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“With Dr. Sawyer?”
“Hmm. Yeah.”
“Sounds super fun,” she said with a grin.
“The funnest.” I shook my head. “I wish he wasn’t such an ass.”
“Don’t take it personally,” she said. “He’s an ass to pretty much everyone.”
“That actually doesn’t make me feel better. Why is he such an ass?”
“He wants Chief Nelson’s job when Nelson eventually retires. I think Dr. Sawyer is trying to assert dominance. Like the biggest dog in the dog park.”
“So, I shouldn’t take it personally that he rags on me all the time?”
“Definitely not.”
As if summoned by a spell, Dr. Sawyer entered the lounge. “Ah, Dr. Ward. Glad I found you.”
He was tall, and I used to think tall men were imposing. But after being around Boxer, I realized that wasn’t always the case. Boxer moved like he owned the space around him, swaggering with arrogance, but with the goods to back it up and not in a way that was ever forced. Dr. Sawyer reminded me of a deflated birthday balloon that was trying desperately to hold onto the last bit of helium, bobbing up and down, struggling to stay afloat.
“I was just coming down to the ER,” I said, trying to fend off a reprimand before it started.
“I need the biopsy results for my patient with the kidney tumor and then meet me in the ER.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned, and stalked out of the lounge.
I sighed and shook my head at Peyton. “The biggest dog at the dog park…and I’ve definitely become his bitch.”
* * *
The young woman sat on a hospital cot, her brown hair falling over her face as she held her shoulder with one hand.
“Ms. Carrington?”
She didn’t look up right away and when she did, I could see the dark smudge of a bruise at the corner of her right eye.
I pulled the curtain shut around us to give the illusion of privacy.
It was hard to tell her age. She looked like she could’ve been in her late teens or early twenties. The way she hunched over, along with her injuries, told me everything I needed to know.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I fell down the stairs. I hurt my shoulder.”
Classic excuse.
I examined her as gently as I could, but she winced in pain and then began to cry. Her shoulder was dislocated and needed to be put back into its socket, but from her reaction I guessed there was ligament damage and there was a good chance she needed surgery.
“Give me just a second,” I said, pushing the curtain aside.
I went to the admin desk and waited for the nurse to get off the phone. “Hey, Dr. Ward.”
“Hi Shelia, will you page Dr. Stillwater? I need an ortho consult. A young woman with a dislocated shoulder. It doesn’t look good.”
“Sure thing,” she said, picking up the phone.
I went back to Ms. Carrington who’d clearly been abused. I’d seen this so many times.
Scared. Alone. Wide eyes. No one to turn to.
