by Ruby Cruz
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Avoidance
When had I become such a coward? When had I become so scared of the unknown? I’d spent the past few years, most of my life actually, revolving my expectations around others’ expectations. Sure, I’d spent the better part of my adulthood rebelling against my mother, focusing on my career, focusing on helping to raise Chloe. But my career, Chloe, they weren’t really mine. Jane had paved the way when she’d decided to become a nurse, I’d just followed suit. And when Jane had gotten pregnant, I’d been more than willing to help her out. Was I really living my life through Jane, through her relationships and priorities? When had my world become so entrenched in hers?
When Luke had moved to the city, my argument against the move was all against Colin. I had selfishly yelled at him for moving on without me when all he’d done was do what I’d been too scared to do myself, to move out of the small town we were in, to move beyond our little regional hospital and into the great beyond, to explore places and relationships that would never be accessible from our little, backwards part of the world.
And then there was Darcy. I’d been appalled when he’d declared his feelings for me, angry that he’d interfered with Jane’s happiness, embarrassed that he’d expressed such disdain for my chosen profession. But hadn’t I been just as bad as he? Hadn’t I acquired a prejudice against doctors, especially unseasoned ones, and mentally dismissed them when they refused to make split-second decisions in times of crisis? Hadn’t I felt superior when the obvious solutions appeared out of their grasp? And I’d been the worst with Darcy and Bingley because of their lives of privilege, and their lack of school loans and rent and car payments.
I agonized the next week over what would happen when I saw Darcy again. After all, the last time I saw him he’d declared his love for me, kissed me, and then told me that my family was an embarrassment. How the hell was I supposed to keep a straight face when I saw him next, not to mention work alongside him? Not that I wanted to laugh, far from it. I just wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. A huge part of me just wanted to escape, to pretend none of it happened and just go on with my life. But what type of life was it when I couldn’t express my opinion, when my heart would pound with just the thought of having to confront him again to advocate for my patients?
I have to admit that I took the cowardly approach at first. I avoided him.
Whenever I spotted him sauntering down the hall or if I happened to be assigned to one of his patients, I hid: in the patient’s room, clean utility, dirty utility, one time I even pretended to be on the phone when he walked by. I felt like a fool, a coward, and nothing at all like myself. I never spoke to Jane of what had happened in New York; I just could never explain to her how lacking Charlie had been to let someone like Darcy dictate his life. The girls at work, though, weren’t quite as clueless. They knew me well enough to realize that I was acting strangely whenever a certain doctor was around.
During one particular shift in which I’d spent ten minutes talking to a fake family member on the phone while Darcy lingered at the counter to write orders, Lydia turned a sardonic eye on me. “What is going on with you and Dr. Doomsday? You’re acting as if he has the plague. Not that I blame you, that personality of his is toxic enough on its own, but you never avoided him before.”
“Nothing is going on. It gets exhausting having to deal with him sometimes. I just need a break from the constant malingering.”
Lydia raised an eyebrow at me but left me alone.
What was I going to do? I couldn’t exactly avoid Darcy for the rest of my professional life. Did I need to find another job? I was comfortable where I was, relatively successful. The pay wasn’t what I would make at larger, more metropolitan hospitals, but Jane and I lived comfortably enough and Meryton was close to home.
In an attempt to return to some type of normal life, I joined the crew at Riley’s even though I really wasn’t in the mood to socialize. Ever since New York, I was never in the mood to socialize but I realized that I needed to at least make the appearance that I was trying, otherwise somebody would figure out there was something wrong with me. As I sat nursing my Diet Coke, I half-listened to the conversation around me. Mary droned on about the new updates to our computer documentation system while Kate complained about her ex-husband. Lydia ignored the conversation to text someone and I wished more than anything that time could rewind itself to six months ago, before Luke had left Meryton and before my whole world had been turned upside down.
I’d always been so sure of myself, so arrogant. Now I felt discombobulated, lost, and unsure of everything. How had I so misjudged Darcy and George? How had I so misjudged everyone? The good guys were bad, the bad guys good - I couldn’t keep things straight anymore. I couldn’t even understand myself anymore.
I’d thought myself so clever, had thought myself so righteous. My stupid preconceptions had clouded my thoughts and now...now everything was different. Our lives were the same – Jane and I had the same jobs, same lack of boyfriend, same crazy family and friends - but everything was changed. Jane was heartbroken, Luke was gone, and I was clueless and more confused than I’d ever been in my life.
And then there was that kiss. God, that kiss. My mind kept replaying that moment with Darcy, the feel of his hands in my hair, his lips as they traveled down my neck. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been kissed like that, probably never. I never thought just one kiss could change everything so completely. Just the thought of having to encounter Darcy day after day and not feel awkward was...disconcerting. I knew I couldn’t continue living my life like this, like I was in a fog or avoiding any association with Darcy. Something had to change. I just wasn’t sure what.
~
When I got up that morning, I just had a feeling it would be “one of those shifts.” I was feeling sluggish even after my first cup of coffee and just couldn't get myself engaged and moving. I was the charge nurse again and my patient assignment, while not heavy, seemed to be populated with needy patients. Some of the needs were legit: my c-diff patient had so much diarrhea he ended up with a rectal tube, my Alzheimer’s patient kept climbing out of bed and eventually required a safety sitter. I had to discharge two of my patients, then admit a third, all while dealing with the constant flow of a busy telemetry unit. And then there was Mr. Parisi.
Mr. Parisi was a middle-aged hotshot corporate litigator who had been admitted with intermittent chest pain and EKG changes. His cardiac catheterization revealed mild blockage to his right coronary artery and his echocardiogram showed trace tricuspid valve regurgitation. Dr. Darcy had decided to manage him with medications. By the end of the morning, I was hoping one of those medications could have been Xanax or Ativan, something to chill him out and get him off my back. He complained about the temperature in his room, the level of noise from the hallway, the quality of the food, the slowness of transport, the lack of communication from his doctors. Darcy had rounded on him early in the afternoon and had assured him that he would be discharged that day. By the time five o'clock rolled around, he was threatening to leave the hospital AMA as well as sue every single person who had cared for him during his stay. Nothing I could say would placate him and I was forced to involve the nursing supervisor, risk management, patient advocacy and Dr. Darcy. When Darcy finally arrived to write the discharge orders, he had a frazzled look about him I’d never seen before. His hair was unusually unkempt and I detected stubble where he was normally clean shaven. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he looked exhausted enough that I almost felt sorry for him.
“Mr. Parisi,” he began, “I apologize. I promised to discharge you by the end of the day and I have every intention of following through.”
“I don't care what the fuck your intentions were, I've been sitting in this hospital bed for four goddamn hours since you examined me and nobody’s done squat to get me out of here. Now I don't know what strings you have to pull or what bullshit you have to pull out of your asshole, but
if I’m not discharged out of this hospital within twenty minutes, I’ll sue your goddamned skinny ass for every penny you’ve got. Am I making myself clear?”
Despite Darcy’s obvious exhaustion, his voice became steely and his eyes hardened considerably. “Mr. Parisi, your language is inappropriate. I understand you’re frustrated and upset but taking out your anger on me and the nursing staff is inexcusable and intolerable. I will write your discharge orders but only after you apologize to Miss Bennett here for your language and your behavior.”
The patient’s face turned so purple I feared he would stroke out. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I’m not going to apologize, especially not for the half-assed care you and your fucking nursing staff have given me. This hospital is a goddamned disgrace to medicine and you’ll be lucky to have a license after I get finished speaking to the board about your shoddy practice and your piss-poor attitude.”
“Fine. I’ll contact the resident to write your AMA orders.”
“I’m not fucking leaving AMA! You’re being an asshole and goddamn if I’ll pay out of pocket for my stay at this rat’s nest of a hospital because you refuse to write my discharge orders. Fuck you! You and all your nursing buddies can go to hell. I’m fucking firing your ass. Get me another fucking doctor. I’m through talking with you. Fucking asshole, get out of my face!”
“With pleasure.”
Darcy stalked out of the room and I followed him out. There was no way I was going to stay in that room alone with that psychopath patient. Not five seconds after we left, I could hear Mr. Parisi screaming into his cell phone, presumably to his secretary or personal assistant to contact various hospital board members and his medical attorney. The patient advocate, obviously overhearing the exchange from the hallway, anxiously approached Darcy and demanded to know what had happened. After he relayed the exchange, she pressed her lips together and sighed but said nothing as she turned and walked away.
“Looks like he’s not the only one you’ve pissed off,” I muttered.
He watched her as she walked away from us. “Well, I don’t really care. She’s an ass-kisser and he’s an asshole. I don’t care how much money a patient donates or how many letters he has after his name, doesn’t given him the right to curse at you like that.” I raised an eyebrow at him and he turned back to face me. He sighed. “Okay. I know I should take my own advice.”
“You think? Granted your language isn’t usually as colorful as Mr. Parisi’s, but you could learn to temper your anger at times.”
“Am I really that bad?”
I considered. “Not nearly, though your words could do with some editing.” He was gazing at me intently and I was suddenly aware that this was the first real conversation we’d had since New York. All of a sudden I felt hot. “I should get back to my other patients.” Without waiting for a response, I escaped into the clean utility room.
He followed me. “Lizzy, wait.” He glanced around, assured that we were alone. “I’m sorry about what happened that night in the city. I’d drunk a little too much and, well, it hadn’t been my intention to do what I did. I didn’t want what happened to affect our professional relationship but I see that it already has.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been avoiding me. I’m not an idiot.”
I took a moment to craft my response. “Working with you feels…strange. It probably always will to a point. It’s not like we can erase what happened.”
“No, that’s not what…I just don’t want you to feel like you have to avoid me. I promise that nothing like that…that I’ll never behave inappropriately towards you again. You’re a good nurse, one that I am happy to work with, professionally, of course.”
I acknowledged his words with a slight nod of my head, and then blew out a breath. “Look, I’m sorry, too. I owe you an apology for all the stuff I said about you and George. I had no right to judge your actions against him, not without hearing the whole story.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“Yes, I do. I was rude and out of line, a pattern of mine that I can’t seem to break. I still don’t appreciate your interfering in my or my sister’s lives, but I do appreciate the sentiment behind your actions.” His expression lightened considerably with my words but I stayed him with my hand when he opened his mouth to respond. I measured my words carefully. “Please let me finish. I don’t think working together will be a problem but I think I just need some space right now. I honestly don’t feel comfortable talking about our personal lives while we are at work and I think it would be best if we don’t talk about anything other than our patients.”
The mask settled onto his face and I almost felt sorry for it. “Understood. I should go and write those discharge orders for Mr. Parisi, get him out of your hair.”
“That would be appreciated. You’re not worried he’s going to sue you?”
“He can try, but we’ve done nothing negligent in his care. We may have extended his length of stay by a few hours but it’s not like he will be charged any more, and as his former doctor, I can testify that I’d prescribed rest and a decrease of stress, which he is obviously non-compliant with already. I think we’re probably safe.”
With that, he inclined his head in farewell and left.
~
After Darcy and I had our “discussion” I almost felt like life at work had returned to some semblance of normalcy. I no longer made a concerted effort to hide or avoid Darcy, but, then again, I couldn’t completely ignore the little flutters invading my stomach whenever I had to deal with him, which, thankfully, became less often as the holidays approached. He’d taken to seeing his patients early in the morning before I arrived for my shifts so that as December wore on the only times I encountered him were on the rare occasions he was the on-call cardiologist and had to consult on patients in distress. I probably would have almost forgotten about that awkward time in New York City if I hadn’t been constantly reminded of why I’d been so angry with him in the first place.
In the weeks before Christmas, even though Jane put up a good front, she became even quieter than usual and bordered on despondent. She attacked Christmas shopping by spending hours poring over catalogues and online shopping sites searching for the best deal on clothes and toys for Chloe. She also literally filled our townhouse with the trappings of Christmas cheer and baked enough Christmas goodies to feed a third world country.
While Chloe loved the twinkling lights and sugar cookies and treats, I knew that Jane was overcompensating for the lack of a traditional family unit for Chloe. Even though she’d never admit it, Jane had always taken Mom’s attitudes about love and marriage more seriously than I had and truly thought that she was a disappointment to both Chloe and her mother for not being married. Mom’s constant badgering didn’t help the situation either and I was tempted to beg off Christmas festivities altogether; however, I couldn’t disappoint Chloe or Aunt Jo, who was taking the trip up from the Philly area again to spend Christmas Day with us.
I attempted to enlist Lydia’s help with Jane and getting her to ease up by taking her out to some holiday parties or even shopping without Chloe. Lydia, however, was engrossed in some new guy she’d started dating before Thanksgiving and couldn’t find the time or inclination to tear herself away from her self-imposed “sexile” to spend time with her depressed stepsister during the holidays. I was so disappointed in her that I stopped speaking to her in the days before Christmas; I suspected she didn’t even notice.
Even though a lot of my co-workers would disagree with me, I thought that working in the hospital around the holidays was pretty cool. A lot of the units decorated the hallways and rooms, the staff Christmas party at our manager’s house was pretty fun (and entertaining because Christina had zero tolerance and no filter when she drank), and the nurses stations were always replete with gifts from patients and clinicians - goodies ranging from homemade cookies to elaborate gift baskets of cheeses and chocolates
. The day before Christmas was especially nice because the choir from one of the local churches sang Christmas carols in the hallway. When the choir arrived and the hallways filled with music, we tried to bring as many patients as we could to the doorways so that they could watch the show. Most of the patients loved hearing the bit of holiday cheer from their hospital rooms; even though many were depressed about being hospitalized during Christmas, some at least attempted to be in good spirits.
Mr. Karev was a ninety-year old man who had been feeling “off” for about a week. When his family finally forced him to go see his doctor, preliminary tests showed he had probably suffered a previously undiagnosed heart attack and was experiencing a lot of arrhythmias. He hadn’t wanted to go to the doctor in the first place and now he was stuck in the hospital on Christmas Eve. His daughter and son-in-law spent most of the day visiting with him and trying to convince him to have the recommended tests done. So far he was refusing all types of testing and was demanding to be sent home so he could at least “die at home in peace.” His family appealed to me for help and, honestly, I was finding myself hard-pressed to offer it. Mr. Karev was elderly, but he had a sharp mind and knew exactly what he was doing when he was refusing treatment. He told me, after his daughter and son-in-law left to get some lunch, “I’m ninety years old. I’ve lived a long life. Elsie, my wife, she’s been gone for nearly twenty years and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. I’m ready to be with her. I’m not afraid of dying.”
When I suggested that he tell his family what he’d just told me, he shook his head dismissively, “They don’t want to listen to me. They think that because I’m old, I can’t make my own decisions anymore. They want me to be around for their kids and grandkids and, yeah, I think it’d be nice to watch them all grow up and make something of themselves. But that’s not my life, it’s their lives.” Somehow, I understood what he was telling me.
When his daughter and son-in-law returned from lunch, I asked to speak with them in the hallway before they entered Mr. Karev’s room. “I spoke with your father,” I started to say.