Page 4 of Dr. Weston

“I was just saying I have to run.” Kat leans in for a hug. “The cafeteria seems busier than normal, so I better grab my lunch and get back. Please say we can catch up sometime. Or better yet, come out to the lake one day and hang out. Text me your schedule. We can go to The Belleview Cafe for brunch.”

I really need to make more of an effort to reach out to her, both here and outside of work. She’s one of the few people outside my family I’ve kept in touch with over the years. “Oh, Kat, I’d love that. I will. Goodbye.” I wait for Dr. Weston to walk away with Katarina, but I’m stunned to find him still standing silently before me. He’s holding a sandwich that looks like it’s seen better days. Do I ask him if he wants to sit down? I see how everyone flocks to him like he’s some celebrity, yet I wouldn’t know what to say if he took me up on the offer.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Saved by the phone, I reach into my pocket and pull out my hospital zone phone in case someone from the pharmacy is trying to contact me. Not that, in all the years I’ve worked here, I’ve ever had a pharmacy emergency that required me to cut my lunch short. Okay, maybe that one time the ER needed antivenom for a patient who’d been bitten by a snake.

When the zone phone shows no calls, I retrieve my cell phone as that rich baritone voice floats down to my ears, reminding me I’m not alone.

“I apologize. I have to get to the OR. I—”

Looking up, I feel confused. Had I missed something? Peering from side to side, I wonder if anyone else sees what’s happening. What was he going to say? And why is he still standing here wordlessly?Is he having a stroke?Maybe he’s having some sort of breakdown. It’s no mystery that Dr. Weston works all the time. He’s practically considered a caped crusader around here.

Without another word, he shakes his head, seeming to gather himself, turns, and walks briskly down the hall.

What the heck just happened?

* * *

“Hey, Poppy. Can you run this to the ER? The charge nurse called and said there’s a plastic surgeon there who needs this stat.”

“Sure.” I walk over to where Marshall is standing and retrieve the lidocaine from him. “They don’t have any of this in the ER?” Seems strange given how often it’s used down there.

Marshall shrugs. “I think they have it with epinephrine. He wanted plain, and they’re out.”

I gather the patient sticker and apply it to a clear plastic bag before dropping the medication inside and heading toward the emergency room. As I walk briskly down the hall, I say a silent prayer this plastic surgeon will either be too preoccupied to notice me or will take his ire out on someone else. I’ve had one too many confrontations with surgeons who feel the world revolves around them. I’m really not interested in dealing with that today. Okay, let’s be real. I’m never interested in that.

But who is?

Why do these people think they’re better than anyone else who works here? I get their job is stressful, but there’s no need to take it out on your peers.

I make it to the ER in record time and swipe my badge to allow entrance. I barely make it through the doors before spotting Katarina.Thank god!Waving to get her attention, I call, “Hey, Kat.”

“Hey. Long time no see.” She laughs.

“Any idea where this patient might be? I suspect the surgeon’s probably waiting on this.”

Kat looks down at the medication bag before a knowing look crosses her face. “Oh.” She grimaces. “Yeah. This is probably for that sweet ten-year-old bitten by her family’s new Great Dane.”

My hand flies to my heart. “Oh, god. Is she going to be okay?”

“I think she’s more traumatized than anything else. But it got her in the chest wall, and Dr. Peck wants to make sure there’s as little scarring as possible. The wound’s not bad enough to require going to the OR. We’ve given her something to relax her.” Kat’s expression is heartbreaking. “She’s being so brave.”

Now, I feel guilty complaining about surgeons taking their stress out on their peers. Their outbursts still suck, but I can’t imagine having to deal with this type of pressure on a regular basis.

“It’s not my patient, but I’ll run it down to him.” She hesitates momentarily. “Hang tight. Don’t run off, okay.”

“Okay.”

As I stand out of the way, taking in the commotion, a mix of emotions surrounds me. I’m proud of Kat. The determined, hard-working girl I watched grow into a woman has made such an incredible life for herself.

My thoughts are cut short as an almost gray-appearing man sitting on a gurney rapidly flies around the corner, surrounded by nurses and patient care techs. Dr. Hart, one of our cardiologists, brings up the rear. The patient’s skin tone appears to make more sense now. I suspect he’s having a heart attack, and they’re headed to the cath lab. I’m grateful that I chose a less stressful career path. I couldn’t do this day in and day out.

As I await Kat’s return, my mind travels to a time I’ve tried hard to forget. My more personal memories of this emergency room. It’s as if I’ve been teleported eight years in the past. The sounds of beeping monitors and phones ringing, combined with the sight of nearly lifeless bodies lying on stretchers, bring it back as if it were yesterday. It all feels so familiar.

And painful.

“Sorry about that. I think I got stopped about ten times trying to get back here.” Kat’s laughter startles me for a moment, bringing me back to the present.

---