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“G.P, semi-retired. Whatever that means. Doesn’t even have full insurance, can you believe it?” he scoffs, shifting down a gear and weaving through traffic.
I know John will sign off on whatever needs doing, G.P or janitor, anyone on the frontline is still one of us. We all look out for each other when it counts.
But Nick Partridge?
I conceal my feelings, the strange mix of my past and all the things that might’ve been all bubbling up.
Nick Partridge and I were in medical school together. We were both on scholarships courtesy of our skill and hard work.
Growing up together in a state boy’s home it was an easy choice to make.
Work hard and get out of there fast, towards a better life.
We never joked about our future successes. It was like we had a crystal ball every time we sat down to talk about it in between our study time and internships once they started.
Nick wanted to specialize in neurology, for me it was always cardiology. And right up until a fateful summer’s day we were both on track to living those dreams.
We were gonna live our lives with success instead of desperation, money instead of government handouts.
I got to live my side of the bargain out, but Nick never did. Not like we’d planned anyway…
“Mark? Mark!”
John’s urgent tone snaps me from my reverie, we’re about a block from the hospital and the OR being set up for surgery as we pull in.
“You sure you’re okay to do this?” he asks, glancing at me sidelong for the first time in my whole career with the hospital.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he remarks, urging me with his chin to get to work, he has more than one case to handle today and I’ve taken up enough of his time as it is.
“I’m fine.” I smile, cocking a brow and leaning against the open car window. “One more night and I promise I’ll take that vacation,” I reassure him, having to step back once his car peels away from the emergency entrance.
A group of ER staff is on hand to meet me, giving me the latest on our patient as I walk and talk, giving orders, nodding when I’m told things are ready, and frowning when I hear some things aren’t.
“Would you mind having a word with the family, Doctor?” Somebody asks.
“Family?” I ask, taken aback. Double-checking the notes and the name.
Maybe it’s a different Nick Partridge M.D after all.
Nick nor I ever had a family.
At least, I never thought he did, but I haven’t seen him in almost twenty years.
“A daughter,” someone pipes in, “She’s in waiting room 6 opposite surgery.”
“Guess I should,” I murmur as I glance over his bloodwork again.
Before I even open up Nick Partridge, I can see from his results he’s not well. Emergency surgery is his only hope, and having me operate is his best chance.
But there’s never anything more than fifty-fifty in this life, I know that much and have to tell families that every day.
I don’t plan on losing a patient before a surgery but it’s not entirely up to me who makes it and who doesn’t.
There’s a familiar tension in the elevator as we make our way up, my support team breaking off to finish prepping everything.
I have the hardest job, surgery, and dealing with the family if it all goes south.
It’s a different kind of pounding in my chest once I open the door though.
No more nerves over relatives or if the operation will be a success.
At a single glance, before I even hear her speak.
I know I’ve found her.
She’s the one.
Nick Partridge’s only daughter though?
It looks like life has a funny way of dealing out the hands, but this one’s for keeps somehow.
I know that much.
I’ll have to insist on that.
Chapter Three
Evelyn
The cab ride to the ER is a blur, so are the endless rounds of questions, forms, and other stressors I somehow survive before I’m even allowed to see my dad in the hospital.
God, he looks so sick. Like he’s almost gray. Unconscious too. Tubes and machines everywhere, making me wonder if this is some kind of mistake.
He doesn’t even look like my dad, forcing me to ask such a stupid question.
Making me sound like a daughter who doesn’t care.
Like I should never have left him alone this morning.
“You can’t blame yourself,” someone says.
“It’s a good thing he called 911 when he did,” another adds.
Meaning, this is all your fault. If you’d stayed at home, maybe got him to a doctor days ago, none of this would have happened.
That’s how it feels anyway.
There’s insurance we apparently no longer have, and the clear message is dad needs an operation and fast.
Or else.
I don’t want to even consider the ‘or else.’
I can’t
The thought of losing him, and all because we never got him to a doctor sooner is too much. In no time I’m crying, led away from the ER to a small but quiet room, somewhere upstairs after a long elevator ride.
