by B. B. Hamel
“Right, got it.”
“What else?”
I hesitated. “You tried to joke with him, tried to calm him down.”
“Always try to make them laugh if you can,” he said.
“You don’t strike me as a funny guy, you know.”
He gave me a deadpan stare. “I’m hilarious.”
I smiled a little. “Seriously, you don’t joke around very often.”
“Patients like it when you come down to their level. Don’t act like you know all the answers, but make sure you show them that you’re confident. It’s a hard line to walk, but you’ll get it sooner or later.” He glanced at me, frowning. “There’s one more thing.”
“The pillow?”
“No. He was alone.”
I sucked in a breath. Of course, I should’ve noticed that. Mr. Swanson was about to undergo a serious procedure, and it was hospital policy to allow at least one other person to wait in the room with the patient. Normally, it was a wife, or a child, or a close friend or other relative, but Mr. Swanson had nobody.
No wonder he was so nervous. “I didn’t see that,” I admitted.
“That’s always a red flag,” he said. “Especially when it’s a big operation. For something small, maybe not a huge deal. But a big one? There’s got to be someone around, and if there’s nobody, that’s not great.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just that he’ll go into this more stressed, and a stressed patient is more difficult to deal with than a relaxed one. It’s strange, but I can almost feel it when I do the work. A calm body is loose and responds more eagerly, but a stressed one fights everything.”
“Nobody taught me that in med school.”
“They wouldn’t. It’s maybe a little too esoteric for a medical textbook, but it’s the truth.” He glanced over at me. “I understand I have a bad reputation around his hospital. I’m not easy to work with, I’ll readily admit it. But bedside manner is incredibly important, because if your patients trust you, and are more relaxed, then you’ll have higher success rates.”
“Have there been studies about that?”
He made a face. “Of course not.” He glanced at me. “Coffee is good, by the way.”
We parted at the elevators. He rode up to his office to prep for Mr. Swanson and I went off in search of the other residents.
While wandering, I thought back to that brief meeting. I expected something else from Piers, expected him to be short, maybe a little angry, and instead he gave me an entirely new way of looking at bedside manner. Most doctors thought of it as simple professionalism, a way to make your patients feel happy, to get better reviews, to get sued less frequently. But Piers saw it as a medical necessity.
I understood that, to some extent. Maybe it was a little esoteric and out there, but he was the best, and if he said it helped—then I’d listen.
What impressed me though was how easily he handled Mr. Swanson. I wasn’t sure I would’ve been as patient, or been able to make so many jokes. I worried about my own bedside manner sometimes, but maybe it didn’t have to be such a big thing.
Like all skills, it could be learned, and if an asshole like Piers could smile and joke around, then I could too.
I waited for the elevator to ride down, figuring I’d start in the lobby and move out from there, when a nurse came over. It was the same young girl Piers had roped into grabbing a pillow for Mr. Swanson. She gave me a smile then looked at her phone, but looked up at me again.
“You’re Dr. Hood’s resident, right?”
I nodded. “Lori.”
“I’m Kirsten. Nice to meet you. Dr. Hood’s on our block a lot, you know. Lots of cardiac patients coming through.”
“Do you know him well?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really know him know him, you know? He sort of keeps to himself. Real professional.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
She tilted her head, giving me a wry smile. She had thick curly hair and freckles under her dark eyes. “I don’t know how you stand it, honestly.”
“He’s really good at what he does. I guess I’m lucky to get trained by him, right?”
“I guess so.” She tapped her foot. “Tough though. Real tough.”
“You said it. He’s a total dick.”
She laughed and covered her moth. “You said it, not me.”
“It’s true though, right?” I moved closer to her. “I see the way the nurses stare at him. They don’t like him, right?”
“Some do, some don’t. It’s kind of hard to say. He’s not really nice, sort of abrupt, you know? Like says what he wants, and isn’t really nice about it, but I guess most doctors are like that. No offense.”
“It’s okay, I’m not really a doctor yet anyway.”
“Close enough.” She seemed relieved that I wasn’t offended. “Dr. Hood is nice enough to me, I guess. And he’s real handsome.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I hadn’t noticed.”
She laughed and I could tell she was embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have said that. Not professional, I know.”
“It’s okay, I’m joking around. I know what he looks like.” I had a sudden idea, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “Has he ever, you know, dated someone from the hospital?”
She laughed and shook her head, and I felt a sudden, odd rush of relief. “God, no, no way. I mean, some of the girls try to flirt with him, and maybe he flirts back. I bet he could date half the hospital, if he really wanted, but no, I never heard of him going out with anyone. He keeps to himself, I think. Does his surgeries, goes home at night. That sort of thing. Not a super nice guy, but good to look at and good at his job.”
“That’s been my impression too,” I said. “I wonder if I can get him to loosen up.”
“You do that, and you’ll be everyone’s favorite girl at this hospital.” She put her hand on my arm, then the elevator arrived, and we rode down in a comfortable silence.
I could see Piers as the king of his hospital, if only he put a modicum of effort into playing the political game. Kirsten was right, he was incredibly handsome, and when he wanted to flirt—well, thinking about it made me blush, and I still had to get through the day with him.
But he could be charming, if he wanted. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t turn it on for the administrators, or even for the Tippett family. I bet he could’ve talked himself out of his problems, if he really wanted to.
That was strange, actually. The more I thought about it, the less it made sense. If he could be so charming, why not apply that skill to the rest of his life? He clearly understood the benefits of making friends.
And yet he chose not to.
Strange, genuinely strange.
I wanted to ask him, but first I’d have to find a way to phrase it without making me look like a total psycho.
12
Piers
Lori came yawning into the operation room and that set my jaw on edge. She looked tired, like she’d been out all night. It wasn’t even that early—seven in the morning, which meant we had to be at the hospital around four. I’d done earlier, and never once complained.
I pushed her out of my mind. The patient was a woman named Janet Wrench. It was a relatively simple procedure, though still major. We were replacing the mitral valve, though I wanted to see if it could be repaired first before making a final decision. Lori hung over my shoulder as we began, and she fell from my thoughts as the work flowed.
I loved surgery. I felt like a conductor leading an orchestra, standing in the middle of my operation room, doing something incredible. I lost myself to the actions, the movements, and sometimes I forgot that I was supposed to be teaching Lori. When I remembered, I spoke out loud what I was doing, how I was doing it, and why I chose to do it that way. She listened with rapt attention as I showed her the prolapsing portion of the mitral valve that had to be removed. I gently cut it, moving with swift, precision, then paused as I tur
ned to her. This was the easy part: sewing the cut section back together.
I held the instruments toward her. “You do it.”
Her eyes went wide. “Me?”
“You sew it. You know how?”
She nodded. “I was trained, but—”
“Do it.”
The nurses stared at me, but Lori took the instruments, stepped into position, and leaned over the patient.
She didn’t move for a long moment, and I didn’t rush her. If she needed to get her mind prepared, that was fine with me. I wanted her to take her time and do it correctly, and there was no clock, no score card keeping track of how quickly she saved a life.
Her hands were swift and steady. She entered the first stitch, then the next, working slowly, breathing deep. She reached the halfway point, paused, then kept going. The tiny slice in the valve slowly closed down, until—
“Stop,” I hissed, and she went dead still.
She was about to stitch too low. One more, and it would’ve impaired the valve’s functioning. I took the instruments from her and closed off the stitches, then finished the surgery myself, putting in place the annuloplasty band.
The rest of the procedure went smoothly. Lori hadn’t made a massive mistake, but only because I was there, watching like a hawk. If I hadn’t been, she might’ve done something monumentally stupid—all because she was inexperienced, or tired, or any number of things.
I closed the patient up myself and when we were finished, I cleaned myself up then stood in the hallway. Lori joined me a few moments later, looking nervous, staring down at the floor.
“Do you know why I stopped you?” I asked.
She glanced up. “I think so.”
“Tell me.”
“I was about to stitch too low.”
“And why was that bad?”
“It would’ve stitched the valve to the wall and impeded the band, but—”
“There’s no but,” I said, my voice hard and I struggled to keep the anger at bay.
She met my gaze, and I saw a hint of outrage. “You didn’t tell me what we were doing,” she said. “No prep, no nothing. You didn’t tell me you were going to let me actually operate on a woman.”
“And why does that matter?” I asked. “What would you have done differently? You’re a goddamn surgeon and a doctor, Lori. You need to be prepared to do whatever is takes every single time you come to work. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t get enough sleep, or you drank too much and you’re hungover. You need to perform.”
Her jaw clenched. I knew she wanted to lash out at me. She probably thought I wasn’t being fair.
But this was something even single new resident needed to hear: their life was no longer their own.
“I understand that,” she said.
“I don’t think you do.” I moved closer to her, and she backed up against a wall. We were alone in a quiet part of the hospital, the other operating rooms silent. The nurses wheeled the patient past, heading to the recovery section, but I barely noticed them.
I was entirely locked on Lori.
“You think I got into this because it’s fun?” she asked. “I want to be a surgeon because I take it seriously.”
“Then why were you yawning in my operating room?”
“Yawning?” She made a face then rolled her eyes. “I yawned once because I didn’t have time to drink coffee this morning, you rushed me into work earlier than I expected.”
“You need to be ready, no matter what. If you need coffee to function, you’d better have some prepared at all times. Get cold brew and keep it frozen if you have to, I don’t care, but figure it out.”
She wanted to lash out, and I didn’t blame her. I was being harder on her than was strictly necessary, but I remembered my time as a resident, and I wished someone had given me this speech.
Being a doctor was a constant job. It never stopped and never slowed, no matter what. I needed her to be ready for that, and the best thing I could do for her now was to be honest and tough.
“I was ready,” she said.
“Then why did you make a mistake?”
She didn’t answer. We locked eyes, alone, the world gone around us. I stood inches from her, and I knew something shifted as our bodies were tugged closer, by gravity, by desire, I wasn’t sure. My annoyance and anger drove me into this, pushed me into wanting to touch her cheek, even if it was wrong, and I knew everything could come tumbling apart if I gave in to this stupid need.
I wanted to teach her, and most of all, I wanted her to learn.
“It won’t happen again,” she said.
She walked a few feet away and leaned up against the wall with her fist, staring down at the floor—and I had a sudden and visceral memory hit me. I could almost feel what it was like to go through my first procedure with my attending standing at my shoulder. I felt the sweat all over again, the nerves tumble through my gut, and I knew that was what she felt, or something worse, or something like it at least. I took her from closing wounds to sewing up a heart valve, and that was too steep of a jump.
“Maybe that was my fault,” I said softly.
She looked back at me and let out a single, frustrated laugh. “How exactly?”
I took a moment to choose my words. “That was an intense operation,” I said. “And it was your first one, correct?”
She nodded. “First time working directly on the heart, if that’s what you mean.”
“I didn’t prepare you. I didn’t warn you.” I stepped toward her and put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s my mistake. I should’ve been up front about it.”
“Did you know you were going to let me do that?”
“No,” I admit. “In the moment, it felt right, but that’s not fair, is it? I can’t know if you’re ready without asking you first.”
She turned back to me. “It almost sounds like you’re a reasonable human being when you say it like that.”
I smirked slightly and brushed my knuckles across her cheek. It was a stupid thing to do—too intimate with far too many implications—and yet she turned her chin toward me, almost pulling my hand back against her.
“I’m difficult, but I’m not a monster. I don’t want to push your boundaries if it’s not going to help.”
“I appreciate that.”
“From now on, I’ll inform you before letting you take over a procedure. We’ll go over exactly what you’ll do and how you’ll do it, and we’ll make sure you’re ready. Is that a deal?”
“That’s a deal.”
I dropped my hand away, and it was like pulling my fingers away from something sweet. I didn’t want to, and some part of me resisted, but I knew I couldn’t keep pressing this relationship, not in the hospital at least.
And yet every time I was around her, I had one singular thought and emotion—pure, simple desire. I wanted to find her boundaries and take her much further than she ever imagined. I wanted to taste her, see her stripped down, feel the way she moaned and writhed. It was impossible to keep my mind from roaming up and down her body, and it was getting to the point where the distraction was affecting my work.
I had to find a way to turn that off. Neither of us could afford it, not right now.
“Go take a break for a while,” I said, stepping around her. “Find the other residents if you want. I know you’ve been hanging around that group.”
“Their attending actually teaches them.”
I laughed and waved as I walked away. She had to know what I was thinking and what I wanted, and yet she didn’t pull away. I saw it in her eyes, whenever I came close, that same need reflected back.
Sooner or later, I knew I’d break down. I only had to make sure that when I finally took what I wanted, it didn’t ruin everything.
13
Lori
I beat myself up for that near-fatal mistake for the next couple weeks.
Despite his initial reaction, Piers was surprisingly good about it. He walked me through that surgery the next
day and showed me each step in painfully exacting detail. We practiced it, over and over again, until I felt like I could do it in my sleep.
Then we did another surgery, and another, and another. Soon, he was running me through more complex procedures, showing me step by step, every single slice and stitch, every suture and clamp. We went from barely spending any time together, to spending a little time together, to spending every single spare second in whatever room was available studying video and talking technique. I was the more intense training I’d ever had, even more intense than my med school days, and he seemed to thrive on it.
It was like someone threw a switch. He went from constantly grouchy to strangely excited and encouraging. Each little mistake was met by ten ways for me to improve, but never in some demeaning or belittling way. He was kind and firm, but not mean.
I expected him to be cutting. I figured a guy like him would treat me like garbage until I either figured it out on my own, or gave up and left him alone.
That didn’t happen though. It was like he made some decision inside of himself, and threw himself into our relationship with a strange vigor.
I walked home one evening after a particularly long and frankly very boring description of a simple stent placement procedure, going over the motions in my head, like Tetris pieces falling into position. I swerved around a corner, dodged a group of young teens in school uniforms, and came face to face with Ted the private investigator.
He gave me a big smile. “Evening, Dr. Court.”
I walked right past him. “Not interested.”
But unfortunately, he didn’t let me scape, and fell into step. I hadn’t seen him in a few days, and was starting to hope that he’d lost interest, or had moved on to a new case.
“My employer wants to meet with you.”
That made me slow down. “Robert Tippett wants to see me?”
“Right now, if you have the time. He’s in a cafe nearby.”