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CHAPTERONE
BROADIE
“Beatrice, I’m headed to the doctors’ lounge a little early. The OR asked if I could move my next case up about an hour.” I reread the text from the pre-op nurse, Patricia, stating they needed to adjust the schedule to make room for an unstable ER patient.
“Don’t forget, Dr. Weston, they’re…”
I make my way to the elevator, and quickly text back a reply letting Patricia know I’ll be there as soon as I can. It’s tempting to dive right in and get things moving when there’s a crisis. Yet, in this hospital, there’salwaysa crisis. It’s best I grab something to eat before jumping headfirst into the next case. Otherwise, I’ll likely go all day without more than a cup of coffee in my system.
I should know. I’ve worked as a general surgeon at St. Luke’s Hospital in Hanover, Virginia, for over ten years now. After finishing residency, I was so eager to start my career that I hit the ground running and never looked back. However, I’ve learned the hard way about the toll this career can take on you. And not just physically.
As I approach the doctors’ lounge, my eyes narrow at the large sign taped to the door. That’s odd. Coming closer, I read the bright yellow paper.
This shouldn’t come as a surprise. That doctors’ lounge has definitely seen better days. Scratching the back of my head, I seem to recall Beatrice and Pearl, our office manager, chatting about this. Yet I thought they were merely bantering about what might be coming in the future. But then again, it could’ve been months ago they were having this conversation. I admit I get fixated on my patients and the never-ending meetings I’m required to attend. These details don’t stay on my radar.
“Well well, if it isn’ttheBroadie Weston. Renowned general surgeon and frequent winner of Richmond Magazine’s Annual Top Docs in Surgery award. I wouldn’t have thought you’d know the way here. Did someone escort you?” Jarod snickers.
“Ha ha. I come to the cafeteria.”
“Oh yeah? When’s the last time?”
I actually have to stop and consider this. It’s not because I think I’m above coming here. It’s just more convenient to run in and grab a coffee or fix something off the buffet in the doctors’ lounge before heading back to work. Not to mention, I skip many meals. It’s the nature of the beast in this line of work. “About six months ago, I missed lunch because a case ran long.”
“I’m just shitting with you, man. How’ve you been?”
“Good. Just busy." It’s odd, really. My close friend, Jarod Snow, and I have worked together in our practice alongside five other surgeons for years. Yet we rarely see each other unless we’re in a meeting due to our operating room schedules. “Finished a scheduled hernia repair before completing a lumpectomy on a twenty-six-year-old.”
Jarod’s frown mirrors my concern for that sweet young woman. We try to detach emotions to these cases as often as possible, but some tug at your heartstrings. All we can do is pray the biopsy shows no sign of cancer.
“I thought I had an hour before my next case, until the OR called. They have a patient in the emergency room they’re trying to squeeze in. Thought I’d grab something before I head back.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Broadie.” Jarod shakes his head.
“What? Your schedule is as insane as mine.”
“No. It’s not. I turn cases down when it gets too much. I’ve trained people not to come at me for more. But they know you’ll do whatever it takes.”
This statement makes me pause for a moment. He’s probably right. But it’s just the way I’ve always operated. I never want to keep anyone waiting, time can be crucial in this line of work.
“Hi, Dr. Weston,” a young brunette in navy blue scrubs greets from across the salad bar. Her smile is served with a side of flirtation.
Jarod snickers, reaching for a packet of salad dressing.
“Good afternoon,” I answer with a cordial grin as I grab what I think is a chicken salad sandwich wrapped in cellophane. Yet, prior visits to this cafeteria have proven I could be wrong. I have no earthly idea what this nurse’s name is and don’t want to encourage continued conversation by looking at her nametag. Lifting the sandwich to my nose, I take a deep inhale. It can’t be tuna. Must be chicken.What else could it be?
“Hell. I just got back from vacation with the family. I haven’t managed to get my mind in work mode. I definitely wouldn’t be able to keep up with your pace.”
Jarod and his wife, Mandy, have two young boys. I don’t get to see as much of him as I did when we were both single. It goes without saying that we’re always here for one another, but there simply aren’t enough hours in the day for spending bro-time outside of work.
There are days I’m jealous of his life. Coming home to a wife and kids, attending little league games. But it’s my own doing. If I want the life he has, I need to make it a priority. And I’ve already failed at it once. Not going to do that again until I’m all in.
“Oh, yeah? Where’d you go?” I ask as I examine a fruit cup and decide against it. Who am I kidding? I’ll be lucky to choke down this sandwich if I don’t’ get moving.
“Jamaica. It was amazing. But any island is that way for me. Sun, surf, and all the fresh seafood you can eat. I haven’t finished my first day back, and I’m already planning our next island getaway.”
We head to the refrigerator to get water when something grabs my attention from the corner of my eye, and I do a double take.
Who is that?
