“I’m reviewing an ER case.But you,” I say, pointing at her with my pen, “need to check in on every patient on the ward before touching anything in emergency.I want detailed updates, where they’re at, progress notes, anything relevant.Then we’ll compare notes at eleven.”
She straightens slightly, her expression shifting to something more serious.“Can I finish my coffee first?”There’s no pushback in her tone; just a simple question.
“No,” I say, maybe too fast.“It’ll take you a while, so get moving.Meet me here at eleven.Don’t be late.”
She smirks, rising from the chair sipping her coffee.“Yes, Dr.Harrison.”
“Bring your own creamer tomorrow,” I call after her.
She looks back, throwing me a grin over her shoulder.
As soon as the door shuts behind her, I lean back in my chair and drag a hand down my face.Jesus Christ.I need to get it together.
I take another sip of the coffee.
Damn it.
It’s really good.
Chapter 6
Regan
Afterknocking,justlikehe asked earlier, I stride into the office with my notebook in hand.
“I’ve checked in with all the patients and have notes ready for you,” I say.
Dr.Harrison sits behind his desk, coffee in one hand, while the other ceases skimming a thick paper chart as he looks up at me.“You’re early.”
“I like being prepared,” I reply, sliding into the chair across from him.“Ready for rounds?”
He sets the chart down with a soft thud and leans back, fingers steepled.“Impress me.”
The challenge in his voice makes my spine straighten.“Gemma in Room 9, a five-year-old with recurrent UTIs.Her cultures keep coming back with the same resistant E.Coli strain.”
His eyebrow lifts slightly.“And?”
“And I ordered a VCUG X-ray this morning.Her voiding pattern suggests vesicoureteral reflux, which would explain the recurring infections despite proper antibiotic courses.”I don’t look down at my notes; I don't need to.“I suggest starting her on a preventative medication pending imaging results.”
He leans forward, picking up his pen, interested now.
“The ten-year-old in Room 18,” I continue, turning the page.“Open tibial fracture from a horse-riding accident, now post-op day three with high wound draining.”
“Go on.”His pen taps the desk now and then, but when I say something he agrees with, the tapping stops.He gives the smallest nod, shifting in his seat just a little.He never says it out loud, but I know I’ve got his approval, and it encourages me to go on.
“Her white count is elevated, but her pain level is decreasing.The drainage looks like pus, but cultures are still pending,” I say, meeting his gaze, which is focused and makes my pulse quicken.“I’m thinking superficial wound infection rather than bone involvement.I recommend we should start her on antibiotics and order an MRI to rule out deep tissue migration.”
Something travels through his expression.“Care to explain?”
“No fever spikes, inflammation markers down rather than up.”I flip to my next note.“If it were osteomyelitis, I’d expect her to look sicker by now.”
He makes a note.“Next.”
We move through a few more patients with precision, and something almost like a rhythm takes over.No wasted words.Just two people speaking the same medical language.It’s not warm, exactly, but it isn’t cold either.
Then he stands abruptly, and I do the same.“Thanks to your thoroughness, I now have about fifteen new orders to write, three consults to call, and a very unhappy radiology department.”
He walks out to the corridor, where I follow him, biting back a smile.“You’re welcome.”
