Page 77 of A Really Bad Idea

“You have a strong heart and the best in the field looking after you,” I say.

There’s a knock at the door, and then it opens quickly. The two EMS workers are here to take Mrs. Lerry to the hospital.

“I have to call my husband,” she says while we unhook her from the EKG.

I hand her, her bag where she takes her cell phone out and scrolls through the screen. She’s adamant she walks herself to the ambulance. Thomas gives the okay.

It takes a moment for her to walk hand in hand with the EMS team to the ambulance where they secure her to the gurney, close the doors, and take off down the street.

I’m on the sidewalk, seeing Mrs. Lerry’s ambulance drive off, and Thomas comes out with his suit jacket on.

“Good work, Meadow.”

“I think it’s spontaneous coronary artery dissection. Who’s the thoracic surgeon on call today?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m headed over there. I should be back within the hour.”

He walks away, and I head back inside, realizing my own chest is pounding. Heart care is boring some days and intense others. It’s so intricate; my hands feel tied half the time.

As a nurse practitioner, there’s only so much I can do for a patient. Thomas is a cardiologist, and he can’t even operate. There’s a different surgeon for arteries and valves, and even those specialize in different techniques.

When I chose to study cardiology, it was because the heart was the most important organ in the human body. You can live without a spleen, stomach, a lung. Hell, you can survive with half a brain. The heart is the strongest and most vital.

It’s rare we have a patient come in, having a heart attack. To say my nerves are rattled would be an understatement. I feel it down to my toes. I don’t know how Christian operates every day. He’s literally held on to a beating heart and hooked it up to a heart and lung machine, working on the human body and sewing it back together. Surgeons don’t get nearly enough credit for the miracles they perform.

“That was crazy town!” Angela exclaims when I walk to the reception desk and look at the chart for my next patient.

“I can’t believe doctors do it all day in the emergency room. All I did was perform an EKG and call an ambulance, and I’m fraught with worry.”

“Fooled me. You were as cool as a cucumber.”

“On the outside.” I rub my chest and shake away the rush going through me.

“Despite the nerves, you did everything right. I didn’t even think Ms. Lerry looked sick. You took one look at her in the waiting room and knew something was off. You should be proud.”

“Thanks,” I say and take the chart for the next patient. I call her name to follow me, leaving Angela as I head to the exam room.

With Thomas out for the next hour, I have to see his patients and hope nothing major develops. One patient has an arrhythmia, so I ask her to sit tight to wait for him. The next three are routine checkups I’m able to handle on my own.

When I bring my stack of files up to the front desk, I notice a large vase of red roses hiding Angela. When she peeks her head around the petals and gives a devilish grin, I don’t have to ask who the flowers are for.

“You can argue with me all day that sunflowers mean friendship, but red roses? Girl, you will lose this argument badly.”

I hold out my hand because I know she has the card in her possession. She forks it over with a sly smile.

It is just a simple statement—Love, Christian. His handwriting, not called in over the phone.

I drop my elbow to the desk and cover my face with my hand. He’s not making this easy. I don’t mind that he is sending me flowers. It’s a sweet gesture from the consummate gentleman. I just wish he’d sent them to my apartment.

“He’s away this week at the heart valve symposium giving a lecture about the breakthrough technologies in noninvasive heart procedures,” I say in explanation.

“And thinking of you.”

“Did you know he’s one of three surgeons in the world performing a new valve replacement procedure using a transfemerol approach?”

“Did you know he’s sending you roses to the office like a love-swept boyfriend?”

“Can we talk about something else?” I plead.