Wes entered the sea turtle room, where several of the green creatures swam along the back wall in the hand-painted ocean mural. He walked over and ran his hand over the child’s brown curls, hoping to coax him to look up. “What’s wrong, little man?” The only response he received was a tiny sob as the child clung closer to his mother, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
“He has a severe stomachache. Poor thing was rolling around on the floor in pain,” the mother answered, her voice remaining pitched high in panic.
“Has he been seen in this office before?”
The mother nodded, setting the large brim of the hat to bouncing up and down. A tangle of dark hair was haphazardly tucked underneath. “His name is Collin Prescott.”
Wes stuck his head out the door and beckoned the nurse to retrieve the child’s file. After washing his hands, he walked back over to the exam table. “Could you please set him down so I can have a look?”
The frantic woman did as he said, but she didn’t move out of his way. “He’s been like this since this morning. I thought . . . I thought it would pass, but it’s only gotten worse. Perhaps I should have gone straight to the emergency room instead of here. . . .” She kept rambling while Wes tried dodging around her.
“Ma’am, if you could step aside.” Wes was using his most soothing voice, but it wasn’t having the desired effect. He had an inclination that the toddler was more upset over his mother’s reaction than the actual bellyache. If she’d move out of his way, he’d be able to prove his theory. Wes gently nudged her aside so he had some access to the boy. Refraining from huffing his frustration, he began the examination by practically reaching over the petite woman’s head and shoulder.
Once the nurse brought in the file and he’d concluded the exam with a round of questions, he was confident the diagnosis was constipation. Clearly the mother didn’t agree. Her face began tingeing a vibrant pink, at least what he could see of it. “Mrs. Prescott, the lighting is dim enough in here that you can safely remove the sunglasses.”
She sucked her teeth. “It’s Sophia. And I’d rather leave them on, thank you very much. But there’s more to this than what you think. My son needs more tests. What about an X-ray or MRI?”
Wes tried explaining it to her again. “He has no fever and—”
“But he’s been clutching his left side!”
He held up a hand. “And that’s a very good sign, considering his appendix is on the right side.”
“Doc Nelson wouldn’t be treating us like this!” she screeched while tugging at the neckline of her black T-shirt as if it were choking her.
It’s exactly what Wes felt like doing to her at the moment.
Clenching his fists and shoving them into the pockets of his lab coat, Wes barely held on to his bedside manners. “Mrs. Prescott, I’ve treated you in a professional—”
“I demand an X-ray!” She stomped her foot, sending the toddler into another round of sobs.
If she cuts me off one more time . . . “You know what? You’re right. Let’s do an X-ray.” Shaking his head, Wes led them to the room in the back, knowing exactly what the film would prove.
Once he’d captured two images, he ushered the mother and child to the waiting area. “I’ll call you back in a bit with the results.”
He left her there and went to apologize to the rash patient who’d been in the coral reef exam room for the better part of the last hour. There goes my plan for staying on schedule . . .
As he finished up with three other patients, trying to settle down the agitated mothers who had been impatiently waiting, Wes studied the films of Collin’s abdomen and found exactly what he knew would be there. He left his office and turned on the X-ray light box at the back of the reception area. It needed to be relocated now that the waiting area had a clear view of it. Somehow they’d overlooked that in the remodel.
“Mrs. Prescott?” he called and waved her over.
She held the boy close and hurried toward him. “Please call me Sophia. What did you find?” Maybe she’d run out of steam while waiting, but she was no longer screeching. Wes was surprised her natural voice was quite husky for such a small woman.
Wes pointed to the bowels. “Do you see the thick white areas here?”
The woman slid the giant sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and peered at the film. She gasped and sent the shades back up. “Yes! See? I told you!”
“Ma’am, that white area is fecal matter. Your son is constipated.” Wes tried to say it low enough just for the mother to hear, but from the snickers coming from the waiting area, he’d failed.
“What?” Her face turned bright red, indicating she had heard him right.
“Collin needs to poop.” He handed over a list of recommended enema brands and several pamphlets on proper nutrition. “Might I suggest you work on a healthier diet for this little guy? Lots of water, high fiber, and stay away from processed foods. That will help to prevent this from happening again.”
“But . . .” She seemed to snap out of her embarrassment and head right back into indignation. “Are you calling me a bad mother?”
“Ma’am, you need to lower your voice. I won’t allow you to make a scene.”
“So I’m supposed to stand here while you tell me I’m a bad mother?” She jabbed a finger toward him, halting just before stabbing him in the chest. “You have another think coming, sir.”
Wes couldn’t suppress the sigh any longer. “What is a typical meal for Collin?” When she didn’t answer right away, he plowed on. “Tell me what he had at mealtimes yesterday.”
“A donut, a Happy Meal, and . . . another Happy Meal.” Sophia cast her face to the ground. Good, he’d hoped she’d humble herself.
“So no fruits and vegetables. Just plain garbage.” Maybe he should have kept the last part to himself, but the woman had worn down his patience until there was hardly any left. Besides, she was the one to blame for her son’s condition in the first place.
“He’s been through a lot lately. . . . I just . . .” She sniffed, but it didn’t soften Wes, not one bit.
“That’s no excuse. And to be honest, it’s irresponsible to teach your child that when life gets difficult, it’s okay to neglect his health in this manner.” He began to walk away, knowing he’d already said more than enough, but the urge to throw one last jab over his shoulder won out. “It would probably be a great time to try out potty training, because it will be more than a diaperful once the medicine is administered.” He held the X-ray slide up to drive home his point.
The child was almost three and the mother had admitted during the exam she wasn’t even trying to potty train him yet. Wes shook his head and tried to tamp down his building anger. It was imperative for him to keep his personal feelings out of the office, but he was already failing in just the first week.
“How dare you talk to me like that! You can consider this the last time you see my son! We won’t be back!”
Good riddance, he thought but remained silent and slipped into his office to get away from the ruined day. All because some self-righteous priss thought she could storm into his office like she owned the place.