”

  The group around the table murmured approval, but Dr. Hamilton had more to say.

  “That means you’ll need to go through your personal physicians if family members haven't received shots yet,” he warned.

  No doubt that will cause some distress, Elena thought, as she pictured Rafael and his nonchalant attitude about getting a shot. There was nothing she could do for him now.

  Maxine called on her last to update the task force on communications.

  “Mrs. Newman is sending out e-mail notices to all area physicians updating them on the situation,” Elena began.

  “Don't you think they should be sent daily?” Penny asked, breaking what was for her a long silence.

  “No,” Elena said, steeling herself for controversy. “If we send announcements too frequently, they won't be taken seriously. It was decided to keep them short.”

  “Good,” Dr. Hamilton said. “Keep them under a paragraph. Wordy alerts sent too often will only desensitize people. Anything that comes from the county health office should be brief and concise.”

  Elena appreciated support from the senior physician, but she wasn't through with her report; the skeptical look on Penny's face suggested that she wasn't through interrupting.

  “We’ve arranged for articles in the local paper and the staff newsletter outlining the situation and what we’re doing about it,” Elena continued.

  “You know what will happen as soon as the press gets onto this,” Penny said in an ominous voice. “The hospital will be besieged with people who think they have it.”

  “They’ll be coming in through Emergency,” Dr. Weller said. “We’re setting up a process to examine and treat an influx of the worried well. Most will only need reassurance, I hope. If things get too hectic, we have a retired doctor and several retired nurses who are willing to help out.”

  Elena finished her report with her head reeling from all the complications of handling a real epidemic.

  She drove home trying to focus on what she would make for dinner, but the possibility of an epidemic was too upsetting to push it out of her mind. Even though it was still cold and overcast, March could be a pleasant month in Deerford with the promise of spring ahead. She loved it when the trees first budded and warm breezes called people outside. She never thought of it as a time when the flu was likely to hit.

  She went into the kitchen and was surprised by a spicy aroma. The Crock-Pot was sitting out on the counter, and she went over to peek through the glass cover without lifting it.

  “Surprise!”

  Cesar, Rafael, and Izzy popped into the kitchen as though they’d been waiting for her.

  “Your mother sent chili home from her restaurant with Rafael,” her husband explained. “He told her how much time you were putting into the task force, and your nice mother wanted you to have a good dinner without having to cook.”

  “That's lovely,” Elena said. “I’ll call and thank her.”

  “After dinner is soon enough,” Rafael said.

  “I have another surprise for you!” Izzy said, practically dancing with excitement as she held both arms behind her back.

  “Show her,” Rafael urged.

  Izzy grinned and shoved a folded piece of white paper in her direction.

  “This is for me? Let me guess. Did someone special make a picture for me?”

  “Open it!” Izzy insisted.

  “Oh my!”

  Elena grinned broadly as she saw what Izzy had drawn. There were four people dressed in capes and colorful outfits. It wasn't hard to tell that the biggest figure was her, with long brown hair and a red and blue costume that looked like a ballerina's. James was easy to identify, even in purple tights and a black mask. Anabelle had white hair and fire seemed to be coming from her fingers. The fourth person had to be Candace, even though Izzy had made her hair bright red instead of wavy brown with copper highlights. She was wearing blue tights and an orange top with green stripes.

  “See, I put an S on your shirt because you’re a super nurse and a super grandmother,” Izzy pointed out.

  “And a super mama,” her son added.

  “Not to mention a super wife,” Cesar said, beaming at her.

  “This is so lovely,” Elena said, just barely holding back tears of happiness.

  “It's the fabulous four,” Rafael said. “Whenever Hope Haven is in trouble, you, James, Candace, and Mrs. Scott come to the rescue.”

  Elena laughed. “This is just…excelente!” Elena went to the fridge and affixed the picture with a magnet. “It's not just us, though. Everyone at the hospital does their best.”

  “Not like the fabulous four,” her husband said, giving her a big hug.

  Rafael and Izzy joined them for a group hug. She couldn't think of a better end for a hectic day.

  Chapter Nine

  ANABELLE HURRIED HOME AFTER THE TASK FORCE meeting. It was past their usual dinnertime, and she wondered whether Cameron had eaten without her as she’d suggested. She was famished, but there was no reason for him to wait if he was hungry.

  The meeting had gone well. Everyone seemed more than willing to let local physicians screen their patients to determine who most needed the limited amount of vaccine. Unfortunately,
her responsibilities didn't end there. The committee still had to set up a system for administering and recording the shots. Dr. Hamilton wanted statistics to use in case of an epidemic. He wanted to know how effective the protective measures were. She’d known him for many years and respected his cautious approach, but it would require extra hours of work to implement.

  Sarge met her at the door, tongue lolling and tail wagging, but his lessons at the obedience school kept him from jumping up on her, something she appreciated because he’d ruined more than one pair of hose before his schooling.

  “Well, you put in a long day,” her husband said as he came into the mudroom. “You must be tired.”

  “You could say that,” she said with a halfhearted smile. “But the task force is working hard. Everyone is taking the possibility of an epidemic very seriously. Even if we don't see a single case of the dangerous flu, we’ll be better prepared for any kind of disaster.”

  “That's good,” he said, “even though I hate to see you putting in such long hours. Anyway, I have dinner ready. I made soup because it's easy to keep warm. I had no idea when you’d get here.”

  She followed him into the kitchen, and Cam lifted the lid on a big pot sitting on the stove.

  “I used my mother's recipe for bean soup. Made the whole thing from scratch just the way she used to.”

  Anabelle remembered eating her mother-in-law's soup when they were still newlyweds. His mother was a wonderful cook, but she was heavy-handed with fat and salt, two things that Cam especially needed to avoid.

  He’d set the table with a pale blue linen cloth she usually reserved for special meals. While she watched, he lit two white tapered candles that he’d set on either side of a bouquet of flowers.

  “Goodness, what's the occasion?” she asked.

  “Don't you remember? March 7 was our first date. What better excuse for a special dinner together?”

  “I didn't know you were so romantic,” she said, genuinely touched because Cam had remembered that long-ago day. “We double-dated with your friend Barney. I can't remember the girl he was with.”

  “Neither can I, but I only had eyes for you.”

  “Time went so fast. It's hard to believe that we’re grandparents now.”

  “The best is still to come,” he said smiling. “Now why don't you freshen up while I bake the bread sticks? They only take thirteen minutes.”

  To get into the spirit of the evening, Anabelle quickly changed into a long burgundy velvet housecoat that was pretty enough to be an evening gown. Cameron had given it to her two years ago at Christmas, and she hadn't worn it nearly enough. She fluffed her short silvery hair and put on a favorite shade of lipstick and a spray of cologne. Some of her tiredness passed away as she went to join her husband for the special meal he’d prepared.

  He served an appetizer course, cheese sticks breaded and deep fat fried. They came ready-made from the freezer section of the grocery store, and Anabelle enjoyed one while Cam ate a half dozen or so.

  When it came time to serve the soup, he brought the pot to the table and ladled large portions into their bowls. He returned the remainder to the stove to keep warm in case they wanted seconds and brought in a platter of bread sticks swimming in garlic butter.

  “I started the soup this morning, but I put the beans to soak after you went to bed last night,” Cameron proudly said. “The hard part was getting a big ham bone with lots of meat on it. What do you think?”

  Anabelle took one sip and then another, followed by a big gulp of water. The soup was just like his mother's: unpleasantly salty with fatty bits of ham and bacon in every bite. She broke off a piece of bread stick and put it in her mouth to avoid answering. It tasted delicious, but he’d obviously made his own garlic butter using the real thing.

  “It is just like your mother's,” she said.

  After a few more spoons of soup, she knew that she wasn't going to be able to finish her portion. She drained the glass of water and watched in consternation as Cam finished his serving and went to the kitchen for seconds.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, noticing her uneaten portion when he returned to the table.

  She didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she was too worried about his high blood pressure to keep silent.

  “It's pretty salty,” she commented mildly.

  “I followed Mom's recipe exactly,” he said a bit defensively.

  “Yes, but…honey, that's the problem. The recipe calls for way too much salt.”

  “I like it this way.” His good mood was dissolving.

  “I know, but food this salty is the last thing you should be eating. Diet is an important part of controlling your blood pressure. That includes regulating your salt intake.”

  “I didn't think it would hurt, just this once. I wanted to make a good old-fashioned soup for a special dinner.”

  “I appreciate it. I really do, but I’m concerned about you. We both have to rethink the way we cook and eat.”

  “So I should feed the rest to Sarge?” he asked in a flippant tone.

  “Dear, no. We agreed not to feed him table scraps.”

  “My soup isn't even fit for the dog,” he said morosely.

  “You did a great job following your mother's recipe. It's just not a dish that belongs in your diet.”

  “Next you’ll tell me that the banana cream pudding I made for dessert isn't good for me either.”

  “Your mother's recipe?” Anabelle remembered that she always used ingredients like cream, butter, and lard in her desserts.

  “Afraid so.”

  “We still have half a carton of strawberries in the fridge. I’ll slice them, and you can have fresh fruit with a dollop of pudding on top. What could be a nicer treat than fresh berries in March? I still can't get used to seeing them in the market all winter. When we were young, we had to wait until summer.”

  Cam grudgingly ate a bowl of strawberries with a tablespoon of pudding, but Anabelle knew she’d hurt his feelings. Later she would put the leftovers in the freezer in small packets so he didn't feel his efforts were completely unappreciated. When her husband had gone upstairs to get ready for bed, she found the material that the doctor had sent home with him. The list of dos and don’ts wasn't complicated. In fact, it recommended a moderate amount of exercise, weight control, and the kind of diet that would benefit anyone. He still got a fair amount of exercise. The hard part would be convincing Cameron that he could no longer eat anything he liked.

  It was unfortunate that this had happened just when he was taking an interest in cooking. Maybe she would have to go back to preparing all the meals herself, but she hated to deprive him of a new hobby when he most needed one.

  Cameron got up when she did the next morning and joined her in the kitchen wearing his comfortable plaid robe. He didn't make coffee or offer to fix breakfast for her, although it had become part of his routine to do so in recent months. Anabelle knew why. He was still cross because she hadn't liked his soup.

  She could lecture him about the need to cut down on salt when his blood pressure was high, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. His feelings were hurt over the soup, especially since he’d gone out of his way to make it for a special meal.

  Her husband was a smart man, but he had a blind spot when it came to eating. His whole life he’d been so active that he could pretty much eat anything he wanted. Now that he was retired and had high blood pressure, things had to change.

  “I suppose you want to make dinner,” he said glumly.

  “Why don't I stop at the store on the way home and get some nice chicken breasts? You always like them.”

  “Whatever,” he said, using her least favorite word.

  “I’ll get some sweet potatoes too. You love them mashed.”

  “Seasoned with kosher salt and swimming in butter.”

  If she didn't know him so well, Anabelle might accuse him of being sarcastic. “You’d be surprised how good food tastes without a lot of seasoning, not
that there aren't plenty of ways to make things delicious without salt and a lot of fat.”

  She checked herself. His face became blank when she started talking about alternative ways of cooking, and she knew nothing was sinking in.

  “Fix whatever you like,” he said with a shrug.

  Anabelle's day didn't improve when she got to work. Becky, one of her nurses, had called in sick. She had no reason to believe the usually conscientious RN wasn't home ill; but as nurse supervisor of Cardiac Care and a member of the task force, she needed to know exactly what was wrong with her. If she had flu symptoms, it would raise a warning flag over the whole unit.

  She called Becky's home three times before nine o’clock and got an answering machine each time. Perhaps she’d gone back to bed and hadn't wanted to be disturbed, but that didn't put Anabelle's mind at ease. After a fourth call went unanswered, she remembered that Becky's husband managed the produce department at the local supermarket. With fears of an epidemic hanging over the hospital, she felt justified in calling him at work to check on his wife's symptoms.

  “Dirk,” she said when she was transferred to his department, “This is Anabelle Scott at Hope Haven. I don't know whether Becky has talked to you about the possibility of a flu epidemic, but it has us all a bit edgy. Becky isn't answering her phone, so I wonder if you could tell me what her symptoms are.”

  “Her symptoms?” He sounded a bit dumbfounded.

  “How did she seem this morning? Headache, fever, upset stomach?”

  “She seemed fine to me, but I left for work before she was up. Isn't she at work?”

  “No, she called in sick.”

  “Well, I don't understand that. She's been in a chipper mood lately.”

  “Maybe it's just a misunderstanding,” Anabelle said, although she very much doubted that.

  Becky was a reliable nurse who rarely took time off for any reason. If she had needed to do something, she could have requested a personal day without offering any explanation. Instead she’d called in sick. It didn't make sense, and Anabelle didn't like it. Her nurses dealt with life-and-death situations every day. She needed to be able to trust them without reservations.