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He presses a shaky hand to his chest. “Shit, I’m impressed—given you’re still learning.”
I’m not going to tell him how little I really understand about drugs or how proficient I’ve become at bullshit since I started in the ER.
Three Months Later
1
Kate
My phone buzzes as I’m standing by the desk looking at the patient list. As I glance down at the screen, the wordDavidflashes across it. I don’t hear from him often now, but he still sometimes calls.
“Hello.”
“Kate!”
His familiar warm voice fills my ear like he’s pressed against me whispering right into it, my hands on his warm skin and in his tousled hair. My chest aches, and I close my eyes.
“How are you?” He says, his voice a soft rumble. “How’s it feel being a proper doctor?”
I don’t want to talk to David.But you knew that before you picked up the phone, Kate. That’s me, always responsible and buttoned down, doing the right thing. And I’m not a real doctor yet, I’m part way through the first year of a four-year residency to get my medical license. I roll my lips together and stare at the computer screen.
“Oh, you know.” I give a fake laugh. “Real patients, rotating around different specialties, that kind of thing.”
“Sounds like fun, and it’s what you’ve wanted your whole life. That must be great. And how are you doing otherwise?”
So polite after everything—it’s like we’re strangers. And medicine no longer feels like what I’ve wanted to do my whole life.
“Did you call for a reason?”
There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone.
“Just to say hello, to stay in touch with you, Kate.” I hear a long, controlled breath on the other end. “After everything, it would feel very weird not to even be in touch with you.”
I fiddle with the stethoscope around my neck. It’s been two years since David and I ended things, and I’m over him now.
“Ms. Thurman.” A nurse appears at my side, face slightly flushed.
“I’ve got to go. I’m at work.”
“Call me later, Kate, yeah? It’d be good to catch up.”
There’s a rosy-red tint of dawn in the sky as the bus rattles over potholes and through green lights, and every bone in my body screams at me to lie down. Coming home from the nightshift is the best part of my day: The streets are empty, and there’s seats on the bus. But my normal quiet contemplation of Manhattan is impossible this morning. Last night was nonstop carnage. Someone came in with an axe wound on his head and his back. A dispute with another guy, he said. Who does that? But that wasn’t the worst incident of the night by any means: six cardiac arrests, four of them we couldn’t save. Time stands still during an arrest: It’s just you, a body, and the equipment.
All the medical rotations I did during college were fine, but working in emergency medicine is shining a cold harsh light on every decision:Get it right. There’s no time for thinking or planning; just surviving on my nerves and minimal skills. Confronted with symptoms I don’t understand, ice freezes my insides and my thoughts disappear down a rabbit hole: Did I make a mistake? Maybe medicine is not for me. Maybe I’m not smart enough.
The graffiti-covered rolling shutters whip past in a colored blur. A call from David! What the hell? A shiver runs down my spine. It must be six months since he last called. So many charming, troubled men, like that guy I treated months ago. Fabian. Yes. Fabian Adramovich. I wonder what happened to him. Those tattoos! I’m not into long hair, but his was curly and thick and he had all this scruff on his chin … A long breath seeps out between my teeth. I’ve dated sensible hard-working guys, interns and residents, but there’s always somethingmissing; and then all it takes is one look from a brooding, unstable guy and that fluttering starts inside. I rest my head on the cold windowpane and stare out at the empty streets. You think I’d know better by now; I don’t need any more drama. The ER is more than enough.
When I’m back in the apartment, I putz around making toast and taking a long hot shower. I’ve been avoiding my email for days, so I sit down at my computer—God forbid there’s something from my mom or, worse, my dad. And there are a few emails sitting in my inbox, none with the surname Thurman attached, though, thank God, but there is one from my residency director, Mike Rodriguez, that’s headed “Emergency Medicine Internship,” and I click to open it.
Dear Kate,
Apologies for sending this on email, but I’ve not managed to catch you in the emergency department. I’ve had some feedback that you’ve been struggling with your current rotation, and I’d like to talk to you in the next few days. Please fix an appointment to come and see me.
Mike.
My breath whips away in a sharp exhale, and I slump back in my seat and stare at the words blurring on the screen. He wants to see me? I knew I wasn’t doing that well, but I never thought that it was bad enough that I’d be called in to see the residency director. And I’ve been better lately, I know I have. Neil said only two weeks ago that my decision-making was much improved.
A wet splotch lands on my keyboard, followed by another, and I try and suck in a breath as my throat closes up.Kleenex.I stand, and in two steps I grab a handful from the box by my bed and blow my nose.Holy shit.All my life, I’ve fought tooth and nail to get through everything. I sink back down into the chair again and look at the words on the screen.
