“Dr. Vance. Dr. Leonard Vance.” Ethan swallowed audibly. “He barely examined me. He did this quick palpation, barely touched my stomach, then told the nurse to give me Tylenol and discharge me. Dad, I’m not making this up. Something is wrong.”
I backed out of the driveway so fast the gravel sprayed under the tires. “Listen to me carefully. Do not let them discharge you. Tell them your father is Dr. Garrison Mills, chief of surgery at St. Catherine’s Hospital, and I am on my way. Do not leave that ER, Ethan. Do you understand me?”
A pause. Then, smaller: “Yeah.”
“If your appendix ruptures because they delayed treatment,” I said, hearing the controlled fury in my own voice, “people are going to lose their medical licenses.”