Poplar
Mountain is over. I had in mind something else to post, but I changed
my mind. This is a story I was thinking of publishing, but I can't
seem to get that done. The Best Medicine is the first book in
my Love in the City Series. It's the book that not only started it
all, it introduced several of my favorite characters.
When
I started this book, several years ago, I wanted to place it in a
big, busy city. However, I don't live in a large metropolitan area,
and I'm not familiar enough with places like New York or Chicago to
make it plausible. Instead, I made up my own. I never gave it a name,
because I couldn't come up with something that didn't sound like it
came out of a soap opera or comic book. Instead, it's referred to by
residents as the city.
Since
The Best Medicine, I've written (or am working on) 50 more in the
same city. I call these books my Love in the City Romances. One of my
favorites, So Much It Hurts, is available from Tirgearr Publishing.
I
love my made up city and its residents. They have become like family
to me. One character, introduced in this novel, is such a favorite,
I've used in many more books. Honestly, I've lost count how many.
When you meet Cullen, you'll understand.
The
Best Medicine does get a little hot in places, but I'll try to tone
it down for the website. I will also mark the hot spots as they are
posted. I hope that you will enjoy The Best Medicine as much
as I do.
Excerpt
from The Best Medicine - Chapter One
Tanya
O'Toole walked briskly down the hall to the semi-dark room where a
wall full of X-rays and MRI's awaited her. Slipping her reading
glasses unobtrusively onto her nose, she shoved the door open with a
tired sigh. She'd worked a double shift, covering for another of the
doctors who was recovering for an emergency appendectomy. She was
exhausted, but doing her best to remain alert.
"It's
what I get for changing my emphasis at my advanced age," she
mumbled as she straddled a stool and examined the images before her.
She
was hardly old, but she felt it when she had to keep pace with her
younger peers. Sometimes she felt more like a babysitter than a
colleague. Putting a microphone up to her full lips, she dictated her
findings on the set of films in front of her.
"The
patient is a fourteen year old male. Radiographs of the left wrist
with comparison views of the right wrist are submitted for
evaluation." She took her glasses off, wiped them on her blouse
and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Stifling a sigh, she continued.
"Multiple views of the left wrist show that the distal radius
and ulna are intact and are unremarkable. There is normal bony
development." She continued in a bored tone of voice giving the
pertinent information to the transcriptionist.
Her
readings would be typed up and filed with copies sent to the
physicians. Their office staff would call and give the news, in this
case, good. The bones were not broken, just a nasty sprain. She
wondered how the teenager had injured his wrist, but knew she would
never find out. That was the only thing she missed, the interaction
with the patients. However, since her grandmother's death, she felt
compelled to become a radiologist, rather than the family practice
doctor she had initially trained to be.
Gran's
death was unexpected. A healthy woman of seventy-five, she'd
developed a rare form of Cancer which had gone undetected and
untreated until it was too late to save her. Taking action was
something Tanya did well and she had promptly changed the emphasis of
her residency. It meant more training, but she didn't regret the
decision. If she helped even one person catch a problem before it
progressed too far, she would feel validated.
Her
dedication and passion about her work encompassed her life. She did
nothing social, attended no parties, except for those required by her
position. She didn't even date much anymore, though she would go out
in small groups occasionally. She even watched episodes of Grey's
Anatomy and laughed. There was no hot humping in the on-call
rooms or supply cupboards. Those people obviously didn't work for a
living.
"Honey,
you need to relax," her mother fussed the last time she'd been
home. "You're exhausted. You know you aren't as young as you
were."
"Thanks,
Mom. You always make me feel so good about myself," she'd
snapped.
That
was two weeks ago, and she hadn't even called her mother since. It
was on her list of things to do, but she was too tired for the
inevitable arguments that seemed to enter into every call. She knew
her mother spoke out of concern, but it still annoyed her to have her
age pointed out to her like a frailty. She was thirty-two, not sixty.
©
2020 Dellani Oakes
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