and is showing his dedication by volunteering his time for as long as it takes to see all the patients who’ve come to the clinic. I like him even more than I did this morning, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible.
“I should get back to it. People are lined up outside, and it’s broiling out there.”
“Thanks for taking the time, Dr. Northrup. We wish you well in Miami.”
“Thank you.” He gets up, removes the mike and hands it to the cameraman. “Appreciate the opportunity,” he says as he shakes Desiree’s hand.
“Good luck with the board.”
“Thanks.”
“This’ll run tonight at eleven and possibly again tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” He squeezes my arm as he leaves the room to get back to work.
“Yum,” Desiree says to me in a low, suggestive tone. “What a nice guy.”
I bite back a stinging—and extremely unprofessional—retort. “Yes, he is. Thank you again for doing this.”
“Definitely a pleasure. I hope the yummy doctor will be sticking around in Miami.” She hands me her card. “Pass that along to him, if you would.”
I take the card because there’s no way not to without being rude. “Um, sure.”
Desiree and her crew depart a few minutes later.
“How’d it go?” Maria asks as she pours water from a gallon jug into paper cups.
“Good, I think.”
“I want to get some water to the people waiting outside. Some of them are wilting in the heat.”
“Let me help.”
We tuck more release forms under our arms and take trays of water cups outside into the damp, sweltering heat. At the end of the line, I encounter a young woman holding a boy of about four or five. He’s draped over her and sound asleep. Sweat rolls down the woman’s face as she struggles to maintain her hold on the child.
“Maria.” I draw her attention to the woman.
Maria talks to her in Spanish and then leads her inside where window units help to cool the waiting room. The woman weeps with relief as she takes a seat and resettles her son. I overhear her telling Maria that he’s had a severe headache for days and suddenly stopped talking. When he woke up this morning, he couldn’t walk. She was afraid to call for rescue because she doesn’t have insurance.
Maria hands her the necessary paperwork on a clipboard.
The woman shifts her child in her arms so she can complete the forms.
I sense Maria’s alarm as she strides purposefully to the room where Jason is working, knocks on the door and asks him to see the boy next. I hear her use the word urgent.
Jason finishes with his patient and comes out to the waiting room, where I get to see him in action as he quickly evaluates the boy. Turning to Maria, he says, “Call for rescue.”
While Maria hurries off, the young mother breaks down. “What’s wrong with him?” she asks in halting English.
“I can’t be sure until we get a full workup, and I don’t want to speculate, but we need to get him to a hospital right away.”
“I can’t afford that!”
Jason puts his hand on the young woman’s shoulder and looks her in the eyes. “I’ll help you figure something out. The most important thing right now is getting your son somewhere that has the equipment to fully evaluate him. I can’t do that here.”
The child’s mother, Sofia, weeps helplessly but nods in agreement.
I can tell that Jason is relieved that she’s going to allow him to transport the child.
Paramedics arrive a few minutes later, and Jason directs them to take the boy to Miami-Dade. Before he follows them to the ambulance, he hands me the keys to Priscilla. Smiling, he says, “Don’t get arrested.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I can. Tell everyone I’ll be back tomorrow.” He runs outside and jumps into the back of the ambulance.
I have so many questions. He’s instructed the paramedics to take the child to Miami-Dade, and he’s going with him even though he doesn’t have privileges there. What’s his plan?
Maria tells the patients waiting for Jason that he had an emergency and they should come back tomorrow. She hands out numbers on yellow sticky notes to preserve their places in line. Despite having waited, in some cases, for hours in the heat, they’re mostly good-natured about not getting to see him today.
“I handed out sixty-three numbers,” she says when she comes back inside, wiping sweat from her face. “He’s a godsend.”
“He’s enjoying it. He said he doesn’t get to do a lot of basic patient care.