“And you’re waiting to attend the craniofacial conference,” he realized. According to his notes, they were discussing the anesthesia plan for a resection of an oral tumor that would require a highly delicate and complex dance in the OR.
“Yes. Didn’t you read the list of attendees?” Kandal winked.
“ENT, Plastics, Neurosurgery.” That meant teams led by Stella Magi, Daniel Steadman, and Alex Casserty in one room. He stole the coffee again and made a wry comment. “Should we invite Ortho too? I take it you’re the buffer in case it gets tense?”
“Don’t take me for a magician. It’ll be tense. Preventing bloodshed is my main goal.” Kandal pointed at the three different groups forming further down the hallways in their respective specialties. “Especially since I promise you, and my nurses, that NO ONE knows who the baby daddy is.”
“You know what? I’m going to my office to get coffee for my team, because if we have to put up with your manufactured drama, we deserve our own cups.” Roan left her there, vowing to do his best to never let himself or Clarissa be the main event for any OR drama.
CHAPTER 10
“In summary, after the devastation of Burkholderia cepacia on the cystic fibrosis community, modulator therapies like Trikafta have been a game changer. For ninety percent of cystic fibrosis sufferers who respond well to Trikafta, their lifestyle has been revolutionized in lifestyle, fertility, and survival. Patients who respond well no longer face lung transplants, endless hospital stays, and, ideally, can expect a normal lifespan. Thank you for attending. Any questions?” Clarissa finished her eight a.m. presentation to the assembled group of seventy plus pediatric residents in their eighth floor conference room.
Judging by the sleepy faces of the residents, she could have performed a magic trick and set the room on fire before any of them asked a single question. She understood wholeheartedly, since she was counting the seconds before she could bolt from the hospital—which would be immediately after morning lecture ended.
With her not being on an inpatient hospital service, she was much better off than everyone else. She didn’t have to stay until lunchtime. Hours guidelines said you could only do a twenty-four-hour continuous call, other than the vague additional four hours they tacked on as ‘additional patient care responsibilities.’
Unlike most of the residents staring into that bleak future, her post-call night included naughty time with a buff anesthesia chief.
“No one?” Clarissa moved to shut down her PowerPoint.
“About the cepacia, can you tell me about the origin of the antibiotic resistance?” one of the infectious disease doctors, Dr. Burkness, asked.
He would. ID doctors lived for details like those, and he loved confirming the resident had done actual research about their topic beyond Google. It also prolonged everyone’s suffering by dragging out lectures if the resident was unprepared.
“Yes, Edinburgh-Toronto ET12 clone was isolated and explored in the 1990s through the works of the Edinburgh-Toronto CF center and doctors Govan, Hughes, and Vandamme,” Clarissa answered, having found the original 1996 paper. It showed how little the rest of the group was paying attention since no one responded to the last name.
“What would you do if you had a CF non responder who grew it in a sputum sample?” he pressed on.
“Other than review the patient’s last two years of antibiotic use and place them in contact isolation? I’d immediately page Infectious Disease,” Clarissa answered truthfully. B. cepacia ET12 was resistant to every antibiotic on the planet.
“Anything else?”
A total jerk move. He was in his sixties, so he’d have personal experience with treating those patients. The CF protocols had changed before she’d graduated medical school.
“Yes, I’d make the nurses watch Five Feet Apart on repeat in their break room but remind them it’s actually ‘six feet apart’ and make sure they know it ‘Ends with Them.’ Otherwise, I’d invite Justin Baldoni and Blake Lively to visit them.” Clarissa’s comment finally elicited laughter from the front row of younger residents for a reason that went above Dr. Burkness’s head.
Simone had picked that one last year for roommate movie night. Five Feet Apart was the first move directed by Justin Baldoni. The science in the movie wasn’t accurate, nor was the drama, and Justin Baldoni had few issues than It Ends with Us.
ID did at least give her a nod.
“Any more? No? Have a great day, everyone.” Clarissa grinned, as there was a near stampede out the door and back to the hospital.
Sighing, she was going to do the same, having gotten very little sleep. After the twenty minute video call with Valkyrie StormFlyght, she’d received numerous pages all night long from the same night nurse who constantly wanted updated orders on Benadryl and Tylenol.
Before she could make her exit, she realized the three chief residents, Diamond, Addison, and Olivia, hadn’t left. They’d lingered behind by the breakfast table. Only anesthesia had pediatrics beat in motivating their residents to come to educational sessions with food.
“Great presentation,” Olivia said with the sort of enthusiasm one mustered for a pap smear.
“Uh, thanks.” Clarissa wasn’t sure why they were taking a sudden interest in her today.
“Lots of detail.” Addison echoed, which would have meant more had she not been checking her emails on her phone the entire talk. “Can’t wait to see what else you put together.”
Was this their passive-aggressive way of referring to her second required presentation?
“My next one is about airway scoring for pre-op assessment.” Clarissa waited to see if they reacted to her statement since she wasn’t sure if they did or didn’t know about Roan.
Apparently not, based on their total lack of reaction. Perhaps since only the department chiefs signed off on her relationship paperwork, Dr. Gallo’d opted to be discreet and not inform the chiefs.
