Bailey releases a small smile, then leans back and closes her eyes. There’s not much more we can do for her other than give her some Tylenol, but if it’s more than just a headache, it won’t help much until we can confirm her diagnosis.
As I walk out of the room, Emily continues giving orders, then follows me.
“It could be preeclampsia combined with dehydration, but her blood pressure is normal,” Emily mutters, writing in her chart. I can tell her wheels are turning as she tries to pinpoint Bailey’s diagnosis.
“Once we get the MRI scans back, we’ll know more of what’s going on. The way her vision is combined with her other symptoms, I’m worried it’s something much worse than that,” I tell her, but she already knows that.
When our eyes meet, she lets out a long breath. “I hope not, espec
