Breasts? Say breasts.
Breasts.
Br—
“—symptoms. I’m a little preoccupied with them. The symptoms, that is. I’m all yours now, though.” I summon my most reasonable smile and banish the image of Nomi’s nipples from my mind.
Dr. Riveras assesses me. “Glad to hear you’re finding the role engaging, Dr. D’Angelo.”
“Very much so. In fact, while I regret the circumstances that led to my probation, I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity to acquire new skills afforded by a primary care physician’s role.”
“Could you speak more to that?” Dr. Washington, a kindly older doctor from the infectious diseases unit, asks.
“Certainly.” I adjust my frames. “I won’t lie to you; I found the switch in tempo from the ER to a small-town clinic jarring at first. This role requires a level of patience I didn’t have before, but I’ve made great strides. I’ve also appreciated learning more about the day-to-day management of serious diseases, like Parkinson’s and type 2 diabetes, which will inform my treatment of patients with these conditions when they come in for emergencies. It’s rounding out my perspective, sir.”
Question by question, the committee’s faces transition from frowning to grudging interest. I have Nomi to thank for that. There’s been more than one dig at my expense on this call, but rather than rising to take the bait, aswellas the hand dangling it, I’ve breathed through it. I half wonder whether they’ve been goading me on purpose, seeing if they could make me snap.
Pride swells in my chest. I’m not as easily manipulated as I used to be.
“This is very gratifying to hear, Dr. D’Angelo.” Dr. Riveras opens a folder. “Dr. Srinivasan’s preliminary reports on your progress have been interesting to read as well.”
Oh,no.
“He says you’ve experienced particular growth in your understanding of medicinal cannabis through collaboration with a local dispensary. Is that right?”
I swallow, unsure where this is going. “Well, yes. I’ve read a lot of literature on the subject and even shadowed a medicinal cannabis counselor with some of her clients, who are also patients of my clinic.”
“Very good,” Dr. Washington says. “We’re always glad when our doctors try to broaden their understanding of popular medical alternatives, but we do want to caution you, Julian. Don’t take this too far.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Do you want to return to Philly Gen after this probation is complete?”
“More than anything, sir.” A hint of desperation seeps into my words. Dr. Washington clears his throat, but it’s Dr. Riveras who answers.
“Then it’s best not to associate with any dispensaries. The Corrington family is still quite furious with you, and they’re very conservative on such topics. If they become aware of this association with cannabis, they’ll use it to block your reinstatement.”
Dr. Riveras taps the folder on her desk, then smiles briskly as if she didn’t just deliver a dire proclamation. “Keep up the good work, Julian. You may not believe this, but we’re rooting for you.”
The organizer has ended the meeting.
Well,fuck.
My phone buzzes from my desk. I pick it up.
THAT MEAN, LITTLE LESBIAN
Julian. It’s Eve.
JULIAN
Still looking into the purported “Big Flap.” Please refrain from sending additional pictures to support your theory.
THAT MEAN, LITTLE LESBIAN
They were just Georgia O’Keeffe paintings.
JULIAN
