Hot Docs On Call: His Christmas Wish. Susan Carlisle

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      McKenzie looked over Edith’s test results while she waited for Lance to come to her office. Her hemoglobin and hematocrit were both decreased but not urgently so. Her abdominal and pelvic computerized tomography scan didn’t show any evidence of a perforated bowel or a cancerous mass, although certainly there was evidence of Edith’s constipation.

      Had the woman really spit up blood? If she had, where had the blood come from? Had she just coughed too hard and had a minor bleed in her bronchus? It wasn’t likely, especially as Edith had said it hadn’t been like throwing up.

      McKenzie had ordered the gastroenterology consult. She suspected Edith would be undergoing an endoscopy to evaluate her esophagus and stomach soon. Then again, it was possible the specialist might deem that, due to her age, she wasn’t a good candidate for the procedure.

      “You look mind-boggled,” Lance said, knocking on her open office door before coming into the room. “Thinking about how much fun you’re going to have with me tonight?”

      “Not that much fun,” she assured him, refusing to pander to his ego any more than she must have done earlier. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on with a patient.”

      “Want to talk about it?”

      “Not really.” At his look of disappointment, she relented. “One of my regulars came in today with a history of abdominal pain, constipation, and spitting up blood that she described as not a real throw-up, but spitting up.”

      “Anemic?”

      “Slightly, but not enough to indicate a major bleed. She always runs borderline low, but her numbers have definitely dipped a little. I’m rechecking labs in the morning.”

      “Have you consulted a gastroenterologist or general surgeon?”

      “The first.”

      “Any other symptoms?”

      “If you named it, Edith would say she had it.”

      “Edith Winters?”

      Her gaze met his in surprise. “You know her?”

      “Sure. I used to see her quite a bit. She’s a sweet lady.”

      “She has me a bit worried. It’s probably nothing. Maybe she drank grape juice with breakfast and that’s what she saw when she spat up. I don’t know. I just feel as if I’m missing something.”

      “You want me to have a look at her for a second opinion?”

      “Would you mind?”

      “I wouldn’t have offered if I minded. I’ll be at the hospital with you anyway.”

      “Good point.” She got her purse from a desk drawer, then stood. “You ready to go so we can get this over with?”

      “‘This’ as in the hospital or the night in general?”

      She met his gaze, lifted one shoulder in a semishrug. “We’ll see. Oh, and if you think you’re going to get away with just feeding me frozen yogurt, you’re wrong. I’m not one of those ‘forever dieting and watching her carbs’ chicks you normally date who doesn’t eat. I expect real food before frozen yogurt.”