Tom nods to where Jon is lying on the operating table, "Uncharacteristic of you to snap at a patient. Is there something you are hiding from friends?"
Tom, the ever-perceptive dork. He does not need to know I was burning away the panic and the vibrations in my body, or I will never hear the end of it. I give him my best eye roll, "Yeah, yeah, keep your devious mind under control."
"You should go home Sharon; you need to rest." Tom smiles and goes to clean up.
"It's all right, I don't want to leave you alone with a cranky VIP patient." I walk toward the wash area to join him as I speak.
Chapter 5: Where Is My Doctor?
Jon
Oh gosh, has the Doc become more adorable or is the dope coursing through my veins playing some tricks?
Jason and I googled her before the operation. She is famous in medical circles. I was surprised to find We-TO was short for Wells-Thomas. The search results had their names linked to every article. We skipped the medical ones to read media reports and blogs. There was one from a British dressage jockey who traveled across the pond after injuring himself in an equestrian event. Stephen came up with an interesting statistic. Twenty-eight We-TO procedures were performed in the past two years. Eighteen by her alone including the first. She is a pioneer.
All the nerdy stuff and power dressing can fool you. She is a tigress in sheep clothing. Her twitter account has over ten thousand followers and the timeline is full of witty posts. Despite all the photographs, why couldn't we recognize the face?
The curly hair, bouncing on her shoulders when she walked into the operating room, was the first thing that caught my eye. The bright purple frame highlighting her eyes stirred up sleeping fantasies.
Memories of a distant encounter tumbled out to the front of my mind. On the highway, she was covered up in a long coat. Despite the cute cap her hair kept blowing in the wind. Those curly bangs summoned me every time they fluttered across her face. Twisted devils enticing me to fantasize about her for many a night. She is a foot shorter than me and not the skinny type I usually date. Then again, the only women around me earn their keep walking the ramps.
Her eyes from behind the glasses triggered all sorts of hormones in my body. Watch her for a while and you can't miss the dance her eyebrows perform in perfect harmony with the Halle Berry nose. Swear to God, they are some variation of sign language she uses which a certain part of my body has learned to admire. Boy those glares and brow twirls had me every time I glanced at her. The girl doesn't realize she is prettier when she scowls.
All this from a brief encounter on a highway? Yeah, believe me. I have eyes. What? Ok, I am an observant mother trucker when it comes to this pocket-sized cute dynamite.
Amidst all the expressions on the face, her eyes have the clarity of crystals. Her glasses are unable to hide the emotions inside. Only a genuine person can carry such lucidity. She does not look like the type to hide behind pretenses.
But then she lied about her identity on the interstate. I smile, recollecting the sight of her on the highway, nervous and anxious. Guess I would have done the same if I was a girl stranded on a lonely stretch of a road.
Circumstances have thrown us together again. This time, she turns out to be my savior. Is this a coincidence? I won't deny my attraction when we had met for the first time. Even in my wildest dreams, I never imagined a second meeting.
Jason had ribbed me on the way back to Boston. However, there was no way to find her. She bolted before we had a chance at proper introductions. With only a name and a profession, the chances were slim. Still, I tried searching the web, with no success. Now I understand why.
Fate has presented another opportunity, and I am not the kind to let half a chance slip out of my grasp. In my heart, at that moment in the operating room, I felt luck turning for the better. I needed to grab her attention. There was this wee bit of a problem. I had started on the wrong foot when I cursed in the OR.
My efforts to keep her focus on me failed. Her entire focus was on fixing my leg. Though I did manage to cause a few itches, to get her all hot and flustered. My eyes were on her, watching her every move. Even in those loose scrubs, she looked perfect. I like the way she responded to my flirting. There was a spark there and I may have found the switch to ignite it. When she stuck out her tongue and made that face, I was a goner.
The spinal was painful and brought me back to the misery of my life. What kind of awful people stick a needle in the back of an injured soul? My legs went numb from the waist down. My mind was clouded, but I heard her voice. She is one talkative person—a bonus for me. The last thing I remember was the command to shut my eyes. Needed to follow my doctor's orders. I dozed off soon enough.
Now I am awake in the room, conscious but my mind is groggy. Slightest of movement causes pain. Mom and Jason are standing beside the bed. They try to comfort me, but I refuse to listen. Call me a jerk, a fussy brat or whatever, but I need her here and now. A little exaggeration of my pain won't do any harm.
Dr. Thomas comes, but I fluster him with my complaints. He prescribes pain medications. I say no.
"Where is my doctor?" I ask.
"Dr. Sharon will prescribe the same medicines." Dr. Thomas shakes his head and tries to reason with me. When I don't budge, he waves his hands in frustration and stomps out in a huff.
My mother steps in, trying to get me in line, "Jon, listen to the doctors and staff here. They are trying to help you. Why are you insisting on seeing her? Perhaps she is taking a nap. She came straight into surgery after arriving. I am sure the staff here are following her instructions."
Pain is not the reason I need to get her into my room. Only seeing her will bring me some calm, but the staff won't oblige. I have never been so besotted by a woman. For the love of God, I want to know this girl. What makes her tick? What makes her smile? This is strange, considering I gave up on relationships years ago.
If one reads the tabloids or follow social media, they'll know about how my life has comprised a series of flings. I don't let anyone get too close, bailing out the moment things become deep. There's something about the Doc which makes me want to explore that world again. The touchy world of relationships. One that takes a hell lot of emotional effort. The sense of belonging to someone. An investment I am ready to make, for her.
But how do I make this work? Sharon is not someone who will fall for charm, money or fame. She is smart, and not only in the intelligence department. I am sure she is a lot of fun to be around. From the little I have seen, she would be a challenge. Will I be punching way above my weight?
No man, I'm not giving up on this one. My days in the hospital are my only chance to woo her and there is not a minute to spare. The only way to do this is to bring out the charm playbook into the game and play hard with full-on aggression.
"Damn it! Will someone call my doctor? Like right now?" The nurse who came in to give me an injection scampers out like a scared chicken.
It brings the desired result.
Chapter 6: Man Child
Sharon
"I am not doing a press conference, Richard. Nope, never." I cross my arms in front of me and give him my fiercest glare.
"Why do you have to argue so much?" Richard matches my volume.
"Who says I am arguing? Is it so difficult to understand, or do you have a hearing problem? Let's go over this again. I am not doing any press meetings." I thump my hands on his desk.
"They will not eat you. Please stop getting on my nerves. You only need to tell them about Jon's injury and how he is recovering." Richard's patience is wearing thin.
I brush aside one of my curls obstructing my field of vision. Meeting the press is not happening. I am not shy. You put me in front of a stadium to give a talk on a medical topic, I will deliver the same without batting an eyelid. But meeting the press is completely different.
Journalists give me the hives. They twist the simplest of statements to get eyeballs on news items. I am not about to become a showgirl
, even if Richard drags me tied in ropes to the press meet. But I do need to wiggle out of this one, without hurting Richard.
"Richard, I told you. I won't do the press meets. Let us make a deal. I will write up a press statement and you can read it out. A win-win for everyone and you get to be on TV." I pat his back.
He is not happy. Well, too bad. My job description does not include making him happy. The buzz of my phone interrupts our verbal slugfest. A lucky escape, before Richard can try to talk me into meeting the journos again.
"Dr. Wells, you need to come to Mr. Hayes' room." Jennifer, the nurse in charge, sounds agitated on the phone. I sigh. This day keeps getting worse. Nothing unexpected though.
I walk down to Jon's room. The mental tossing and turning from the last few hours return. All the images of Jon prancing around in my head did not allow a wink of sleep. Then Richard arrived, with his meet the press drama.
Jon is not a patient but my nemesis. The shock of seeing him lying in the operating room with the tattoos and the smirk on the face is still not out of my system. Everything came back from the incident on the road. They were memories to confine to my fantasy world, knowing our paths would never cross again. And here we are, as God's cruel joke or a checkmate move on my life's chessboard. Stop drooling stupid, nothing will come out of this, I chide myself.
How could I lose control with one flirty jibe he flung at me? What did he call me? Ah yes, Tigress. And what did I do? Tongue in cheek, I flirted back. Under normal circumstances, I would have taken someone like him to the cleaners. However, these are not normal circumstances, and intuition is a bitch, telling me nothing will ever be normal around Jon. This thing between us, whatever it is, needs to stop before my career gets screwed.
If only my resolve stayed firm. On my way, I keep repeating to myself, "No more flirting, Sharon. Do not give him any more ideas."
The commotion outside his room surprises me. I review the health charts. The vitals are normal. The pain scores are on the higher side but that is expected. A sedative added to the analgesic should tide over the immediate discomfort.
"What is the problem, Jen? His numbers are as expected."
"Your patient is a snob. He is picking on my team for anything and everything. Not letting us do any work ever since he woke up. He keeps shouting, 'Where is my doctor?'" Jen raises her hands in frustration, makes a funny face repeating the words, wiggling her butt.
I laugh out loud, which annoys her more. "Honey, don't stand here and laugh. Go inside and drill some manners into that boy. Better still, whoop his ass while you are at it."
"Perhaps, he needs a 'Tigress' to settle him." Tom butts in, with a fake scoff. I glare at him and indicate with my fingers to zip his mouth.
"Hm, let me see what I can do." The thought of whooping his ass causes funny turbulence in my stomach. When I enter, Mrs. Hayes is trying to pacify Jon.
He sees me and snorts. "Don't people knock before they enter?"
God, does this guy prick my nerves in a flash? "People would, Mr. Hayes if patients kept their volumes down and cared to listen to their healthcare providers. We are not your enemies."
Jon rolls his eyes upwards and then stares at me unabashed.
I could use a smart response to cut through his drama, but I remind myself of my resolve. "What is the problem, Jon?"
"If you remember Doc, I am the patient who went through a surgery. The pain is horrible." Jon writhes on the bed. How many facial expressions can this man make?
The white coat on my shoulders can't ignore the pained expressions. "I understand. The pain is expected after such a major surgery. If you allow the nurses to do their work, they will give you an analgesic and a sedative."
"I don't want a sedative." The grimace stays on Jon's face.
Can someone please hold my hands before I strangle him? Yes, I know I am a doctor. I control the urge to make a face and throw the words back, letting him hear how childish he sounds. My mind conjures up an image. A teeny-weeny me, with a halo on the head waving a warning finger, "No flirting, Sharon." Oh yes, the resolve. I dismiss the image and focus on the immediate task to deal with this petulant brat. Yet again, he makes me lose my train of thought.
Stubborn ass is throwing a tantrum. I clear my throat, but it comes out like a grunt.
"Why do you keep growling at me? I am your patient."
The obnoxious brat. I straighten my back and use a stern voice fighting hard not to laugh at this grown-up man's antics. He needs a reminder about who is the boss here. "I am the doctor, not you. I take all medical decisions and you will follow them." My finger jab pins him to the bed.
Jon winces, making a sorry face. Heavens help me, now he is trying a different tack. What does he have up his sleeve? I move closer to the bed. "Jon, the pain will be severe for the first twenty-four hours. The sedative will help you sleep and tide over this acute phase."
Jon looks into my eyes, "Doc, how fast will I recover? This is tough."
The words, for the first time, sound genuine, so I give in. "Jon, I know this is difficult. I can understand the pain and anxiety. The football season is in full swing and this injury is irritating you. You can't take out your frustration on everyone around you. The wounds will take up to two weeks to heal. Based on how your body responds, we will help you move about in the room after ten days. The next phase will be to get you up for a daily routine, with minimal weight bearing on the injured leg. In another four to six weeks, the bones should fuse. Then we can remove the contraptions, get you into physio and prepare to get you back to a normal life."
"Damn, will I be able to play after three months?"
Whose head should I bang on the wall? His or mine? Do I have a choice? No, I can't do that while he is under my care. Deep breathing is a better option to maintain my dignity.
"You are going to stay with us for over a week. Do you have a voice recorder with you? Allow me to record the answer so you can listen to it every time that question comes in your mind."
The pout and the doe-eyes make me laugh. What is this man trying to do? "Don't let him get to you, Sharon." my inner voice sends a stern warning. How do I end this? By being professional. Yup, that's the only way. "No guarantees at this stage. Please be patient. We all are here for you. I am here for you. We are in this together."
"Do you realize my career is at stake?" Jon is hell-bent on dying by my hands.
I need to focus and keep him calm. "I agree with your concern. All I ask is that you take one step at a time. At this moment, as your doctor, my priority is to help you recover from the surgery and get the wounds to heal. We can't do it without your help. Take the medicines and follow the instructions. Will you do that for yourself, Jon?"
He nods and relief washes my soul. I clasp his hand in mine to thank him. The touch sends a warm current and my heartbeat gallops. Is it me, or did he tighten the grip?
"Thank you for understanding." I pull my hand away.
"When will you come to see me again?" Jon's gaze is searing.
The question puts me in a dilemma. Many patients ask about my rounds but something in his tone confuses me. His face is unreadable. I'm not sure what he is trying to convey with those eyes. I maintain my composure and respond as his doctor, "I come for rounds around 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. Today I need to take some time off. See you in the morning, Mr. Hayes. Take care."
"Can I have your number?" Jon thrusts his mobile into my hand.
I hesitate for a moment, then type in the number. "Here you go. Happy?"
"Thanks, Doc. Thanks so much. Under what name should I save it? Carol, Sharon or Tig—" Before he completes the word, I blurt out, "Sharon! Please save it as Dr. Sharon Wells."
The one second of silence is like an eternity. "I am sorry about the names." At this rate, I will chew away my lips by the time Jon gets discharged.
Jon smiles and rolls his tongue towards one cheek. He types in 'Tigress' and then taps the save icon.
A saucy remark forms in my mind but I put it
away. No need to lead him on any further. Sealed lips are for my sanity. Silence is better than finding my picture in newsprint, with my hands choking Jon. If this continues any longer, I will freak out. Escape is close by, a few steps, and I am out of the room, slamming the door shut without looking back. Why the hell did I touch him? Why, why, why? Damn it. My fist slams on the nursing desk, rattling the nursing tray. Ouch, that hurt.
Ugh, in what moment of insanity did the universe conspire to bring this man back into my life? Wasn't the first meeting enough? I slump on a chair at the nursing station and rub my face. The first time was a tease. A memory to fantasize about: tattoos, dimpled smile and all. Now, it is a real-life struggle to live through. Get a hold of yourself, girl. I shake my head and then tuck my curls behind my ears and grab the blank nursing sheet. Time to write a prescription.
Prescription for Dr. Sharon Wells:
Diagnosis: Jon Rash
Severity: Moderate
Symptoms:
1. Pricking sensation on the skin
2. Itching nail beds- want to claw his face off
3. Muscle spasms in arms- urge to punch him in the face
Signs:
1. Repeated voluntary eye movements- clockwise and counter-clockwise (eye rolls in layperson language)
2. Knee reflexes- Hyperactive (repeated extension of the knee to kick him on a certain place)
Prognosis: Long term consequences are lethal. May lead to strangulation of the jock.
Advice: Palliative care using hands on the bubble wrap sheet. (Sample sheets present in my room)
Chapter 7: The Last Man I Want
Sharon
"Time to go," Tom peeps into my room.
"Where do you want us to go?" I shove the bubble wrap into the dustbin below the desk.
Tom grins and walks in. "I would have never imagined seeing this day. Dr. Sharon with her head in the clouds." Tom makes a circular motion with his finger around my head.
All the lines to cross Page 4