Read Online An Irish Country Love Story by Patrick Taylor - Free Book Online Page A

pressure’s fine. Some of the things I’ve found might be due to it, like being short of breath, being tired, fast pulse, tiny bit of ankle swelling, but I’m pretty sure your heart failure is under control.”
    â€œThat’s good,” Sonny said. “I am relieved, I’ll admit it.” He drew in a deep breath.
    â€œNumbness in your feet and fingers, and headaches don’t go with that condition, though.”
    â€œI see.” Sonny nodded.
    â€œDoctor O’Reilly, did you notice how smooth Sonny’s tongue is?”
    â€œI did,” said O’Reilly, “and his conjunctivae’re pale too.”
    Barry nodded. “And I can feel your spleen, Sonny. That’s an organ under your ribs on the left that normally gets rid of old, tired red blood cells.”
    Sonny forced a smile. “I feel like an old tired blood cell myself these days,” he said.
    â€œAnd,” Barry said, “you’ve lost your knee and ankle jerks, and you didn’t feel the vibration when I put a tuning fork on your insteps and ankles.”
    The door opened. “Can I come in yet?” Maggie was carrying a tray. “Tea and plum cake,” she said. “For when you’ve finished, Doctors.”
    â€œCome ahead,” O’Reilly said. “Doctor Laverty’s going to tell us what he thinks is wrong and what we need to do next.”
    â€œYour ticker’s under control, but I’m almost certain you have thin blood. The trick is going to be to find the exact cause. There’s quite a few to choose from, although even now I can make a pretty good guess at which one it is.”
    â€œCan you fix it, Doctor, dear?” Maggie asked.
    â€œWe’ll have to get some blood tests to be certain of what we need to treat.”
    O’Reilly hoped that a painful bone marrow biopsy and an uncomfortable gastric fractional test meal could be avoided.
    Barry continued, “But yes. I think so. Now my dad likes to say, ‘Never make a promise if you’re not sure you can keep it.’ I’m not promising you I’m right.”
    Good lad, O’Reilly thought.
    â€œWe understand,” Maggie said. “We’ll leave being infallible to your man with the pointy hat in the Vatican.”
    Barry smiled. “Thank you.”
    â€œExcuse me,” O’Reilly asked, “and I’m not interfering, just asking, wouldn’t it be simpler to ask Doctor Gerry Nelson, the haematologist at the Royal, to see Sonny?”
    Sonny coughed. “Now look here. I’m sorry, sir, but I’m only seeing you two medical men under protest. I hate hospitals. I insist the young doctor look after me here.” Then Sonny’s stiff posture and superior tone gave way and he looked at Barry. “Please, Doctor Laverty.” His supplicant manner would have softened Pharaoh’s hard heart.
    Barry stopped writing out the lab requisition forms and smiled. “I can spare you a consultation with another doctor for now, Sonny, but I can’t do the blood tests here. And you shouldn’t be driving in your state. You could pass out behind the wheel. I’ll arrange for an ambulance to take you down to Bangor hospital tomorrow, have the blood work done. We’ll have the results next week and I’ll pop out to give them to you.” He handed the forms to Maggie.
    O’Reilly nodded his approval.
    â€œI’m pretty sure with the right treatment we can get rid of your tiredness and shortness of breath. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can fix your feet and fingers. Once a nerve is damaged I’m sorry, but that’s it. It’s gone for good. But I reckon we can stop it getting any worse. I’m working,” he said, “with a diagnosis of pernicious anaemia, failure of production of red blood cells because of the body’s inability to absorb vitamin B12 through the gut.”
    â€œPernicious?” said