Full Rigged (Lost Creek Rodeo #4) - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,11

not tell her that obsessing over her possible health conditions was a sign of other issues entirely? Why not tell her she did not have time to discuss everything and to pick two things?

It would have let Brynn get caught up. It would have kept her stress from getting this high. It would have spared her ears and her mind.

But she hadn’t. She’d let Mrs. Pike talk. Pretended she had all the time in the world.

Because patient care was ingrained in her, and it wasn’t Mrs. Pike’s fault Brynn’s schedule was overcrowded.

It was a miracle she hadn’t actually yelled at the woman.

“Dr. Kershaw, there’s a call for you from Radiology.”

Brynn blinked, trying to focus. “Is it urgent?” she asked whoever had told her. “I’ve got patients.”

“I’ll check and get a number for you to call back.”

“Thank you.”

“Dr. Kershaw, can you sign this please?” One of the receptionists stepped forward, a medication refill request in hand.

Brynn glossed over it, forcing herself to see and comprehend. “That’s just a request for a ninety-day supply. That’s fine.” She signed it quickly, nodding at the woman.

“Dr. Kershaw?”

Would they not shut up? Could they not see that she was working? Why couldn’t they just wait until she was done with patients?

“Yes?” she asked, her tone clipped, but not angry, thank goodness.

“Mrs. Tyler wanted you to know the dose pack didn’t work.”

“Refer to orthopedics,” Brynn whispered. She swallowed hard. “I’ll . . . put the referral in at lunch.”

“I’ll tell her, thank you.”

Brynn nodded, a faint humming starting in her ears.

Everyone needed to shut up. Stop talking to her. Stop saying her name.

“Dr. Kershaw.”

“Dr. Kershaw?”

“Hey, Dr. Kershaw . . .”

The words on the chart before her trembled in her hands as she tried to prepare, tried to gather herself.

Discussion of lab results. She’d already decided on a course here. Samples.

Great.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

She knocked on the door in front of her before she could stop herself. “Hi, Mr. Walsh. Let’s talk about these labs.” She sat on the stool in the room, took one look at the man, then stood up and turned to the computer, his expression telling her he had a lot on his mind.

She could not do that. She had six more patients to get through, which meant she wouldn’t get a lunch, which meant she would be starving before she hit two in the afternoon, and everything was worse when she was hungry . . .

“Your numbers are better than I thought,” Brynn announced, glancing over her shoulder at Mr. Walsh with a forced smile as she pulled the data up on the screen. “Not as good as we’d like, but not as bad as we thought. There’s a sample of a medication I’d like you to try, and it’ll help to keep . . .”

“I’ll take whatever you say, Doc,” Mr. Walsh interrupted, as though it was helpful. “I can’t keep track of them all anyway, but I take ’em every day.”

Brynn had started to nod, the irritation of being interrupted making her bristle, when his words processed. “Every day?” she repeated.

Mr. Walsh nodded. “Every day, Doc. Every one of ’em.”

She turned back to the computer, clicking through a few screens, then biting back a sigh as she looked back at him. “Mr. Walsh. Last month, we discussed that new medication for your rheumatoid arthritis. I told you it only needs to be taken on Monday mornings. One pill on Monday mornings. Do you remember that?”

“I sure do!” He nodded proudly, swinging his legs a little, almost like a child. “You said once a week, and the bottle says to take it on Monday mornings.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing?” Brynn asked.

As she feared, Mr. Walsh shook his head. “No, ma’am. I figured if once a week was good, every day was even better. Once the headaches went away, I felt good as new.”

Brynn pressed her teeth together, her jaw aching from the pressure she was applying. “Unfortunately, Mr. Walsh, that is not how this works. I’m going to have to cut this appointment short now so you can go get new labs drawn. Don’t take that medication again until you hear from my office.”

“Which pills are those?” he asked, his feet pausing in their swinging. “The yellow ones?”

Her teeth clicked as they slid against each other in their grinding, and she pressed her thumbnail into the skin of her middle finger until the sharp pain was almost unbearable. “As your pharmacist will have told you,” she said slowly, “the size,