“I heard you got stuck on scut right out of the gate,” Gina whispers to me as Dr. Redman addresses us, along with the three other residents who are starting a new rotation tonight.
I shrug. “No biggie. I doubt it’ll take much of my time.”
“Doctors Stone and Lawson,” Dr. Redman says, staring us down. “Is there something more important than hearing about what I expect from you over the next four weeks? An interesting case that I haven’t been made aware of, perhaps?”
Gina looks at me apologetically before turning back to our new attending. “No, Dr. Redman,” she says. “I’m sorry, I was just asking Dr. Stone about his exciting delivery last night. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“And yet you were,” Dr. Redman says, looking down her nose at Gina before turning to me. “I heard about it as well. You were lucky it all went off swimmingly.”
“I’d say our patients were the lucky ones,” I tell her. “There weren’t any attendings or senior residents to help so I had to fly by the seat of my pants.”
“Are you blaming my department for not getting there quickly enough?” she asks defensively.
“No, ma’am, not at all. It happened very quickly. I meant I was flying solo because none of my immediate supervisors were anywhere to be found.”
She walks over to me. “First off, I’m not just some lady off the street who is here to teach back-alley medicine. I believe I’ve earned my title and I expect you to use it.”
I furrow my brows at her. I’ve heard as attendings go, she’s a pain in the ass. But I thought maybe she was misunderstood because she’s British and sometimes Brits get a bad rap for being stuck-up just because of the way they speak.
“Doctor,” she says. “I’m not ma’am or professor or supervisor. I’m Doctor Redman.”
“Yes, Dr. Redman, of course. I’m sorry.”
I resist the urge to turn to Gina and roll my eyes. Misunderstood my ass, she’s a certifiable Nazi.
“And secondly. If you have an issue with staffing, you need to take it up with the residency director. But as a second-year, I’ll expect you to be able to handle those kinds of situations should you find yourself in the middle of one again.”
“I did,” I say, defending myself. “I will.”
“Very well, then. Would you mind terribly if I continue with your orientation?” she says sarcastically.
“No, ma—” I get a swift kick from Gina. “No, Dr. Redman.”
“Brilliant.” She walks back towards the other residents. “Now that Dr. Stone has given me permission to carry on, I’ll introduce you to your senior resident, Dr. Anders, who will be your immediate supervisor for this rotation. If she is unavailable, you may report directly to me. But only if she’s unavailable. And only if it’s extremely urgent.”
An hour later, as we leave orientation with glazed-over eyes, Gina says, “What a grade-A bitch. I wish we could have Dr. George from our last OB rotation.”
“I think he only gets first-years,” I say. “I’m starting to understand why. I don’t think Red would have the patience for interns.”
Gina snorts. “Red. I wouldn’t let her hear you call her that. She’d assign you to enemas for sure.”
“I’ve had worse. If four weeks with her gets me further in the program, then I say bring it on.”
She studies me. “Have you always been this glass-half-full, Kyle?”
I laugh. “I guess I have. Why, do you have a problem with it?”
She shakes her head and wrinkles her nose. “No. I kind of like it.”
Her stare lasts a little longer than I’m comfortable with. Her eyes rake over me as if she’s looking at me in a new light. We pass by the on-call room and she nods to it before tapping on the charts Redman assigned to her. “Want to meet up later, after we make our nightly rounds?”
I check my watch. “Sure, if we can fit it in.”
She smiles. “Page me, okay?”
She scurries off to check on her new patients. Her four patients. I meander down the hallway towards my one.
I look down at the sole chart Redman assigned to me, wondering what I did to have her dislike me so much. Redman is older, my dad’s age. She’s a pit-bull. Worse than Manning even. But I can handle it.
Someday I’ll run my own clinic and have to answer to no one but myself. This is all a means to an end. A necessary road I must follow to get to where I want to be. But as I walk down the hall, breathing in the sterile hospital smell along with the occasional aroma of flowers, I know there is no other place I’d rather be. Redman can kiss my young American ass. Ma’am.
I walk into Elizabeth’s room and catch her watching ESPN Sports Center. I laugh. “Can’t work the remote yet, huh?”
“I can work it,” she says. “I love this show.”
I tilt my head and study her. Then I start to ask her a question but she holds her hand out to shut me up. “One second,” she says.
I stand back and put her chart on the table. I cross my arms in front of me and watch the television with her as the announcers go over the scores of some baseball games. I’m amused by how her eyes are glued to the screen.
When they go to commercial, she apologizes for being rude.
“No, you’re good,” I say. “It’s refreshing to see a woman so into sports.”
“Why can’t a woman be into sports?” she asks.
“They can,” I say. “But most aren’t.”
“Then most are missing out.”
“I agree,” I say. “I missed out for a lot of years myself. My schedule doesn’t always allow for sports. But I’m trying to make time for them again.”
“Good. You should,” she says. “Everyone needs something besides work, no matter how important work is to them. Sports are a good outlet. Even if you only watch.”
“Do you play one?” I ask. Then I motion to her belly. “I mean when you aren’t almost eight months pregnant?”
“I did a long time ago. But not anymore.” She looks up at the TV and then down to her bed, sad, like there is so much more to the story.
I don’t want to pry, so I look over at the whiteboard on the wall where her nurse’s name is listed. “Has Abby gone over everything with you?” I ask. “Do you have any questions?”
She shakes her head and then nods to the fetal monitor on her right. “Abby said I’m pretty much going to stay hooked up to this the entire time. I guess that means I have to get permission every time I need to pee.”
I laugh. “Yeah, you can’t do anything here without someone knowing about it. I hope you left your modesty at the door.”
She smiles. “Modesty has never been a problem for me.” Then her smile fades. “Being held prisoner, that’s another thing entirely.”
I feel for her. Being confined to a hospital room for weeks, or even a month in her case, has its fair share of issues. “Don’t worry, I’ll see if I can parole you from time to time. The hospital has a great courtyard.”
“Really?” she says, perking up. “With flowers?”
I nod. “Yes. There are flowers and trees and benches and a cobblestone path. Sometimes I sit out there to eat on nice days. I think they wanted it to have a Central Park feel.”
Then I look at her hospital gown. I know she wouldn’t want to be paraded around the grounds in it. “Do you have a friend or family member you can call to bring some of your things by?”
She follows my eyes down to her gown. “No, that’s okay. I’ll just wear this. I think I look good in blue.”
“You do,” I agree. Never have I thought a hospital gown was anything special to look at. And they aren’t. But maybe it isn’t the gown. Maybe it’s the woman wearing it and the way it brings out the blue in her eyes. “But don’t you want someone to bring your personal stuff over? You’re going to be here a while.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need much,” she says with a forced smile that lets me know it’s anything but true.
“You know, I don’t mind going to your place. You could give me a list of what you need.”
“I’m good, Dr. Stone. I carry makeup in my purse. Like I said, I don’t need much.”
Much? This girl literally only has the clothes on her back and the small purse she came in with. My eyes are drawn to her wrist when I notice the chunky metal dime-store bracelet on it that reminds me of one of those house-arrest ankle cuffs.
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, Elizabeth, considering I’m your babysitter and all,” I say with a wink. “So how about when no one else is around, you just call me Kyle.”
“Kyle.” She tries out my name and I find that I like the way it rolls off her lips.
“Yes. And what should I call you? I mean, what do your friends call you? Liz, Beth, Lizzy?”
For a second, she looks like I asked her to explain quantum physics. “Uh . . .”
“Elizabeth,” I say, making my own choice in the matter. “Do you have a home?”
She seems scared, protective of any personal details. Protective of her name even. She doesn’t look homeless, yet everything points to it.
“Of course I do,” she says, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. Her movement dislodges the fetal monitor and I walk around the bed and reposition it on her belly.
“I saw you this morning, walking some dogs,” I say.
She puts her hands on her round stomach, looking guilty. “I did this, didn’t I?”
“It doesn’t matter how it happened. You could have started bleeding again even if you’d been in bed all week. No point in beating yourself up about it now. Maybe it’s fate; a blessing in disguise, you being here. It gives you and your baby the best chance at a healthy delivery.”
“Do you believe in that? In fate?” she asks.
I think of my friends, Griffin and Skylar Pearce and the horrifying experience they had to go through to get where they are today. I think of the chance meeting that brought Chad and Mallory back together after nine years apart.
I nod. “Yeah, I think I do.”
Her lips fold together thoughtfully. “So, you think the things we go through are all just a way of getting us to where we need to be?”
There is so much more to her question than she’s asking. Then again, she could just be referring to her having to be here, and I’m reading way too much into it.
I shrug. “I never really thought of it like that, but yes, I think that. I think exactly that.”
The smile she wore earlier returns to her face and I get the feeling this girl is not hard to please. And my urge to please her is uncharacteristically strong.
I make a mental note to call Mallory tomorrow. Elizabeth is pregnant and alone. She will be cooped up here for weeks. She needs a friend. And who better than my sister-in-law, who not only volunteers at an organization that helps pregnant girls, but who herself is pregnant. It’s the perfect solution.
I roll the ultrasound machine over to her bedside. “I know you had one downstairs, but now that you’ve been admitted, we’re going to do another one for a baseline.”
“Do as many as you want,” she says, excitedly. “I love watching him or her wiggle around in there.”
“Him or her,” I say. “So, you don’t want to know the baby’s sex?”
“No! Please don’t tell me. There are so few mysteries in life. I just really want to be surprised.”
I smile, pulling a sharpie out of my pocket to make a big bold note on the front flap of her chart. You never know what intern might walk in here and spoil it for her.
Just as I’m finishing up the ultrasound, Abby walks in with a tray of food. I look at my watch and see it’s almost nine o’clock. I laugh. “Pregnancy craving?” I ask Elizabeth.
“No. I didn’t get a chance to eat earlier.” She rubs her belly. “This one’s hungry.”
“I’ll leave you to your dinner then.” I nod to the TV. “And your ESPN. I’ll see you tomorrow, Elizabeth.”
“See you tomorrow, Kyle . . . er, Dr. Stone.” She looks over at Abby to see if she noticed the slip. She did.
When I walk out into the hallway, I think about what she said about not eating earlier. Did she not eat because she was bleeding? Or was it because she didn’t have any food?
I try not to think of a pregnant woman, who may or may not have enough food to eat, in the home that she may or may not even have.
Then, before I realize I’m doing it, I end up detouring to the billing office. Because, just like the rest of the hospital, even they have a night shift.