Between the Pipes

Chapter 9

On Tuesday afternoon, Sarah climbed into the cab of the converted truck that had become the mobile clinic. She usually drove separately and met up with Hank Bryson, the clinic nurse and expert driver, once he'd parked the truck, but today she'd hitched a ride so they could have a meeting. A mobile meeting to discuss the mobile clinic.

One of the best decisions Sarah had made was hiring Hank Bryson. He was a full head shorter than her, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in breadth. He could stop people with a steely stare, something he'd perfected while working as a bouncer through his nursing degree. He was also gentle and compassionate and just as readily flashed a wide grin. That's what the teenagers related to. He remembered their names and drew them into the clinic. Most impressive, he could manoeuvre their honking-big truck into the tightest of spaces.

Clarington had a whole population of teenagers who had trouble accessing medical care. Some lived on the street, some on their own, and some raised siblings while a parent tried to make ends meet. With all of that, there were escalating numbers of teenage pregnancy, malnutrition, and mental health issues.

Sarah had decided to do something about it: she took the clinic to them. She'd raised funds, applied for government grants, and bought and renovated an oversized cube van. On Tuesday and Thursday afternoons and evenings, the clinic rotated between three different locations in town. The furniture and space in the truck was minimal, bright, and efficient, and the examining room was fully equipped with the latest technology.

"Hey, some of the kids got wind of the rumour that the clinic might be closing unless we find some money," Hank said, drumming on the steering wheel. He only did that when he was really worried. "I told them you were talking to the Comcor people, and they asked what they could do to help. They wanted to put together a video. I could help them with it, but I wanted to run it by you first."

"That's very sweet, but I don't want them to worry. They have enough on their plates."

"We have to do something. The kids need this clinic." He made a tight turn onto a quiet street.

"I know. I've had meetings with both the accountant and the lawyer. We're okay for another eight months or so, but after that, it doesn't look good. It's such a shame that the government money is so fickle."

"Yeah, especially with an election on the horizon. Street youth aren't exactly a priority."

"No, unfortunately not. I'm meeting with Comcor on Thursday. I'd be happy to include a video, but that doesn't give you much time."

Hank glanced over at her with a nod. "I'll make time. I'll see what they have in mind and email you." He pulled to a stop, flipped on the blinker, and prepared to parallel park into their reserved space.

"Thanks, Hank. Every little bit helps."

As Hank manoeuvred the truck into place, Sarah sifted through and signed off lab results and consult letters. Later they'd be scanned into the medical records.

Within minutes of parking, Hank had removed the safety covers in the clinic, unlocked the storage cabinets, and set up chairs in the waiting room. By the time he finished, patients were waiting.

Sarah booted up the laptop, shrugged into her lab coat, and ushered in the first patient.

"Hey, Dr. Jain, how's it goin'?" a young man asked with a grin. He leaned a skateboard against his chair. With his freckles and spiked jet-black hair, Juan Rodrigo looked closer to twelve than his actual seventeen years. He wore slouchy black jeans low on his waist and a bulky hoodie two sizes too big for his lean frame. He had a wide smile and was one of the few teenage males she dealt with who made easy eye contact.