Chapter 18
Jonah
Apparently, it’s a day for emergencies because as soon as I step into the hospital it’s go, go, go—broken bones, lacerations, concussions…it’s the kind of day that both exhilarates and exhausts me.
When I started med school, I’d planned to go into general practice. But, when we started doing rotations and learning more about different paths for our careers to take, I fell in love with emergency. It was a surprise to me, and I think to Lars too. We weren’t together at the time, but even when we were just friends, he naturally took on the dominant role.
In the abstract, I would think working Emergency medicine would be too stressful, too overwhelming for me. But there’s nothing in the world like the rush of adrenaline in that moment when you know someone’s life is hanging in the balance and it’s up to me to act. Not that every day is a life or death situation, thank god for that. Most days are more about stitching up wounds and trying to figure out if someone claiming to have a migraine is drug seeking.
As much as I love what I do, there is one thing I would rather do without…
“That must’ve been some fall down the stairs, hm?” I comment as I stitch up the deep gash on the ten-year-old boy’s cheek as gently as possible. A deep purple bruise is already forming, and I have no doubt his eye will be swollen shut by tomorrow morning. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the boy’s father scowl while the kid studiously keeps his mouth shut, giving a half shrug.
“The kid is clumsy,” his father grunts, and I offer an unconvincing smile to hide the fact that I’m biting my tongue so hard I can taste blood.
“Mr. Newman, would you mind stepping out for a moment so I can speak with your son?”
“Hell yes, I mind. He’s a minor, and I have every right to be here.”
“I just need to ask him a few questions,” I insist, doing my best impression of Lars’ commanding tone that seems to come so naturally to him.
The man bristles then fixes his son with what can only be described as a warning look before stalking out of the room.
“Bradley, do you feel safe at home?” I ask once we’re alone. He gives another weak shrug. “Because, if you don’t, there are people I can talk to who can make sure that changes.” Even as I make the declaration, I’m painfully aware of what a crapshoot the system can be. If Bradley’s dad is hurting him, it’s not like overnight he’ll just magically get a better family.
“I fell,” he answers again.
“Okay,” I sigh. “If anything ever happens and you don’t feel safe at home, you can talk to your teachers at school, police officers, doctors, any adult really. Do you understand?”
He nods, and I give another smile. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe he really did fall and his dad is just a general dick. I hope like hell I’m wrong, but the heavy feeling doesn’t leave my heart the rest of the day.
Lars
“Something isn’t right,” Mrs. Rundle declares, shaking her head and looking down at her poor dog, panting and whining on the exam table.
“I agree. As I was saying,” I repeat myself for the third time because she’s refusing to hear what I’m telling her. “She needs a C-Section to get the rest of the puppies out before it’s too late.”
“It’s never taken her this long between puppies before,” she says again, and I grit my teeth.
“I understand, which is why we need to do surgery.”
“Oh, do you really think that’s necessary?”
You can’t strangle a client, I remind myself, taking a deep breath and trying for a smile that I’m sure comes out looking more like a snarl.
“I think it’s absolutely necessary for not only Fluffy, but her puppies, that we get her into surgery immediately.”
“Oh,” she repeats. “You don’t think we should wait a little long to see if nature takes its course?”
“No, I think the puppies won’t survive, and it could be very harmful to Fluffy as well.”
“Well, I suppose,” she finally agrees, and I give a mental cheer. Fucking finally. I’ve been going around and around with her for at least half an hour.
“Great. I’ll take her back so my technician can start prepping her for surgery, and I’ll send one of my girls from the front desk in to go over cost of treatment and payment options.”
I scoop up the terrified Bichon and carefully carry her to the back, handing her off to Seb and then sitting down at my computer to quickly throw together a treatment plan estimate. With that done, I begin helping Seb prepare for surgery.
Before we manage to get Fluffy on the table, Katie, my front desk assistant, comes into the back looking harassed, and I grit my teeth again.
“She’s throwing a fit about the cost?” I guess.
“Throwing a fit is an understatement. She wants to see you again.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter to myself. “Seb, go ahead and get a radiograph for me so we can confirm how many puppies we’re waiting on. I’ll be back.”
“Good luck,” he says sympathetically.
“Mrs. Rundle, I understand there’s a problem with the treatment plan.”
“What you want to charge me is insane. I called the breeder I got Fluffy from, and she has a spray filled with all kinds of essential oils that she says induce labor. I think I’m going to take her home and try that first before we try this dangerous, invasive option.”
“Mrs. Rundle—”
“I know you have your Master’s degree in veterinary-whatever, but my breeder has gone through hundreds of births, I think she knows a little bit more about this.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood to keep from telling Mrs. Rundle what I think about her breeder’s advice. Then I steel my heart against the fact that these puppies won’t make it.
“This is against my medical advice, but of course, it’s your decision. I’ll need you to sign a waiver before I let you take Fluffy home, stating that you understand the risks and that I’m advising against this.” The A.M.A.s had been Jonah’s idea when I’d complained about clients coming back and threatening to sue after declining treatment and having their pets pass away. The clinic owner loved the idea, and this is exactly the kind of situation I’m glad to have it for. Although, I have no doubt Mrs. Rundle will be calling tomorrow to blame me for the dead puppies.
Since it’s clear nothing I say is going to convince her that I’m right and her breeder is wrong, I return to the back and tell Katie to have her sign the A.M.A. and get Seb to take Fluffy back to her. One look at the radiograph breaks my heart for the two puppies in there that won’t live.
“Well, that sucked,” Seb comments once Mrs. Rundle is gone with Fluffy.
“Majorly,” I agree. “Thank fuck we only have two hours left of this god-awful day. I just want to go home and see Jonah. He always makes this bullshit better.”