Page 11 of Sinner's Storm

“Ma’am.” Another nurse rushed over to me. “Please. A doctor will see you soon.”

“That’s what the other nurse said five hours ago.”

“I’m sorry, but we have other patients that are in worse condition than your daughter having the flu.”

“It’s not the fucking flu!” I screamed, making the nurse jump. Logically, I knew she was only doing her job and didn’t deserve me screaming at her, but no one gave a damn about my daughter. She was sick, and all everyone did was prescribe antibiotics and send us on our way. I was fucking done with this shit.

“What is going on here?” A young doctor, probably right out of medical school, walked over, frowning as he reached for my daughter’s chart.

“We’ve been here for five hours. My daughter’s sick, and no one seems to care.”

The young doctor nodded, flipping through the so pages quickly I knew there was no fucking way he read anything, because when he looked up and asked to see Hailey, I growled, “Her name is Harlow.”

“Sorry,” the guy said, walking past me. “Hello, Harlow. I’m Doctor Jenkins. I hear you have an upset tummy.”

My daughter moaned, turning away from him and climbing into my arms.

“And how is mommy feeling?” the doc asked, looking directly at me while I tried to calm my daughter down.

“I’m tired. What do you think? My daughter is sick, and no one can figure out what’s wrong with her.”

The doctor nodded, writing something in her chart, before saying, “I see there is no father listed. Is it just you and Harlow?

“Yes.”

“I also see that Harlow has been in and out of the emergency room since she was born.”

“That’s right. She started getting sick at two months old. No one can figure out what’s wrong with her.”

“And what about you? Do you have any help with Harlow?”

“No, it’s just me.”

“I see,” the guy muttered, writing something else down.

“No, I don’t think you do. From the moment my daughter was born, she’s been sick, and every time I bring her into the emergency room, you assholes brush it off, saying she’s got the flu. You prescribe her antibiotics and send us home and tell me to follow up with her pediatrician. None of you do a damn thing. I’m tired of it. You are supposed to be professionals. You took a fucking oath to do no harm, but that’s what you are doing every time you send her home. She’s not getting any better. Do your damn job!”

“What the hell is going on in here?” Another doctor walked over. Older and stern, the man looked at the young doctor for answers.

“It’s nothing, Dr. Lansing. I was just about to send the mother home with antibiotics for her sick daughter. The kid clearly has the flu. That’s all.”

“You haven’t even examined her!”

“Ma’am.” Dr. Jenkins faced me. “Her symptoms are obvious. Your daughter has the flu.”

I growled just as Dr. Lansing said, “Give me the patient’s chart.”

“I can handle a sick kid, Dr. Lansing.”

“Wasn’t asking, Dr. Jenkins. As chief of the emergency room, you work for me, not the other way around. Now give me the damn chart.”

Dr. Jenkins sneered, handed the new doctor my daughter’s chart, and left.

Dr. Lansing pulled up a stool and sat. “Please sit, Ms. Campbell, while I look over Harlow’s chart.”

Doing as he said, I sat on the bed with my daughter snuggled close, holding tight to her teddy. After a few minutes, Dr. Lansing frowned. “Was Harlow ever given an allergy test?”

“No. Her pediatrician said she was too young.”

---