by Barbara Ebel
As Pete went back to the sandwich counter, Annabel scanned the text.
Yes. Good. Looking forward. Meet you at the steakhouse on Walnut? 6:30 p.m.?
Yes. I’ll nap quickly! she replied.
Having paid already at the counter, she started towards the door but went back instead near the register. Bags and palm-sized boxes of treats sat in wooden cubby holes and she sorted through them. A huge grin spread across her face when she found both chocolate espresso beans and chocolate-covered blueberries.
“Here,” she said to the manager. “Two more items.”
“Share them with your date.”
“They’re not for him,” she said, “but for a fellow student and myself on rotation.”
“Right. I’ll be sure to keep them in stock.”
-----
Annabel walked up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. Inside, she walked through the kitchen to her one big room with a desk, a bed, and one over-sized comfortable chair. The big tree outside the front window appeared frozen in place with no leaves and a hint of frost. She put her things down, changed into pajamas, and crashed.
Her glorious sleep abruptly ended in an hour when a cascade of emergency vehicles zoomed past on the street out front. Annabel rubbed her eyes and padded to the bathroom, where she stood under a hot shower. She added extra hair conditioner and thought about meeting Robby. She mulled over the advice she received from Pete in the neighborhood coffee shop while she dried. Going back to sleep now was out of the question; she would be tired later. It would be best to keep the evening short … like turning their first date into an hour or two of quality time.
Annabel managed to read an equally short amount on lung cancer and Parkinson’s disease. She peeled away from her desk; it was time to get ready. She’d never been to that restaurant before; wasn’t even a fan of steak. Hopefully, the menu would have decent alternatives. She presumed it wasn’t too fancy, so she picked out the skirt and blouse and warm boots.
She rubbed mousse into her hair, glided on lipstick, and bundled up in her black jacket and red warm hat and sprinted out to the car. Annabel was aware of the steakhouse on Walnut, but when she neared it, she realized it was a one-way street and it took her several attempts to come off the parallel street and find it. After-work traffic crawled and then she circled around the block again for a parking spot. Despite trying to put her anxiety under wrap, it was getting the best of her. How embarrassing to be late.
She hurried against the cold wind and entered Kirk’s Steakhouse. It smelled wonderful as she looked around trying to spot Robby. “Will someone be joining you?” the maître d asked.
“Yes. I don’t see him.”
“I’ll sit you comfortably while you wait. Table or booth?”
“A booth will be fine.”
He guided her over, handed her a menu, and said, “Enjoy.”
The first thing she did was place her cell on the placemat. A waitress stepped over and then came back with the white wine she ordered to ease her nerves. Her pulse pounded more definitively in her wrist. Darn, she thought, she was almost twenty minutes late, but he was overdue worse than her. She took a sip. Did this mean she was being stood up? What a horrible thought!
With the volume all the way up, her phone dinged like it was a sedentary tree frog calling a mate.
I’m guessing you are held up, but are you okay? Robby texted.
No problems here, she typed back. Yes, I thought we were supposed to meet at the restaurant at 6:30.
I’d see you if you were here. Where are you? Never mind, I’ll call.
Perplexed, she held the phone as it rang.
“Hi. Did you think you were stood up, which caused you to leave?”
“No. I wouldn’t expect that from you,” she said.
“That would be childish behavior. I arrived five minutes early at The Steakhouse. Did you go somewhere else?”
“What steakhouse? I’m a few blocks off the freeway at Kirk’s Steakhouse on Walnut.”
After a silence, he said, “That explains it. I’m a few miles west of you. I thought you said you knew this place.”
“I did know of this one. I’ve never been that far over on Walnut to know that there’s another steak restaurant in the area. An honest mistake.”
“We didn’t coordinate this well.”
Annabel looked at her watch; 7:30. It might as well be 11 p.m. the way she was feeling.
“Want to come up here?” he asked. “I’m enjoying a craft beer and munching on a plate of appetizers which I thought you’d enjoy.”
“Umm,” she stammered. “I’m halfway through a glass of wine and am about to eat a warm dinner roll.”
“Then I’ll head your way. I need to pay the bill. The road going east, however, is down to one lane for repairs so it make take me awhile.”
She frowned. However, this date, more than any, was a priority. “Okay, I’m not going anywhere, but I do have to get up at the usual ungodly hour.”
“Me, too. I’ll hang up and see you shortly.”
-----
Robby waited for the waitress and asked for a to-go container and the bill. She disappeared to the kitchen, served another table, and then trotted back with a Styrofoam box, but without the bill. He slid in the stuffed mushrooms and potato skins.
The traffic on Walnut was doubly ensnarled. Someone hit a few road cones and Robby and another man got out of their vehicles to straighten up the mess.
-----
At Kirk’s Steakhouse, all Annabel could think of was that the date-turned-late was now nothing more than a bad idea. Already 8 o’clock … by the time Robby arrived, they ordered, and dinner came, she should be in bed. A romantic, enjoyable date was turning into an impracticality after the long hours of her hospital call and tedious wait. Her nerves were spent, and her glow to see him was also gone. With her attention span diminished, her desire for bed had intensified.
The reality of living a life as a medical student and the responsibilities that entailed made her snap to the practical decision. She called his number back.
“Robby, hey, I’m sorry about this. Our plan took a prolonged course tonight and I think we should reschedule. Do you mind?”
Robby sat at a traffic light close to the restaurant. “Yes, perhaps that’s best. We’ll do it another time. Drive home safely.”
“Good night,” she said. She left the remains of an appetizer and frowned while paying the bill. Her stomach grumbled and she drove home with a silent radio. How much energy she had invested in their first date that never materialized, she thought. At home, she fell into bed quickly, sorry about the entire night.
CHAPTER 6
Annabel woke up with a headache. Above her right eye throbbed with a dull percussion like a timely instrument. The only scenario that would top how terrible the night before had turned out was if the two of them had eaten dinner and had a dreadful time. She contemplated the whole scenario and then rolled out of bed.
“Damn,” she mumbled as she ran the water until it turned warm. When Robby mentioned meeting at the steakhouse, she should have asked him to be specific. Then again, he had told her his plan where he wanted to eat without asking her opinion. How would they get back on track for a date? Would he call her or should she call or text him? And should she wait? If too many days elapsed before they connected again, then the possibility of never going out with him might become a reality.
For the time being, she needed to get him out of her mind. A full day of internal medicine, interesting patients, and scut work was on today’s agenda as well as the companionship of her team members. She liked the group and cherished Bob’s company most of all. Time to slip out of her apartment and face the day on the wards.
-----
Annabel buzzed in to see each of her patients before Dr. Schott arrived. Her seventy-year-old Parkinson’s patient, Darlene Pratt, was a sight she hated to witness; nothing but a vestige of a woman who used to be normal and did nothing to deserve t
he medical health that befell her.
For a second, Darlene’s eyes popped open wider when she realized Annabel had entered and she mumbled unintelligible gibberish her way. Now her short hair was flatter than before like a dried pancake adhering to her skull. Annabel tilted the bedside chart and noted her patient’s vital signs since yesterday. Hanging from the pole next to the bed was the aminoglycoside antibiotic they had prescribed her. The blue infusion pump was set to deliver it over an hour and someone had added extra wrapping around her forearm to keep the IV in place.
The clunking of food trays from the kitchen cart outside the door came to a stop and a man wearing silent sneakers walked in and grinned. He placed the tray on the rolling table and left.
“Just in time,” Darlene’s daughter, Gloria, said as she walked in dragging her feet. The thick shoes she wore added to the noise she created with her clumsy gait.
Annabel nodded hello as Gloria piled her coat and bag on a chair and went around the bed to the tray table like it was an emergency.
“Is my mother’s condition under control this morning?”
“She ran a low-grade temperature during the night. Until she has a day or two of antibiotics, that’s to be expected.”
Gloria raised her mother’s bed with the remote controls and straightened her up. “Mom, I’m here. Your daughter, Gloria.”
Darlene made a big inspiratory sigh. Her head barely moved as she made eye contact. A slight glimpse of recognition glinted in her eyes.
Gloria uncovered the hot food and checked the temperature of it with her own tongue. Satisfied, she brought grits to her mother’s lips.
“She has dysphagia,” Gloria said. “You know … difficulty swallowing. She requires soft food. It’s only a question of time when we’ll need a tube placed to feed her.”
“Maybe that will be a ways off,” Annabel said. “I must go meet my colleagues, but we’ll be by.” She silently applauded Gloria’s dedication as she wandered to the office.
The students, not the junior residents, were accounted for. They acknowledged each other with “good morning” and nods of the head. Dr. Schott sat cross-legged in the corner of the couch with his daily USA Today. He lowered the paper to see who had come in and raised it back up.
“Nothing should surprise me anymore,” he said. “I’m not that much older than the millennial generation, but even I can’t wrap my head around the behavior of your age group.”
Bob stepped aside for Annabel to find a spot for her things. They wondered what Donn was referring to.
“The title of this article is ‘Sex before dating is OK and the rules have changed,’” Donn said. “It says ‘While the rule of thumb may have been wait to have sex until a third date, 34% of singles have had sex before a first date, and millennials are 48% more likely to have sex before a first date than all other generations of singles in America.’”
He poked his head out for a second to see their reaction of open mouths. Except for Annabel, who held her breath.
“This comes from a survey,” he continued, “and the woman who helped develop it says ‘Millennials especially are unencumbered by fears that may have held people back from sex in the past. They are career-oriented, so sex before the first date could be a ‘sex interview,’ where they want to know if they want to spend time with this person.’”
Annabel cringed. Hearing what she did for the last six months on an almost regular basis sounded terrible the way it was portrayed. But she knew lots of millennials were doing it like her; this just proved it. She glanced at Bob, who seemed surprised yet not alarmed with disbelief.
Above the paper, the top of Donn’s head went back and forth in disapproval as he continued reading. "Forty percent of singles have dated someone they met online. And it says sex now is almost a given and it’s not the intimate part. That part is getting to know someone and going on a date!”
Melody and Chineka walked in as Dr. Schott folded over the newspaper. “I can’t read another word,” he said. “Knowing this gives me the creeps. I’m glad my parents aren’t aware of this behavior. I can hear them now. ‘What’s this world coming to?’”
He sighed and scrutinized each of them. “I hope none of you partake in anything close to this behavior. I’m not preaching, I’m saying it because of the potential for sexually transmitted diseases, the threat of pregnancy with or without condoms, and whether you can trust someone when they say they’re on birth control. And besides, a risk exists by being behind closed doors with a person you don’t know and who may possess a criminal record. In my opinion, the behavior they speak about and its consequences could put an abrupt stop to a significant career.”
A redness swept up from Annabel’s neck to her cheeks. She felt flushed and could use fresh air. Between last night and this morning, events related to dating were causing her much angst.
Dr. Schott rose, slid his paper into his briefcase, and waved his arm. “Come on. Let’s talk at or near the bedside of our patients.”
-----
The residents and Dr. Schott loaded patient charts on the rolling cart behind the nurse’s station.
Annabel stared at the floor and hoped that the flushing of her cheeks had diminished. For a major article about millennial dating and current practices via social apps to appear in a prominent newspaper gave credence to the fact that many people her age were doing the same thing. They had even done a study on it. She understood Dr. Schott’s points, however; she had gotten herself into trouble a few times with dating or sleeping with someone she didn’t know. In the old days, which was probably his point, two people usually stalled before becoming intimate.
“Annabel, you’re awfully quiet this morning,” Bob said, taking a step closer to her. “I didn’t ask you about how it went last night because I thought you’d be brimming over smiling, but you’re not.”
Her expression soured more than the sour face she already wore. She kept looking at the floor and did not meet his stare. “There was a mix up. We didn’t end up having the date.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, dying to hear why. “I’d be disappointed too.” She must be crushed, he thought, waiting for a further explanation. But none came.
Stuart sighed next to her, whipped out his index cards, and thumbed through them. Jordan stopped scrolling through his iPhone, making sure Donn wasn’t looking their way.
“I can’t believe what Dr. Schott read to us,” Jordan said. “I just located the Findar dating app and installed it. Ha, I have to at least check it out. It must be easier for guys to do the behavior the researchers talked about. I can’t imagine a female doing it. They must all be sluts. But if they’re out there and available, what the heck. I must think about it.”
“Jordan,” Bob said. “You’ll get what you ask for.”
Jordan shrugged. “I suppose so. Plus, can you imagine some girl finding out that a guy is on his way to becoming a doctor? Female gold-diggers would come out of the woodwork.”
“What do you think, Stuart?” Bob asked.
“Perhaps, after thorough vetting and research,” Stuart answered, “you could find decent dating material on a social app but not with the intent of jumping into bed. For six months, my brother’s been going out with someone he met online and he likes her.”
“We haven’t heard from Annabel,” Jordan said.
Annabel frowned.
“Annabel is too smart,” Bob said, “and comes from a good family. She’d never do something like that. There are plenty of exceptional males around in medicine that would like to go out with her. She doesn’t need to stoop that low.”
Annabel felt like putting her head into her hands and blocking them all out. If they said one more word, she was going to scream.
-----
Melody’s heels click-clacked across the hall as she pushed the cart of charts in front of her. Dr. Schott and Chineka stopped before she did and Donn pulled something out of his pocket. Everyone waited as he ripped open the wrapping to a mint and popped
it in his mouth.
“Dr. Tilson,” Donn said as he held the peppermint inside his cheek, which made a bulge. “Let’s hear your update on May Oliver.”
“The pulmonary service visited her yesterday,” Annabel said, “and left a note. Like we thought, they recommended a fiber optic bronchoscopy; she’s on their schedule for tomorrow.”
“I wonder how much they told her,” Donn said.
“I don’t think the word ‘cancer’ has been mentioned yet.”
“Good. My instincts tell me to give her this time to ponder the possibilities. Although there might be some denial, there is rarely a patient that skips over thinking of the prospect of cancer.”
“Her hemoptysis is still present,” Annabel continued, “and she complained of waking up with it during the night, but her vital signs are stable, and still no sign of a fever or infection. Her white count is normal.”
“With all the reading you did yesterday after call, Dr. Tilson, what did you learn about potential other risk factors for lung cancer for a patient like Mrs. Oliver … since she doesn’t smoke?”
Annabel never came across anything about it in her limited reading. She pursed her lips with frustration.
“No problem,” Dr. Schott said. “But you better learn it by test time. Mrs. Oliver went from college to a coffee shop and gives no history of exposure to occupational or environmental toxins which would have ramped up her risk. Specifically, what would that entail, Dr. Palmer?”
“Asbestos,” Bob said.
“Good. What else?”
“Radon,” Stuart said, “or a significant blast of radiation exposure.”
“Nice,” Donn said. “What if she had a history of being around asbestos? Dr. Schneider, tell the students the current, new thoughts on lung cancer screening.”
Melody left her hand wrapped around the rail of the cart. “There was a trial with select high-risk patients where they received a yearly low-dose CT scan of the chest. Their findings showed a reduction in lung cancer mortality so that routine screening in clinical practice is becoming more common.”