by Ava Conway
“I know.”
“People often come to us with more than one problem.”
“Of course.”
“Sadly, many will never recover from their illnesses.”
“Dr. Polanski, with all due respect, what are you trying to tell me?”
“What I’m trying to say is this.” She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the desk. “When you are surrounded by people who either don’t want to get better or can’t get better, things can get rather depressing. Sometimes it’s difficult not to have that depression reach out into other aspects of your life.” She shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “On some level, you need to detach yourself from these patients and not become too emotionally involved. Otherwise their problems will start to become your problems, and it can be hard to remember where the work life ends and the personal life begins. When your work here starts to blend with your personal life, things can get rather messy.”
“I assure you, I have no intention of becoming emotionally involved with any of the patients,” I said.
“We never do.” She swiveled in her office chair and considered me. “You made a mistake in group therapy this morning—a crucial one.”
“I let Nesto goad me into a fight.”
“Yes, but that was only part of it.” She stood and slowly walked around the desk to where I sat. “You became attached to McKenna, and that attachment could have been disastrous for the whole floor.”
“McKenna?”
She smiled. “You didn’t want me to give Flynn the lorazepam.”
My thoughts immediately turned to Flynn’s dimpled half smile. “But he wasn’t dangerous.” Sexy, but not dangerous.
She stood behind me and put her hands on my chair. “And there is the mistake.”
“The mistake?” I turned around and met her gaze.
“Yes.” She let go of the chair and stepped around it to face me. “I mentioned before that there are rules in place. People are watching, so we need to follow them.”
“Of course.”
“But there is another reason we need to follow the rules, Mia.”
“What is it?” I asked when she didn’t continue.
“Rules are put in place for a reason. They build trust and ensure the safety of everyone in our care. When we deviate from those rules, we start to put other people in danger.” She settled in her chair and steepled her fingers once more. “Flynn keeps his aggression hidden. It builds and builds until he has no choice but to let it out.” Her eyes took on a faraway look as she talked. “I’ve seen him go from completely calm to manic within seconds, like an explosion of emotion. Once it starts, he just has to keep going and going until everything is out.”
“What does he do?”
My words seemed to pull Dr. Polanski out of her daydream. “Just be careful with him, Mia. Mr. McKenna isn’t always what he seems on the surface. There is a lot more going on underneath his charming exterior.”
I nodded and made a mental note of it. “Of course.”
Dr. Polanski settled in her chair and nodded. “Good.” She glanced at her computer, then shifted her gaze to the tall stack of folders on her desk. “I’ve changed my mind. You are going to have two assignments this semester.”
“I can handle it.” I opened my notebook and took out my pen. “Just tell me what it is and consider it done.”
Dr. Polanski chuckled. “The first task will be to get to know Flynn and Nesto and evaluate them for work therapy eligibility.”
I wrote down the assignment in my notebook. “And the two women?”
“We’ll hold it at two patients for now and see how things go.”
She picked up a stack of folders on her desk and flashed me a knowing smile. “Your second assignment is a little more mundane, I’m afraid.”
“What are these?” I asked as she handed me the folders.
Dr. Polanski sighed. “Notes on patient behavior, taken by the techs.”
“The techs?”
“All of the common rooms and hallways have security cameras. Techs watch the patients to make sure they don’t get out of line and notify us if there is a problem. They used to be in the room with the patients, but we found that to be too disruptive.”
“So you had cameras installed and they watch the patients with live streaming.” Dr. Polanski had written a paper on the differences in patient behavior when they knew they were being watched and when they thought they were alone. In it she mentioned the cameras. I had to read it for one of my classes.
“I’ve looked over all of these notes, but with all of the budget meetings going on, I’ve fallen way behind on my data entry.” She scribbled something down on a notepad, tore it off, and handed it to me. “I trust you are familiar with the hospital database?”
“Not really.”
“You will be. That envelope you have in your lap contains instructions on how to access the database and set up your account. I just gave you my account information. This will allow you access to my spreadsheets on patient behavior and to input the data.”
“Okay.” I hurried to take down all of the instruction in my notebook.
“Pam will also need some help. She will stop by later with some more folders containing medication histories. Those will need to be entered as well. You can also do that through my account.”
“Of course.”
“The spreadsheets are pretty straightforward, but if you should run into difficulty, you can go to either myself or Pam for help.”
“Got it.” I finished taking notes and glanced up at her. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”
“That’s it for now.” She stood and directed me to the door. “Follow me. I’ll show you around and then bring you to your new office.”
True to her word, the doctor gave me the grand tour, showing me not only the various rooms where the patients lived but the more comfortably furnished places where the staff hung out as well. She conducted the tour with the same authoritative efficiency she seemingly addressed everything in her life. Her answers to my questions were brief, and the descriptions of the daily activities, simple. I learned that the laundry service came around every Saturday, and the alarm they used to use when there was trouble had been exchanged for an elaborate pager-type system, because the alarm sent many patients even deeper into their psychotic episodes. As we walked, I noted the security cameras in the corners of the rooms and hallways, all following our every move. People scurried out of our way, creating a wide circle around us. I got the sense that both the patients and the staff feared her, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.
“And here is your office. Unfortunately, there was no more free space in the staffing area, so we cleaned out a small supply closet for now.” She flicked open a side door only a few dozen paces away from the reception desk, revealing a room that could hold three people at most, and only if they were standing shoulder-to-shoulder. “If you should run into any problems, I’m only a short walk away.”
“Will I get a pager?”
“The pagers aren’t for everyone. They are only given to a select few I trust will know how to handle themselves in an emergency. If, over the course of the next month, you prove yourself to be knowledgeable and helpful, then perhaps I will consider getting you one as well.”
“Thank you.” I nodded and glanced around the room. “Office” was a very loose term. Instead of a desk, I had a table. Instead of an office chair, I had an old folding chair. The walls were lined with empty shelves and the linoleum floor looked chipped and worn. There were no windows, no personality. In fact, it looked quite depressing.
“This is your computer,” Dr. Polanski said, walking over to the old desktop on the folding table. “The information in your envelope should not only explain how to get into the hospital system, but also how to set up your own records, calendar and email. We all use a Microsoft Outlook for email, and a Linux system for our databases. Are you familiar with either Microsoft Outlook or Li
nux?”
“Not really.” All of my school accounts had been done through Apple computers. I had an iMac at home and an iPhone in my purse. I had used them all my life.
“Oh, well, it will take some time to get used to it, but I’m sure you’ll love it—especially the Linux databases. You can do a lot with them.”
I barely kept from groaning. I thought I was going to learn about patient care, not how to navigate new computer operating systems. I had no desire to work in IT.
“Among the envelope, account setups and data entry, that should keep you occupied for the rest of the day.” Dr. Polanski moved toward the door. “Two of the members from the board have requested another meeting to go over the details of the budget, so if you have any questions that can’t wait, you can ask Pam. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the cafeteria at lunch.”
“Sounds great.”
Dr. Polanski hesitated for a moment, then nodded. I breathed a sigh of relief when she finally exited and closed the door behind her.
Dumping the stacks of data on my desk, I slumped into my chair and let out a long breath. What a morning. I had been at Newton Heights a little less than three hours, and Dr. Polanski was already questioning if I should be here. I needed to get my act together if I was going to make a good impression on her.
Uneasiness rippled through me as I went over my conversation with my mentor in my head. She had seemed stressed about the budget meetings, and the best way I could help her was to be as efficient and helpful as possible. It would mean putting in some long hours so I could get all of the data entry done early, but I could handle it. How hard could it possibly be?
As I reached for the envelope Pam had given me that morning, my tote slid onto the floor, and my stuffed bunny, Freckles, fell out. Smiling, I picked up the small animal and stroked its soft brown-and-white fur.
Freckles had been my good luck charm ever since the day of Lucy’s accident. It probably wasn’t very professional of me to bring her to the internship, but petting her calmed my emotions and focused my thoughts. She reminded me of the promise I had made to myself, and how I’d never again let someone else dictate what I should do with my life.
I couldn’t imagine starting my new internship without her.
Once Freckles was in her spot next to my computer monitor, I pulled the account setup information out of my envelope and got to work.
“Look out, Polanski,” I muttered to myself. “Your office will be next.”
WHILE MICROSOFT OUTLOOK seemed pretty straightforward, the database system was a total nightmare. The five-second job of setting up my account required two calls to IT and a walk-through on the phone. As a result, I fell a little behind and was still learning to navigate the hospital system when lunchtime came around.
“You heading to the cafeteria?” Elias asked when he popped in to give me the rest of the case files from Dr. Polanski. “I can show you the way.”
“No, thanks. I have a lot of work to do.”
He frowned. “On your first day?”
“Yeah, the doctor likes to keep me busy.”
Elias shrugged and had lunch with his friends, which was fine by me. The less I saw of the orderly, the better. There was something about his laid-back attitude that knocked me off-kilter and made me uncomfortable.
Besides, I had work to do.
Pulling out my sandwich and diet soda, I set to work. By the time I finished my lunch, I had followed up on all of the emails, filled my Outlook calendar with the various therapy sessions I was required to attend and touched base with my adviser back at school. The only thing left to do was the data entry. Earlier Pam stopped by with her medication list, emphasizing that she would be checking my work and better not find any mistakes. Her pile of data was considerably less than Dr. Polanski’s, so I decided to start there.
I sifted through the first few pages pretty quickly, entering in the list of medications and how much was given to which patient on which day. It was rather boring stuff, and instead of patient names there were ID numbers, so I couldn’t even figure out who was taking which medication if I wanted to.
“Oh, damn.” I realized after I entered a dozen different numbers for one patient that I had entered them in the wrong column. I erased the numbers and clicked on the correct patient number. Instead of highlighting the column as I intended, I was taken to a new page in the database, one where more confidential information was kept.
“Fuck.” I straightened and minimized the spreadsheet window, but not before a familiar name caught my eye.
“Patient ID: 10058649, name: Flynn McKenna.”
I stared at the bright blue sky of my desktop background as a myriad of emotions rippled through me. I knew from my conversation with Pam that I wasn’t supposed to look at that part of the database. My job was to match up the dosing of medications to the patient numbers, nothing more.
But now I knew Flynn’s patient number.
As I ran my finger over my mouse button, my curiosity grew. Ever since I had first seen Flynn in the hallway that morning, I had been curious as to why he was here at Newton Heights. Some patients, like Carter and Nesto, were obvious, but Flynn seemed so normal. Dr. Polanski’s comment that he hid a lot of his problems only intrigued me more.
I remembered how he had helped me with my badge and how he stood up to Nesto when he picked on me. Despite his thug appearance, he seemed quick to help someone in need. People like that often had a strong sense of right and wrong and wanted to fix the injustices around them.
I knew this because I also had these traits. It was why I decided to enter the mental health industry. I wanted to help those who couldn’t help themselves.
How someone with such a strong sense of right and wrong ended up in a place like this was beyond me. He certainly didn’t seem ill. A little impulsive, yes, but not ill. If I didn’t meet him in group therapy, and instead saw him at the grocery store or in the park, he would have seemed completely normal.
Surely no harm could come from me taking a peek at his file. Besides, I had to open up the spreadsheet again if I wanted to finish my job for Pam.
I made a compromise with myself. I wouldn’t click on his number again, but I’d open the spreadsheet and finish my work. It would mean that I’d have to look at his medications, but that wasn’t really an invasion of privacy, was it? I wasn’t doing anything wrong, just my job.
After another quick glance around my office, I opened up the spreadsheet and quickly scanned the list of medications next to his patient number. The occasional lorazepam I knew about, so that wasn’t very surprising. What was surprising were the entries for Lithobid, a known mood suppressor used to treat bipolar disorder, and Paxil, an antidepressant. He even took low doses of Topamax, which, if I remembered correctly, was an antiseizure medication.
All of these mood-altering drugs suggested someone who was volatile and unpredictable, someone who was the polar opposite of the man I had met that morning. Why was there such a disconnect? Part of me suspected that, with one click on his patient number, I’d have my answer.
“Flynn McKenna . . .” What are you hiding?
“You called?”
I jerked up from the computer screen and blinked at the large Irishman in my doorway. Flynn grinned, which made him look like a mischievous little boy. I cleared my throat and shut down the spreadsheet window as he stepped inside the office.
“Sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to make sure I saw you before you left for the day.”
“You’re okay,” I blurted.
He paused midstep. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“They medicated you.”
“It was just a sedative.” He shrugged. “They actually didn’t give me that much. I was only out of it for a couple of hours.”
“Yes, but . . .” My voice trailed off as I realized that I was unsure what to say. I now knew things about Flynn, private things. I wanted to talk to him about them, but if I did that, he’d know that I was snooping around in his file
s.
“Don’t worry. It’s fine. They do stuff like that all of the time.”
“They do?”
He shrugged and picked up Freckles. “Only if we’re out of line. Some of us get it more than others.” He started stroking the fur of my stuffed animal. “Dr. Polanski is into schedules and rules. If you break any of them, you have to be punished.”
“I see.” I don’t know why his holding Freckles irritated me, but it did. I stood, plucked the bunny out of his hands, and replaced her on my desktop monitor. When he raised his brows, I sighed and stroked Freckles’s ear. “She’s my good luck charm.” Among other things. Freckles and I had been through a lot together, and I didn’t want some guy touching her, no matter how handsome he might be.
I cleared my throat and glanced at my watch. Five o’clock, time to go home. Thank goodness. “I was just on my way out.”
“I’ll walk you.” Before I could protest, he held the door open for me. I couldn’t remember the last time a guy had held the door open for me. Perhaps it was my father before he died. My ex certainly never did anything so chivalrous.
“Thank you.” As I eased passed Flynn, I caught his clean, masculine scent. The intoxicating aroma of soap and man went straight to my core and caused a fluttering deep inside.
“I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. After . . . you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, thinking of group that morning. “And I’m fine, thanks.”
“Good.” He clasped his hands behind his back as we walked, silently acknowledging the other patients as we passed. I probably should have found his silence disturbing, but I didn’t. There was so much testosterone radiating off him, so much raw power. Instead of feeling uneasy, I felt safe and protected, which was an odd sensation in a place where anyone around me could have a seizure at any moment.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked as we approached the reception desk.
“Sure.” I stopped and turned to face him. Big mistake. While not classically handsome, there was something about his rugged features that was alluring. He was a fighter, if his crooked nose was any indication. His face was thin, his muscles lean. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, I realized.