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And that would make it twice as hard when the other shoe inevitably fell and Davis showed his true colors. He didn’t think I was capable of doing this job based solely on the fact that I was a woman. Like Dr. Porter in med school who graded all the women in class harder than the men and then flatly denied the statistical analysis to the administration. Like Dr. Vittorio, the fellow resident who would “helpfully correct” me by repeating exactly what I’d just said. Like Dr. Hermann, the attending who barely knew my name but seemed to think Dr. Vittorio’s regurgitated responses were brilliant.
Like Mr. Nielsen when we began this whole task force last week.
Dr. Donaldson was an exception among the men I’d worked under. Of course, he probably hadn’t registered that I was a woman, no matter what Davis Freaking Hardcastle thought.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Dr. Donaldson appeared by my desk. “Hey, Dr. Croft, you know about the fundraiser gala coming up, right?”
“That time of year already?”
“Two weeks away.”
Strange, I didn’t remember seeing any of the usual emails begging me to part with a bit of my mediocre pay to give it back to them. After med students, fellows and residents had to be the worst sources for fundraising. I offered Dr. Donaldson a conciliatory smile. “I don’t exactly have two hundred dollars to spare.” And that was just for one plate.
“Oh, Dr. Okafor said they weren’t using some of their tickets.”
If that meant Davis wasn’t coming, I would check my schedule.
Kidding. I had no plans that weekend—or hardly any weekend. “That sounds nice.”
“Should I put you down for one?”
I studied Dr. Donaldson’s face for a second: handsome, serious, impassive. Accepting free tickets from another department hardly qualified as a date. He hadn’t even said whether he was going.
“Sure, thanks.”
Dr. Donaldson bobbed his head and retreated. Yeah, definitely didn’t seem like he meant anything by it. And as I’d told Davis Freaking Hardcastle half a dozen times, Dr. Donaldson couldn’t dream of crossing that ethical line. Like, he was probably physically incapable of it. Heck, he’d probably be surprised to learn I used the ladies’ restroom.
I’d seen too many good, qualified colleagues driven out of the field. There were only so many paths a woman in medicine could take: extremely friendly like Dr. Okafor, forceful like Dr. Ambrose, or absolutely above reproach like me, I hoped. I double-checked my email to make sure it was utterly professional and “perfect,” if that was what Davis thought.
I would show him perfect.
Over the next two weeks, Davis did not tip his hand. It was almost pleasant. He shadowed three other doctors in the ICU and more elsewhere, though I never heard about his other observations. He still sent alliterative emails almost daily.
Our wires got crossed, though, when we somehow ended up with two different versions of the state guidelines—and somehow document control for the hospital’s update got assigned to ICU nurse Debbie Harding instead of Davis Hardcastle.
Davis had had to copy the document three times to get a version he could manage. He’d attached it today, and I opened it.
Dear Debbie, he’d added at the top,despite your desire of document domination, do drop your dominion drive! Our divisions demand you desist!
I stifled a laugh. Neither of us even knew Debbie or anyone else in the ICU, but she’d become a stand-in for all the technological woes that had plagued us.
Davis signed off his email hoping that versioning wouldn’t vex us further.
Honestly, I regretted telling him we’d work better over email, and not just because we could have knocked out the guidelines in two or three focused meetings without all the software problems. The best part of alliteration, I’d found, was watching the smile that lurked in his eyes at our cleverness.
Did I... miss Davis?
No, of course not. He was the man who hadn’t wanted to work with a woman. We could have just been more productive in a meeting, which was rare. Not that any of this mattered, since any updates we came up with would have to endure the red tape gauntlet of the hospital bureaucracy, and we’d be lucky to see anything approved in our lifetimes.
“Dr. Croft.” Dr. Donaldson caught me right as I hit send. “Is the rest of your morning clear?”
I nodded.
“Because Dr. Okafor has representatives from the City Health Department here for a seminar, and I’d appreciate the support.” He offered half a smile. If he had a crisis of confidence, that was cute but unnecessary. He was an international expert on infectious disease.
Which meant it was probably because of me that we hadn’t been invited to present our last paper at that conference.
“I’m sure it would be beneficial for the task force for me to be there,” I pointed out. As far as I understood, between Davis’s position with the Division of Urban Health and our efforts with the state Health Department, it was definitely possible that the city would also want our help updating their HAI-prevention protocol.
