Page 79 of Dr. Intern

Where in the world did this man come from? His thoughtfulness is one of the things I adore most about him.

Well, that, and his banging body.

“Okay, but do I get a show after?” I tease, placing my hands on his muscular thighs. “You know, assuming my first patient makes it?”

Beau rolls his eyes, though he’s unable to hide the grin on his face. “You can have whatever you want, pretty girl.”

I push myself up on tiptoes and kiss him before pulling back to see what was in the bag. On the counter next to him, there’s a vial of clear liquid, a capped needle, and an alcohol swab.

“What’s the 380 for?” I ask, frowning at his phone screen which displays the number and a red arrow.

“It’s my blood sugar,” he explains, opening the app to show me the graph of his readings. “Even with everything we just ate, the number should be under two hundred. You can see how it’s still trending upwards. Not good.”

I look down at the graph which shows a steady blood sugar all day, the only exception being our dinner time. “You just have to be a high achiever.”

“Always,” he replies, grinning at me. “Though not too high, because if I’m over 600, I would need to go to the hospital.”

My eyes snap to his with alarm. “Has that ever happened?”

Beau is so invincible to me, so self-assured and confident. I can’t imagine anything being able to hurt him.

Sometimes I forget that he has an autoimmune disease that forces him to modify his life every single day. Yet, he doesn’t let diabetes control his life. He views it as part of his routine rather than a burden. It’s the same with his career as a surgical intern. I know he’s exhausted and probably wants nothing more than to sleep when he’s away from the hospital. But he chooses to spend that time with me, and does it so intentionally that I’m not bothered by the fact that we have less than the average couple.

“It’s cute how you’re worried about me,” Beau says with a cheeky wink. “But no. I’m always careful not to let it get too high.”

“What about too low?”

“That’s definitely scarier,” he admits. “But I manage the best I can. You get used to it after almost twenty years.”

Beau grabs the needle in his hands and places it between us so that I can see the lines on the thin syringe. “Alright, so insulin needles are marked based on units and not ounces. With everything else, you’ll use ounces, also known as CCs, but with insulin, you dose based on units. Does that make sense?”

“A unit does not equal a CC,” I repeat. “Got it.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, handing me the syringe as he picks up the vial and an alcohol swab.

My core clenches involuntarily at his words. Damn him and his praise. Now is not the time to feel all hot and bothered.

“So you’re going to clean the top of the vial with a swab. Then you’ll stick the needle in the part you just cleaned, turn it upside down, and pull back the number of units that I need.”

He demonstrates the technique, and I watch him intently. His explanation is so thorough and easy to follow that it makes me wonder why he’s a surgeon, and not a bedside doctor. Surely he would do better with patients who are awake instead of asleep.

“You do all this at the hospital?” I ask, watching him curiously. “It seems like a lot of work, given how busy you are.”

“Nope. I use something called an insulin pen at the hospital. Don’t have to keep it refrigerated, and I can store it in my locker or my pocket. Remind me to bring one home so you can see how it works.”

I fight a smile at his use of the word home, and return my focus to the syringe in front of me.

“Got it. So how do I know how many units to put in here?” It looks like this thing can hold a total of a hundred, which seems like a lot.

“Great question,” he says, placing the vial and swab back on the counter before reaching for his phone. “I have a chart that tells me exactly how many units I need to take based on my blood sugar.”

Beau hands me the phone and asks, “How much insulin would you give me?”

“Ummm,” I bite my lip, feeling slightly put on the spot. But as I glance at the chart, I realize there aren’t any calculations required. It simply provides a range of blood sugar readings with corresponding unit values.

“If you’re between 350 and 400, you should get twelve units.”

I look up at Beau, and he’s beaming with pride. “Draw it up.”

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