by Swati MH
While I’m updating charts for my other patients at the nurses’ station, I hear the familiar and irritating sound of gum popping coming down the hallway. I was hoping she would have taken a sick day, but then again, I hope for that every time we’re on the same shift.
“Looks like someone’s had a day.” Becca eyes me condescendingly before sitting down. I don’t know if she thinks she’s chewing rawhide, but it’s so loud and forceful, that between her chewing and popping habit and her fingers pounding on the keyboard, I have to close my eyes momentarily to make myself think about anything other than that sound.
I shrug. “It’s been a long day.”
Becca transferred to the NICU a year ago from another hospital and has managed to offend every single female nurse with unsolicited advice and screw every willing male doctor in the hospital. She’s made quite a name for herself with the nurses, but I won’t go into the names they call her. There’s no denying she’s a gorgeous--blonde, green-eyed, and Amazonian-like--woman with legs for days, but she makes little attempt to hide her knowledge of that. But what you see on the outside definitely doesn’t match the inside. She’s basically the bully of our little unit here in the NICU.
Becca turns toward me, glowering at me up and down. “You know, I bet you’d look so cute with highlights in your hair. It would really make your face go from drab to fab.”
“Thanks. Your opinion means the world to me,” I retort, rolling my eyes.
“I’m just saying.” She lifts a shoulder before popping a bubble. “I know it’s been years since anyone but you has gotten close to your vagina, so I was just offering you some tips.”
I practice a breathing technique I learned in yoga class--inhale for three beats, exhale for four--but sometimes you have to bite back to get your point across. “Again, thanks, Becca. Not all of us want as much action as your vagina sees, but if I ever change my mind, I’ll be sure to consult you.”
With that, I jump off my chair and hustle to get Braxton’s X-rays. I just got confirmation that the X-ray tech is ready for him, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect. I need to walk away before I swipe a claw at Becca’s flawless face. I swear, that woman has made it her life’s mission to offer people unwanted advice. I’m usually able to dismiss her lordly remarks, but something has me on edge today. Maybe it’s still the nerves from swiping right on Major’s profile or recalling the way Braxton winced when I tried to move his arm, but I just feel like there is impending doom lurking around the corner.
Confirming my suspicion, the radiologist tells me that Braxton has a fractured collarbone and will require a consultation from a pediatric orthopedic surgeon. I’m familiar with the team in Ortho since I’ve had to call them before, so I update Braxton’s doctor before I wheel his cart to his new private room on the other side of the floor since his parents had asked for more privacy during their visits to see him. After getting his doctor’s approval, I administer pain medication for the baby and walk back to the nurses’ station to call the pediatric orthopedic line. They confirm that they’ll send a doctor for a consultation during my morning shift tomorrow.
After finishing the last hour of my day still feeling unsettled--as if the universe is telling me something bad is about to happen--I clock out and get my things from the nurses’ lounge. I fumble around in my purse for my phone and pull it out to see if Major has responded to my right-swipe. I’m excited to find a notification pop up, stating that I have a new match, along with a message from Major.
Hey there! Glad to be connected. How’s your day going?
Instantly feeling uplifted, I type back with a smile on my face. I haven’t had the best of days, but I’m not going to unload that during my first conversation with Major. Hey! Aside from a sick baby throwing up on my fresh scrubs, I’d say I’m having a decent day. How about you?
I also have a missed message from Avni, in response to the last one I had sent her. As soon as I read it, I wish I hadn’t. My momentary reprieve to excitement is replaced with foreboding.
Maybe not so slim . . .. He’s actually doing his fellowship in PEDIATRIC orthopedic surgery. Don’t you have to talk to them sometimes?
Well, shit.
2
Vik
“Thanks for a great night on Saturday, Dr. Bedi. I . . . uh, I hope we can do that again sometime,” Ally--or is it Sally?--purrs softly into my ear. Her perfume overpowers my nose and I have to hold back a cough. Thankfully, my sleeping patient doesn’t hear--or smell--her while I check his post-surgery notes. Disheartened by my tight smile, Ally--oh, maybe it’s Molly--casually walks away to change his IV and move the compression pump from one leg to the other.
While Ally and I had a great time on Saturday night--I took her out to dinner and then ate her out for dessert--I left her place some time around three in the morning. Not for her lack of asking, there was just no way I was going to sleep over at her place. I haven’t done sleepovers in six years and I wasn’t about to start on Saturday.
While I’m happy to oblige when a woman asks for an “again” on the same night, it doesn’t exist in my repertoire of words past that. The one-night rule I made for myself six years ago has helped keep my life in control and uncomplicated. And frankly, it’s kept me and my female companions safe from the heartache of realizing that we’re inevitably not right for each other later down the line when we’re already attached.
I’m looking out for all parties involved here!
On the topic of attachment, I won’t say that I don’t get attached or that I’ve never been attached. On the contrary, I do and I have. The last time I did, I ended up on a weeks-long bender that almost put my residency in jeopardy. I know I’m not immune to attachments even now, and I’m not in denial of my ability to care for someone, either. But attachment for me isn’t gained only through sex. It would take a lot more than just a beautiful woman or a hot night to make me feel anything more--a whole hell of a lot more. But I don’t wait around long enough with anyone to find out. I do what any sane man who doesn’t want a relationship does--I commit for one night and one night only.
The way to avoid a broken heart? Don’t get attached.
It’s not like I lead women on. In fact, I leave no room for confusion, stating that this is a one-night escape for me and that they shouldn’t expect more beyond that. They always agree to the terms when I pick them up for our date but somehow, they always forget those terms as soon as the night ends.
But I digress.
I moved to this hospital during the middle of last week and have already had a chance to get on a pretty high profile pediatric surgery case for an advanced-stage spina bifida patient--something close to my heart. I’m also getting to work under the watch of Dr. Hammonds, who is nothing short of a legend at this hospital. People bring their children from all over the world to ensure that she’s their surgeon.
My hours are long, starting at about six in the morning and finishing around eight in the evening, not counting the random pages I get while I’m on-call in the evenings or the paperwork that needs to be completed during post-work hours. But the immense amount of learning makes up for the physical exhaustion. It also doesn’t hurt that there’s enough eye-candy around the hospital to open up a sweet shop. And that’s saying something considering so many females working here wear scrubs.
In the few days that I’ve been here, I’ve been lucky enough to see some of them without their scrubs on, too.
After updating the prescription for my patient, I leave Ally-Sally-Molly to finish her checks and head to my desk to double-check my schedule.
I’m just scrolling through my schedule when Dr. Hammonds walks toward me. She’s a petite woman in her early-sixties, though she has more energy than a six-pack of Red Bull. “Good morning, Vik. Two quick things . . . the faculty of doctors under whom you are doing this fellowship has approved your request to research the issues concerning spinal surgery on neonatal abstinence syndrome patients. You’ll be mentored by Dr. Rickman to get
it published. And--”
“Oh wow! That’s great to hear!” I can’t help but cut her off. This is huge for me because I find the subject incredibly interesting, and there hasn’t been enough research done to understand how babies addicted to drugs in the womb respond to bone surgery. “I’ve already started some of the research, and I’ll definitely have the paper ready before the end of my fellowship.”
Dr. Hammonds nods, her blonde curls bouncing with the movement. “I thought you’d be thrilled. Now, the next thing. Since you’re on your neonatal ICU rotation, I’ve asked the front desk to page you when it comes to neonatal consultations from now on.”
“Yup, my pager has been blowing up today.” I smile. “I’m about to head to the NICU for a patient with a suspected flail limb. I’ll do an assessment and confirm my consultation notes with you before moving forward with any treatment measures.”
“Lovely. Everything else going okay? You’ve settled into this portion of your rotations pretty well.”
I nod, adjusting the stethoscope around my neck. “Thanks. I’ve learned a lot over the course of the past six months actually. And have been fortunate to be a part of some major surgeries under very experienced surgeons like yourself. If this rotation is anything like the past few, I’ll barely have time for much else.”
Except for one-night stands and delicious desserts.
Dr. Hammonds tsks. “That’s the life of a fellow. I remember how brutally long my days were back then. But I’ve only received glowing feedback from the doctors you worked with over at Naval Medical, so I’m sure you’ll finish with flying colors. Ciao for now, I’m late for a meeting.” Not awaiting my response, she rushes off with the speed of a bullet train as I make my way to the elevators.
I press the button for the third floor--the same floor as obstetrics and gynecology--while skimming through the patient’s report in my hand. Labs have ruled out infection and the X-ray indicates a broken collarbone.
My mind is swimming with possible causes for the fracture as I exit the elevator. Clavicle fractures usually heal on their own and are the most common fracture for babies during birth, but I need to ensure that the patient won’t need surgery. I walk toward the NICU, noticing the room full of medical equipment with a few parents watching their precious newborns through the incubator’s plastic wall. Checking the patient’s file again, I realize that he has actually been moved to one of the private neonatal rooms on the other side of the floor.
I softly knock once before opening the door to the patient’s room and am only slightly surprised to see a sole nurse standing behind the computer screen. Since the screen is blocking her view, she tilts her head to the side to greet me, and I instantly see her brows furrow. I must be stunned immobile because it takes my brain a good fifteen seconds to register who I’m looking at. At first glance, I’m convinced that I’m mistaken, but that thought quickly fades when a familiar, whiskey-brown gaze scans me from head to toe.
Damn. I’ll never forget those flame-throwing eyes and that pouty mouth, always turned the wrong way.
“H-Hey . . . hi,” I stammer like an idiot.
“Good morning,” she responds tersely, going back to typing on the computer like she hasn’t recognized me. “I’m assuming you’re Dr. Bedi, the new fellow in orthopedics?”
My lips twitch to stop a smile from forming. Assume away, sweetheart. God, I want to smile so big right now, but I’m sure that would make me look like a lunatic, so I school my reaction. “Yes, and you’re nurse . . . Cassie?”
“Livingston. Nurse Livingston.” Even with her curt reply, I notice a flush has seeped into her face and she appears to be using the computer screen like her personal shield.
“Right. Great.” I move toward the patient to examine him. “Based on what I saw on this report, it seems like the fracture likely occurred during birth. There’s quite a bit of swelling, too.” I glance at Cassie. “Has his doctor increased his pain meds?”
Cassie nods, turning toward me for the first time before settling her gaze on the baby. My eyes take a quick assessment of how adorable she looks in her scrubs--she’s like a tiny smurf. “Yes, she increased them yesterday.”
I reluctantly drag my gaze back to the X-ray in my hand, and I continue, “Fortunately, the fracture I see on this X-ray, along with the recommendation of the radiologist, suggests that Braxton’s clavicle will heal on its own. I’ll get Dr. Hammond’s second opinion as well, but putting his arm in a soft bandage will ensure proper healing.”
While the baby is still asleep in the infant warmer, his face contorts slightly and he makes a soft, wincing cry. Cassie immediately moves to his bed and makes a soothing noise, rubbing the back of her hand along his fragile bicep. “It’s okay, little man,” she coos, pain lining her features as she watches the baby. You’d think with the number of patients she cares for every week this would be procedural for her. “I’ll inform his parents. They’ll likely want to speak with you or Dr. Hammonds in case they have further questions.”
I nod, knowing this is the end of my visit but not wanting it to be. I rub the back of my neck, trying to catch Cassie’s eyes. “So . . . how are you?”
Her dark brown, shoulder-length hair is pulled into a ponytail with several loose strands framing her face. She sees my eyes devouring her and immediately stiffens. “Still uninterested.”
I chuckle. “Still a firecracker, I see.”
“And still leaving.” She discards the gloves she’s wearing into the wastebasket and picks up her clipboard in preparation to leave.
She walks by me on her way to the door, leaving me holding my breath, yet still able to detect the fruity scent in her wake.
This little firecracker may be slow to burn, but damn if I don’t want to scorch my hands on her.
3
Cassie
Your one-track mind and undeterred focus can be your strengths, Taurus, but they can also lead to power plays and unfulfilled desires. With Venus and Neptune in alignment at the top of your solar chart, it’s a great chance to do some soul-searching this week.
Holy crap. Oh my God.
“Breathe in for three and out for four . . . .. In three, out four,” I remind myself as I take long inhales and longer strides back to the nurses’ station, though my knees wobble like they’re supporting dead weight.
Of all the places Vik Bedi could have moved to from New York, he just had to choose San Diego. Not Miami or Anchorage or Timbuktu, but San Diego! And now, he’s going to be my patient’s orthopedic consultant.
Ugh! Why, universe? What did I ever do to you?
Just the way he said my name today, with his gravelly voice, made me want to smack the little smile that kept trying to make its way to the surface right off his face. I mean, what is it with this guy? Who does he think he is, waltzing into my patient’s room, looking like he just walked off of a poster, acting all high and mighty, and asking me how I’m doing?
My panties are wet, but other than that, I’m fan-freaking-tastic, thank you very much!
And the smell of that stupidly tantalizing cologne with hints of cedar and geranium immediately brought me back to Avni’s wedding reception when I danced with him. It wasn’t even that strong, but I could barely breathe in the small room. It must contain some sort of airborne narcotic to hook women. I wouldn’t put it past him to wear something like that. I couldn’t even stop myself from walking just a little closer than I should have on my way out of the patient’s room just to get a good whiff.
Pathetic, I know.
Thankfully, we don’t need any other consultations from Ortho for the rest of the day, and I’m able to get my breathing back under control and attend to my patients. I get a message back from Vik toward the end of my shift saying that the original assessment and treatment options have been confirmed and that he’d be in to check on Braxton again in a couple of days. I mentally remind myself not to be in the vicinity when he comes back to this floor.
After securing Braxton’s arm to h
is body in a soft bandage and updating his patient records, I talk to his parents. They have a few questions for Vik and Dr. Hammonds about recovery time and concerns about nerve damage, so I give them the appropriate contact information for both doctors.
By the end of the day, I’m exhausted and in serious need of a nice long bath. Since I have tomorrow off, I update all my files to make sure my backup nurse knows exactly what all my patients need.
I’m just pulling out my purse from the locker in the nurses’ lounge when Lynn walks in. “Hey, leaving for the day?” she asks, sitting down at the table and pulling open a new bag of gummy worms.
“Yeah, I’m exhausted.”
“I’ve still got another four hours, but I can’t wait to get home and put my feet up.” She offers the opened bag to me. “Did you hear back from Major yet?” She emphasizes his name with a smirk.
I take a few of her gummy worms. “Yeah, we texted back and forth a few times last night and then again this morning. He seems sweet.”
Lynn’s eyes shine as bright as her smile. “Look at you, Ms. Right-Swiper! Looks like you’ll be getting yourself a Major date soon.” She air-quotes with a gummy worm dangling from her finger. “I can’t wait until I can ask you if he’s given you Major orgasms. I mean, his name is a boon, really. So versatile.”
I roll my eyes but laugh. “Yeah, we actually talked about meeting up for dinner this weekend, so I’ll tell you how it goes. How are things in Lynn-Land?”
“All good on the personal life front. I have two dates this weekend, but I might cancel on one of them. He keeps sending me pictures of his abs, and not just one or two. At this point, he’s sent me over twenty. I mean, sure, he has great abs, but I wonder if he’s overcompensating for a department he’s uh . . . lacking in. In any case, he definitely crossed the creep-o-meter for me.” She makes a stretchy, cringing face before she continues, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s hot. But the barrage of pictures is just becoming spam at this point.”