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But despite the accolade, it now seemed like my whole world was suddenly imploding.
Amir and I met for an early, nervous cup of coffee. It was the first time we’d spoken since Nurse Teapot had threatened to rat us out.
What had we done? Yes, we’d hung out and performed rounds together where he’d taught me what it means to be a doctor. And yes, we’d had a brief flirtation on the stairs where I wanted him so badly my whole body was a simmering, potluck mess.
But did we deserve the consequences, which could range from mild reprimand to expulsion? I had no idea if the senior nurse, Elizabeth Sanders, had already notified the dean or called the residency programs where I’d applied, my future going up in smoke.
Amir and I both realized our dreams were about to come crashing down. On autopilot, we prepared for rounds. Amir said that Nurse Sanders would meet with us as soon as we had completed attending to our most pressing patients.
I knew that facing this gauntlet would be the most painful minutes of my life.
By 9:30 a.m., all critical patient care had been tidied up, and I walked into a small conference room where doctors could meet privately with the families anxiously sitting in the waiting area.
The news was frequently distressing, and the room was loaded with boxes of tissues and bottles of water on a sideboard. I hoped this wasn’t an omen for our discussion. I knew there was no crying in surgery, but my tear ducts could barely contain the Niagara Falls in formation.
Suddenly, our supervisor Shay, followed by Amir, burst into the room, their faces looking to me like a pair of crossbones. I braced myself. They were followed quickly by Nurse Sanders in a formal starched white outfit and looking stern, as if she was about to boil over again.
Everyone sat down quickly and there was no chit-chat. Shay walked us through the relevant rules and regulations of the hospital. Amir looked very pale, his eyes dull and flickering downwards.
And then a miracle occurred.
Shay said very quietly, “I have spoken to Nurse Sanders, as well as the dean, and we have agreed that the two of you deserve a second chance. You both have done very distinguished work and I gather from some brief discussion with HR, your records are spotless and filled with positive evaluations.”
He paused and I looked at the nurse, perhaps expecting her to lodge a last-minute objection. She looked at me and nodded in an open manner as if to say, “I’m not the monster you think I am.”
Shay continued. “Amir, you’ve come a long way both geographically and professionally as a diagnostician. The patients love your manner,but as a senior resident, there will be some consequences for your record, which we will discuss later. Rory, your father is a legendary figure here at this hospital and you have clearly inherited some of that gene pool. You’re still a little rough around the edges, but you’ll work on that as an intern in your first year or residency.”
I didn’t hear what he said next. I couldn’t hold back the flood. Niagara was breaking through the dam. Nurse Sanders pulled a packet of tissues from her pocket and flipped it over to me. I sniffed and dabbed, my heartbeat pounding through my scrubs.
Shay made one last statement that would resonate for the rest of my career. “Listen up, both of you. Nurse Sanders has withdrawn her report and HR will clear your files, Rory. Amir, your record is otherwise spotless, so we’ll be as delicate as possible. But if we ever hear of any further violation by either of you...”
Shay stopped and looked at each of us. “There are patients awaiting us. Please make sure you both donotwork together for the remainder of this rotation. We want to reinforce our rules of conduct and quiet any gossip. That will be all.”
I walked out and tried to remember which of my patients remained to be seen. I was like a ghost. I passed Amir in the hall, and maybe it was my imagination, but his eyes seemed moist and very sad. I forced a smile and moved on. I could read his lips hesitantly forming the magic words: “I love you.”
I performed rounds in a state of somber, hidden mourning. In the late afternoon, my cell rang. It was my mom, embarrassing me per usual at work. She never failed to do so, treating me like a child. As the sun was slowly setting, things went from bad to worse.
“Rory, your father and I need to talk to you.”
“Mom. I can’t just drop everything—”
“We’ll see you at seven.” Her crisp directive was followed by a dial tone, the nasty hang-up she had perfected.
As much as I hated my parents’ decrees, everything else in my life right now was anarchy, even as I was supposedly heading into responsible adulthood. My career was still precarious and my soulmate, the man of my dreams, was about to vamoose from my life.
I raced to my apartment and got myself dressed for dinner. I drove up to the familiar entrance of the house and felt every neurosis in my life activate as I pressed the code to open the gate.
Yet I had to admit it: in some crazy way, I missed home. My hours at the hospital had been totally self-absorbing and had blotted out any notions of family interaction, and quite surprisingly, I longed for the familiarity of my parents at that moment.
Perhaps the time away had softened them.
More likely, hell had entered arctic winter.
I sat down in the kitchen just past the coffee maker, criminally smudging my fingerprints on the granite top again.
“How many times do I have to tell you! Don’t touch the counter!” My mother had entered stage right and loudly conveyed her annoyance.
“Sit. Did you eat? Your father and I have something serious to discuss with you.” Here comes trouble. I could feel a fight-or-flight response emanating from my spine.
