Page 26 of No Greater Love
He actually smiled at that, the first time since he'd arrived. As a transporter wheeled him off to radiology, I felt pretty good about the whole interaction. It would have been completely appropriate to send him to triage—we were slammed—but sometimes a little extra effort made all the difference.
That's whenshearrived.
"Excuseme, I need to speak to someone about my son's treatment," announced a woman who had clearly perfected the art of demanding to speak to managers. She was maybe fifty, wearing what I'd learned to recognize as "I have money and you will respect me" casual wear, and radiating the kind of entitled energy that made my teeth itch.
"What can I help you with?" I asked, keeping my voice pleasant.
"My son was brought here with a serious hand injury, and I need to know exactly what's been done and what the treatment plan is. I also need access to his medical records."
I blinked. "I'm sorry, what's your son's name? We don't have any children here with hand injuries."
She rattled off a name that made me pause. "Wait, you mean theadultpatient? The twenty-something guy with the finger injury?"
"Yes, and I demand to know?—"
"Ma'am," I interrupted, "that's an adult patient we're talking about. I can't discuss anything with you without his explicit permission. You're welcome to talk to him directly when he gets back from radiology—assuming you have a visitor badge?"
Her face flushed red. "That's ridiculous! I'm his mother! I have every right to know what's happening with his medical care!"
"Actually, you don't," I said, maintaining my professional tone despite the spike of irritation. "HIPAA laws are very clear about patient privacy, even for family members. Unless he's given us written permission to share his information with you, I legally cannot discuss his case."
"This is outrageous! I want to file a complaint! I'm being treated rudely and denied basic information about my own child!"
"Youradultchild," I corrected. "And I'm sorry you feel that way, but?—"
"Is there a problem?" Sophia's voice cut through the rising tension as she approached, her expression professionally concerned.
"This person wants access to their son's medical chart," I explained, keeping my voice level but shooting Sophia a look that saidhelp me out here.
Sophia nodded seriously, her face taking on an expression of helpful understanding. "Oh, of course! For a minor, we absolutely have to allow parental access to medical records." She turned to the woman with professional interest. "How old is your son, ma'am? Ten? Twelve?"
The woman stammered slightly. "Twenty-four."
"Twenty-four?" Sophia's eyebrows shot up in apparent surprise. "Twenty-four years old?"
"Yes."
"Well," Sophia said, her voice taking on that deadly polite tone I'd learned to recognize, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but Tasha here is absolutely correct. Unless you want us to break a multitude of federal and state laws regarding patient privacy, I cannot give you information from an adult patient's chart without his explicit written permission."
"But I'm his mother?—"
"You're not suggesting we break the law, are you?" Sophia asked, her expression perfectly innocent.
The woman opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly wanting to argue but recognizing she was on the losing side. With a final huff of indignation, she stalked off toward the waiting area.
"Good job sticking to your guns on the privacy issue," Sophia said once the woman was out of earshot. "The kid might not have cared if we shared that information with his mom, but we do things the right way here."
I nodded, but I could feel my irritation still simmering. "It's just frustrating, you know? There are people who've been waiting in triage for hours, and I went out of my way to get that kid seen quickly because he was obviously struggling. The EMT had him convinced he was going to lose his finger. And then all I get is grief from his helicopter mother."
"Welcome to the ER," Sophia said with a slight smile. "Where no good deed goes unpunished."
Something about her smile caught my attention. There was a lightness to it I hadn't seen before, a relaxed quality that was distinctly un-Sophia-like. She looked... content. Happy, even.
"Speaking of good deeds," I said, studying her face, "you seem remarkably chipper today. Did you have…fun… in New Zealand?" I let the question hang with just enough implication to make my meaning clear.
Sophia's smile widened, and instead of her usual deflection or professional redirect, she actually looked almost... smug?
"Let's just say it was... educational," she replied, and there was definitely something in her voice that hadn't been there before.
