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Two Years Later
Chapter 18
Results Are In
“You know they’re calling you ‘Flash,’ right?” Mandy said as she tried to catch up to me.
“What?”
“You need to slow down—”
“Can’t. I’ve had a long shift, and I have to finish charting before I can catch a little shuteye—”
“Carolina!” Mandy snapped, and I halted at her tone.
“What?”
“Here.” She pushed a tablet toward me. “You haven’t checked your email today.”
“I’ll do it later—”
“No. Trust me. You’ll do it now.”
I took the tablet again, this time willingly. I let out a breath. I was so tired, and all I wanted to do was go home. But then I saw the email she had already opened for me. It was the statistical report to phase two of my trial that concluded year three. I read and reread the summary in the body of the email. I looked up at her.
“This can’t be right.”
“It is!” Mandy clasped her hands and bounced in front of me.
I shook my head. I must have read wrong. I read the email a third, then a fourth time. No. I hadn’t read wrong. My breath was coming in shorter, more rapid bursts. My pulse quickened in excitement as I realized what these results could mean. When I met Mandy’s gaze once more, she was smiling ear-to-ear, and her eyes were a little misty.
“Thanks, Mandy,” I said in a near whisper, and I broke into a soft jog.
I had to tell him. He had to know.
Over the last two years, we never saw each other again outside the hospital. No more lunches together or meetings in his office. But now I didn’t care. I had to share this excitement with him. Even if the rumors had mostly died down. Even if I had regained the trust of my colleagues and mentors. It didn’t matter. This was a mutual success. He deserved his due credit.
I bumped into Sara on the way to Hector’s office. Her brows furrowed at seeing me jog.
“Everything okay?” asked Sara.
I made sure she had regained her balance before I kept going. “Yeah! Great! I’ll tell you later.”
“Okay, Flash!” she called after me.
Huh. I guess they were calling me that.
I didn’t care if he was with someone; I barged into his office anyway. He stood behind his chair, hunched over his desk, reading the laptop screen. Luckily, he was alone. At my entrance, he looked up, startled. Then he grinned when he realized it was me.
“Is this right?” he asked, hopeful.
I nodded. “I think so.”
“I don’t believe it.” He looked back to his screen, aghast. “Sixty-percent increased remission at year three over the standard of care national average. This is unreal.” He looked up again and ran his hands through his hair. “Dr. Ramirez.” His voice cracked a bit. “This is big. Really big. This will change how the world treats cervical cancer in this age group.”
I nodded again. I was still stunned and breathy from my jog to his office.
“Congratulations, Dr. Ramirez!” He stood and spread his arms wide as he approached me. I didn’t hesitate to embrace him back. Not even a little bit.
