Wyoming Bold

“Old home remedy for asthma attacks and headaches. You know, most of the over-the-counter medicines for headaches contain caffeine.”

Clara laughed. “I’ve learned something. I know herbs, but I’d never thought about coffee as a drug. I’ll make the coffee right now.”

“I love coffee,” Merissa whispered. “I couldn’t face breakfast this morning, so I missed my first cup of the day.”

“We’ll get you better. Don’t worry.”

She swallowed. The pain was intense. “This is really nice of you. The doctor, I mean.”

“He’s a good friend.”

She peered at him from under the washcloth. “You’re good with sick people.”

He shrugged. “I thought about being a doctor myself, at one time. But I have a hard time sticking to things. Maybe a touch of adult ADD.” He chuckled, alluding to Attention Deficit Disorder.

She smiled. “Well, thanks.”

He smiled back and tucked the washcloth over her eyes. “I imagine the light is uncomfortable, even with the curtains closed. Mallory has to have a dark room and no noise when he gets these headaches.”

There were sounds in the kitchen and the delicious smell of brewing coffee. A couple of minutes later, Clara walked in carrying two cups. She handed one to her daughter, and the other to Tank. His contained just cream, no sugar.

He gaped at her. “How did you know how I drink my coffee?”

She shrugged and sighed.

He laughed. “Well, thanks. It’s just right.”

She smiled.

* * *

THE DOCTOR, JOHN Harrison, was tall, with gray hair and light blue eyes. He smiled as Clara escorted him into the bedroom, where Tank was sitting beside Merissa on the bed.

Tank got to his feet and the men shook hands.

John opened his bag, got out his stethoscope, and sat down beside the pale woman.

“Dr. Harrison, thank you so much for coming,” Merissa said in a weak voice.

“This is how things used to be done, in the old days when I got out of medical school,” he said. “I can’t tell you how many elderly people who could barely walk almost cheered when I showed up at their doors. Now that I’m old, I understand. It’s hard on the joints to sit for an hour or two waiting to see the doctor.”

He listened to her chest, checked her vital signs and then looped the stethoscope around his neck. He had her do some very simple exercises and he checked her pupils.

“I haven’t had a stroke,” she teased.

His eyebrows shot up. “How did you know I thought that?”

“I don’t know.” She flushed. “These things just slip out.” She sighed. “My life would be so much easier if I were normal.”

He laughed softly, pulled out a small bottle and unwrapped a syringe. He attached the needle, inserted it into the bottle, pushed out air, filled it to a notch and put the bottle down.

“This may sting a bit.” He used an alcohol wipe on her arm before he slid the needle in gently. A few seconds later, he withdrew it. She hadn’t even flinched.

“Didn’t sting at all. I feel horrible.”

“Do you get the aura?” he asked.

“Yes. Usually I just go blind in one eye, with static like you see on a television screen when there’s no channel coming up. But this time there were brightly colored lights.”

He nodded. “Do you have a family physician?”

“We went to Dr. Brady, but he moved to Montana,” she said softly. “We go to clinics now.”

“You can consider me your family physician, if you like,” he offered. “And I do make house calls.”

“That would be so kind of you,” she said, with heartfelt gratitude. “You see, we frighten most people, Mama and I.”

“I’m not frightened of you. I’m intrigued. That injection will make you sleep. When you wake up, the headache should be gone. But if the headache worsens or you have new symptoms, you must call me.”

“I will,” she promised.

“And I think you should have a CT scan. Just to rule out anything dangerous.”

“I hate tests,” she groaned. “But I’ve had them already. The neurologist didn’t find anything like a tumor in the scans. He said it’s migraine without a specific cause.”

“Do you mind if I contact him?” he asked. “I know we’ve only just met...”

She smiled. “I don’t mind at all.” It was very nice having a doctor who didn’t feel that she and Clara were “peculiar.” “I’ll write his number down for you.” She did, on a piece of paper, and handed it to him. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

He patted her on the shoulder. “When you’re better, I’d like to talk to you about this gift of yours. When I was in college, I did several courses of anthropology. I still audit courses on the internet, to keep up with what’s going on in the field. Every community since recorded history has had people with unusual gifts.”

“Really?” she asked.

He nodded. “As for psychic gifts, the government once had an entire unit of what were called ‘remote viewers.’ They were used to spy on other countries. Quite successfully at times,” he explained.

“I’d like to hear more about that,” she said, becoming drowsy.

“All in good time. If your headache isn’t better when you wake up, call me.” He pulled out a business card and put it on her bedside table. “My cell phone number is on there. Use it. I never answer the landline phone if I can help it. Only a handful of people know the other.”

“That’s so kind of you.”

He shrugged. “I loved medicine. I still do. I just hate all the nitpicky rules that have reduced it to red tape with pharmaceuticals mixed in.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

He left the room, pausing to speak to Clara. Tank smoothed back Merissa’s soft hair. “I’ll talk to you again, when you’re not in such bad shape,” he said with a gentle smile. “I hope you get better very soon.”