We haven’t talked about what happened in the courtyard a few days ago. But something definitely changed between us. And despite the fact that Dr. Redman has started assigning me more cases, I find myself making excuses to spend more time with Elizabeth.
And Elizabeth, she seems . . . happier.
It’s not that she was depressed before. In fact, she’s been a joyful person for the most part. But she just didn’t seem happy. Not until now.
I’m spending my lunch break in her room, catching up on some medical journals while she reads one of her pregnancy books.
“Are you going to deliver the baby?” she asks, looking up from her book.
“I probably won’t be doing the C-section, but I’m hoping to be in the room to assist. Since this is a teaching hospital, the consent forms you’ll sign for surgery will give residents permission to participate in your care. But if you don’t want me to . . .”
“No, it’s not that.” Her pinky finger finds its way into her mouth. “How much, uh . . . how much of me will you see?” She blushes, her eyes not meeting mine.
I try not to laugh. “I’m a doctor, Elizabeth. I’ve pretty much seen it all, you know.”
She nods. “I know that. I’m just not sure I want you seeing me. Not that way. Uh, not that I think we’ll . . . Ugh!” She throws an arm over her head to cover her embarrassment. “Forget I said anything. I’ll just stop talking now.”
I realize we’re in an unusual situation. Most obstetric patients have periodic vaginal exams. But due to her condition, those are contraindicated. The most I’ve ever seen of her is her belly, and maybe a flash of under-boob when I was adjusting her monitor.
I close my magazine and put my hand on top of hers. “It’s okay, Elizabeth. I know what you mean. And just so you know, by the time the doctors get into the operating room, you will have been prepped and draped and pretty much the only thing we’ll see is your abdomen.”
She sighs in relief. “Oh, okay.”
Her hand rests under mine, and I realize we’re dangerously close to holding hands. She senses it too, sharing a look with me like the other day. We both stare at each other wondering who will be the first to pull away.
I hear a noise behind us. We simultaneously pull our hands apart as we turn around to see Charlie standing in the doorway. She has a huge, knowing smile on her face, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn’t someone else who caught us sharing a moment. Someone like Abby. Or Gina. Or, God forbid, Dr. Redman.
I’ve got to be more careful. I can’t have this—whatever this is—ruining my career or getting in the way of Elizabeth’s care.
“Hi, Charlie,” Elizabeth says, embarrassed that we were caught.
“Hey, guys.” Charlie walks across the room, putting a bag of food in front of Elizabeth.
Elizabeth smiles, thanking Charlie for the meal as she tears into the bag, pulling out a greasy fast food burger. She bites into it as if she’s never tasted food before. I have a hard time pulling my eyes away. I’ve never before wanted to be a piece of meat like I do right now. The noises she’s making. The look on her face. Damn.
“As your doctor, I’d be remiss if I didn’t bring up the amount of cholesterol you are ingesting.”
She rolls her eyes at me and pats her belly. “Baby had a craving,” she says around a mouthful of food.
“Oh, it’s the baby’s fault,” I say, sarcastically.
“Totally,” she replies.
Charlie laughs. “Don’t even think of arguing with a pregnant woman, Kyle.”
I hold up my hands. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Are you going to watch the game with us?” Charlie asks.
“Game?”
“The Nighthawks game. I’m here to watch it with Elizabeth.”
“No, I have to get back to work. Dr. Redman has been assigning me more cases lately.”
“Too bad,” Charlie says, turning to Elizabeth. “Guess we’ll just have to drool over Caden Kessler ourselves.”
Elizabeth scrunches her nose in disgust. I guess she doesn’t think I should be drooling over him, either.
“What, you too?” I ask Charlie. “What is it about that guy that makes chicks go wild?”
“Other than the fact that he’s a hot young baseball star?” Charlie asks.
I gather my magazines to leave when I hear pagers going off all over the OB floor. Mine goes off, too. I check it to see it’s an ‘all-hands-on-deck’ page. My adrenaline starts pumping.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asks, looking concerned as people run past her doorway.
“I’m not sure. Everyone’s being paged to the ER. The last time this happened, it was a school shooting.”
Her hand comes up to cover her mouth. “Oh, my God. I hope everything is okay.”
“I might not be able to check on you later,” I say, hooking my pager back onto my pants. “It all depends.”
“Of course,” she says, looking concerned. “Go.”
I run into Gina at the elevator. I can see it on her face, the same expression that I know is on mine. We don’t know whether to be excited or saddened that there has been some kind of mass casualty event. As ER doctors, we live for this shit. The blood. The carnage. The trauma cases that we hope we can help.
But as human beings, we know this page most likely means death and destruction.
A few others pile into the elevator.
“I heard it was a building collapse,” someone says.
“My cousin just texted me about a huge fire,” says another.
When the doors open, we can already hear the commotion coming from the ER. We run around the corner and are met with nurses handing us gowns and gloves. People are pushing gurneys, lining them up along walls in preparation. Nurses are wheeling carts heavy with procedure trays, and techs are bringing massive quantities of blood.
Gina and I are told to join the other residents over by curtain one. Dr. Neill, one of the supervising residents, is already addressing the others when we join in.
“There was a fire in a clothing factory. Early reports from FDNY say chemicals were present that accelerated the spread, causing major structural damage and partial collapse of the building. Prepare yourselves, people. There are a lot of casualties. Some children even. Mostly immigrants. Remember your trauma protocol. Each arrival will have been tagged by EMTs in the field. We’re the closest hospital, so we’re getting the majority of the critical cases.”
Gina grabs my hand in fear and we look at each other knowing what’s about to happen. Knowing we are about to witness people dying in one of the most horrible ways.
“Your first priority as residents is to help clear out existing patients to make room for the incoming ones. After that, it’s all hands on deck. Make yourselves useful wherever you can.”
He throws a couple small vials of Vicks rub to some of the residents. “Put this under your nose. The smell of burnt flesh can be nauseating,” Dr. Neill says, heading for the ambulance bay doors. “Remember your training, doctors. And good luck to us all.”
We silently pass around the container, each putting a dab under our nostrils.
This is going to be bad. This is going to be very bad.