“Hurry, please,” I tell the cabbie after rattling off the address of the hospital.
He waves his hand at the traffic, looking at me like I’m stupid. “I’ll do my very best,” he says sarcastically.
Damn it! I remember I’m supposed to start my new rotation today. I check my watch. But that’s not for a few hours. Surely the ER won’t mind if I step in on her case until then. After all, she was my patient the last time she was in.
Thirty-five minutes later—so much for hurrying—I walk into the ER. Before I even change into my scrubs, I ask the charge nurse where Elizabeth is. She directs me to exam room six.
When I enter the room, I see she’s been changed into a gown. I also see a sundress draped over the chair. The same damn sundress I followed home from work this morning. Fuck. It was her. I open my mouth to say something, but when I look over at Elizabeth to see her tearful face, I realize she’s terrified and she’s probably already feeling a world of guilt without me adding to it.
As she’s busy answering questions for the admitting nurse, I pick up her chart to read some notes written by Dr. Redman, who will be my attending on my OB rotation.
“Do you have an insurance card?” the nurse asks her.
Elizabeth shakes her head. “No,” she says, looking guilty. “I promise to pay what I can.”
“Your phone number?” the nurse asks her.
Elizabeth spouts out the number she called me from earlier.
“Your home address?” the nurse asks.
“Uh . . .” Elizabeth shoots a quick glance over at me. “Is that necessary?” she asks her. “I didn’t have to give my address after my previous visit.”
“Well, you’re being admitted now, dear, we have to have your address,” the nurse says. Then she studies her. “You do have an address, don’t you?” She raises her eyebrows as if to scold her.
“Of course I do. But . . .”
Elizabeth looks terrified. I’m not sure if she really is homeless or if she’s just ashamed about where she lives. Maybe that’s why she didn’t want me picking her up. Her hands start trembling and I swear she’s about to hyperventilate. That won’t be good for her or the baby.
I walk over to the nurse and ask her for the admissions form. I write my address on it and hand it back. “Is that all you need?” I ask her, staring her down so she gets that I want her the hell out of here.
She closes the folder. “I suppose I can get the rest later.”
“Yes, thank you,” I say, walking her out and closing the door behind her.
When I turn around, Elizabeth has her head in her hands, crying. She’s having a hard time catching her breath. I pull the chair over and sit next to her, putting my hand on her shoulder.
“It’ll be okay,” I tell her. “This really is the best thing for you and the baby. We can monitor you continuously.”
“I c-can’t af-afford it,” she blubbers. “What am I g-going to do?”
“You’re going to stay in bed like we tell you,” I say. “You’re going to read trashy magazines and watch hours of mindless television. You’re going to eat crappy hospital food. You’re going to make friends with the residents and the nurses. You’re going to look out your window and watch the world roll by. And after all that, the hope is you’re going to walk out of here with a healthy baby. And that’s all you need to focus on. Not how much it’s going to cost. Okay?”
Her breathing slows and her hands stop shaking. She nods. “Okay.” She takes some deep breaths. “Can I ask what you wrote on her form that got her to shut up?”
“They can be pushy,” I say. “I just wrote down my address so she would quit bugging you.”
“Oh. Do you really think I’ll have to stay until the baby comes? I’m not even thirty-four weeks.”
I nod, looking at Dr. Redman’s notes again. “Yeah, I think you’ll have to stay. Your condition has become a threat to the baby. We need to keep the bleeding to a minimum, otherwise you’ll have to deliver immediately. The hope is to get you to thirty-seven weeks. That’s about three and a half more weeks. That’s when we consider it safe for the baby to come.”
Dr. Redman walks in and sees me sitting next to Elizabeth. She eyes my hand on her shoulder and takes in my street clothes.
“Well, Dr. Stone,” she says. “I see you’re eager to get started on your rotation. Am I to assume you know Ms. Smith personally?”
I pull my hand away from Elizabeth and stand up, walking over to have a private conversation with my new attending. “No, I don’t. I was on call when she came in last week. I heard she was coming back and wanted to follow up myself.”
Dr. Redman lifts her brow and steps back to study me. “Brilliant,” she says in her heavy English accent. “Then seeing as you have established a rapport with the patient, you’re elected babysitter.”
“Babysitter?” My forehead creases into a frown.
“Yes. She’s your patient now, Dr. Stone. Bed rest patients don’t interest me. Not unless their conditions become life-threatening. It’ll be your job to make sure that doesn’t happen. Are we clear?”
I nod. I’d heard about her unconventional teaching methods. But . . . babysitter? Surely a nurse can do that. I can see it now; Cameron will have a heyday giving me shit about this.
“Good,” she says, eyeing me up and down as if I’m an inconvenience. “Get her moved to the floor. And for Christ’s sake, find some bloody scrubs.”
Dr. Redman leaves the room as a nurse brings in a wheelchair and a plastic bag for Elizabeth’s personal things.
Elizabeth looks at me guiltily. “Are you in trouble?” she asks.
“Why would you ask that?”
“I heard her say you’ve been elected as my babysitter.”
I laugh. “No. Not in trouble. Just a second-year resident. We tend to get the jobs nobody else wants.”
She looks down at the bed. “Oh.”
I berate myself. “Sorry, that came out wrong. What Dr. Redman meant was that your case isn’t bad enough to interest her, so she’s assigning a resident. That’s a good thing, you know. It means she thinks you’re not emergent.”
She looks up at me and a luminous smile brightens her face.
Holy shit.
I’ve never seen anything so captivating. Her bright blue eyes are puffy from crying. Mascara is smudged down her cheeks, but her smile, it lights up the goddamn room. And I vow to do everything in my power over the next three and a half weeks to keep it on her face.