Fated Love Read Online Free

abdominal pain.
    That sounds like something I can handle.
    Twenty-five minutes later, Quinn found Linda recording the vital signs on an elderly woman whose chief complaint was low back pain present for five years. As was so often the case in inner-city hospitals, the emergency room frequently served as a primary care clinic for neighborhood people who either had no health insurance or were without a family doctor.
    Linda looked up at Quinn and smiled. "How's it going?"
    "Okay. Thanks. Uh...how do I get a pediatric surgeon?"
    Linda patted the elderly woman's arm. "Somebody will be by to see you in just a few minutes, okay?" Then she motioned for Quinn to follow her back to the nurses' station. Once there, she pointed to a series of lists that were tacked to a corkboard behind the counter. "Here you go—these are the names and beeper numbers for the on-call docs in the various specialties this month. Some change every day, some every week, and some cover for the entire month. What do you have?"
    "Acute appendix."
    "The nine-year-old with the bellyache?"
    "Yep. Peri-umbilical pain localizing to the right lower quadrant, elevated white count, low-grade temp, and guarding on physical exam."
    "That was a fast diagnosis."
    Quinn shrugged. "Like I said. Classic."
    "Does it bother you, that you won't be the one operating on her?" Linda still couldn't figure out why someone who could do what she had seen Quinn Maguire do that morning would want to give that up. And her motto had always been "If you want to know something, ask."
    Quinn absently rubbed an annoying itch on the left side of her chest above her shirt pocket, her expression remote as she thought about how much fun it was to do an appendectomy. "Yeah. It does." She blinked and dropped her hand, suddenly self-conscious, and studied the posted lists. "So it's...Baker, right?"
    "Yes. I'll page him for you and give you a call when he answers. Or, if you want, I can just read him the vital statistics and tell him what you think."
    "Sure, do that. If he has any questions, just come find me. And thanks." Quinn was about to reach for the next chart when she turned back and held out her hand. "By the way, I'm Quinn Maguire."
    "Linda O'Malley."
    Quinn nodded in acknowledgment of the greeting and pulled the next chart from the rack. She winced when she read the presenting problem: headache. She contemplated sliding it back and looking for something a little more exciting, and then she remembered the first come, first served rule. I
can probably manage to figure this out.
    With a sigh, she tucked the chart under her arm and headed off to cubicle eight.
    At 6:45 that evening, Honor finished signing off on her last chart and glanced around the emergency room. There were three new patients waiting to be seen, none of whom had a critical problem. Two patients were waiting for beds to become available upstairs and would be admitted as soon as their rooms were ready. Four were in the process of being evaluated with x-rays and laboratory tests, but they would be nearly ready for discharge when the new shift came on duty. All in all, her ship was tidy. Except for the fact that Quinn Maguire was leaning against the wall outside one of the patient cubicles, staring at her PDA with a frown on her face. With a tired sigh, Honor got up and walked over to her.
    "Problem?"
    Quinn looked up, surprised. "No, not really. I can just never remember the dosage of Augmentin in kids."
    "Sore throat?"
    "Earache."
    "Ah." Honor told her the dosage of the antibiotic. "That's one you'll be getting very familial' with very quickly around here."
    "I'm sure." Quinn rubbed her forehead, suddenly realizing that she was beat. She'd been on her feet the entire day, which in the past hadn't been all that unusual. Nevertheless, it was a different kind of work than she was used to doing in the intensely focused operating room, and it had been quite a while since she'd worked a full shift. And even more than that, she wasn't