St John had scrambled to his foyer with blue and white scrubs on his back, his blue and white leather backpack on top of that, and white headphones oozing music from Miles Davis' Kind of Blue when the phone danced again.
"Dr Jawarski. Eunice called. I'm enroute," he said.
"S.J. listen. Do you know who the patient is?" Jawarski said.
"I know," St. John said. "What on Earth is happening with you? You sound horrible."
"I was getting ready to go to dinner with the wife...giving her my best Dapper Dan impression. Then the worst headache in my life hit me like a reinforced train out of Tijuana. I'm talking blarIng lights in the corner of my eyes, double vision, and my hands are rattling like a snake." He said. "I never get headaches. "
"Well, you sound like a dying frog. Go to sleep. If you survive, I'll give you the play by play tomorrow."
"Thank you for this."
"No problem. You took her off of my hands first. I just hope she's sedated before she sees my face." St John disconnected.
The phone rattled his palm.
"We had to sedate her. Dr's Phillips and Brown are attending to her, but they seem to be more worried about the baby. Jawarski had to send a message to give her phenobarbital to stop the seizures.
"I'm there in fifteen. Tell Brown and Phillips to consult with me before they even breath around my patient.
"That's my St. John."
"Uhn huh. Fifteen."