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hypertension with a VP shunt and slid into the kitchen where Harold contemplated his cup of coffee.
    “What, lousy coffee today?” Danny asked. “Not if Cheryl made it.”
    “Did I hear my name?” Cheryl asked as she walked in and gave Danny the next patient’s chart.
    “I was referring to the fact that you’re the best coffee maker around here,” Danny said. He rolled out a laugh. “Not to mention you’re a crackerjack nurse.”
    “Thanks Dr. Tilson.”
    Danny furrowed his brow wondering about his colleague. Harold sunk his forehead into his hand as he leaned over the counter. Cheryl hesitated from leaving.
    “Dr. Jackowitz,” she said, “are you okay?”
    Harold sat down next to the table, crossed his arms in front of him, and briefly closed his eyes. “I suppose I don’t want any coffee after all.”
    “Harold, you look like you’ve been beaten down by a good party.” Danny said, pulling a chair next to him. “Do you want us to get you anything else?’
    “No, it’ll pass, whatever it is. I feel nauseous and my head is starting to hurt.”
    Bruce walked in with a long stride, his ironed lab coat a bright white, adding to the crispness of his professionalism. “I just put another patient on an upcoming O.R. schedule,” he said, “to have a lumbar laminectomy. Where are all these back patients coming from?”
    “They all get referred to you, Bruce,” Danny said.
    “As it should be.” Bruce looked above his new bifocals, evaluating the situation. “Is there group therapy going on here?”
    “Harold needs some doctoring,” Danny said.
    Harold shook his head and slowly stood up. “I’ll be alright. Must have been something I ate.”
    ----------
    By 3 p.m. the rain had intensified. A few patients called to cancel appointments due to tornado warnings around the area so Danny, Bruce, and Harold tapered their hectic pace. Danny asked Cheryl to bring him the next patient’s chart, went into his office with a soft drink and took a granola bar from his desk.
    Cheryl followed and handed Danny the file. “New patient,” she said, pulling her hair together and sliding it into a pony tail band.
    “Thanks.”
    “This is the lady sent from the ob/gyn doc that gave you a call.”
    Cheryl turned to leave. “By the way, despite Dr. Jackowitz’s best attempts, he’s looking worse by the hour.”
    “Thanks, Cheryl. Why don’t we check on him after this next patient?”
    “I’ll corner him the next time he comes out of a room.”
    Danny read the notes sent from the other doc. He realized it was an interesting case as he polished off the oatmeal bar. Wanda Robinson had a complicated emergency delivery two months ago with copious bleeding and then had difficulty breast feeding. She also reported other symptoms which suggested a lack of hormones or a problem with her pituitary gland, which could have occurred due to blood loss and low oxygen delivery to the gland during that time. The obstetrician referred Mrs. Robinson to an endocrinologist and Danny.
    Danny hurried down the hall to her examination room. He greeted her with a handshake. “It’s not often we see recent obstetric patients,” he commented.
    In her early thirties, Wanda Robinson had small circles under her eyes, a slumped posture, and lackluster eyes. She nodded and said, “First time I’ve ever been to a neurosurgeon’s office, too. I’m taking all sorts of journeys after having my baby.”
    Danny thought of Julia as well as Rachel. Hopefully Rachel was more the picture of health taking care of their child than the poor woman sitting before him. He hadn’t seen his baby for a long time either, a situation he hoped would be remedied next weekend.
    “Have you seen the endocrinologist yet?” Danny asked.
    “Yes, she took all sorts of blood and we’re waiting on the results.”
    “Good. Mrs. Robinson, what your obstetrician, endocrinologist and I are thinking is that you may have an underproduction of hormones since your delivery.