Page 11 of Under Fire

Dr. Zucker widened his eyes—telling her to answer the mother.

“I’m sorry, Callum,” she reluctantly spoke after an awkward break in the conversation. The air felt stale. “All we can offer you at this point is more Tylenol, because you’ve already had the maximum of these other drugs.”

“I don’t want Tylenol!” Callum cried out, coiling and sobbing. “I want more of that!”

He pointed at the IV drip, and she knew he was angling for more narcotics.

Alisa stepped forward, taking his pulse, checking his oxygen. Was he faking it? Was he trying to squeeze her for drugs? That was unfortunately something they saw from time to time, especially when there was no clear answer as to what ailed the patient.

“Callum, we’ll get to the bottom of thisone way or another,” she said, too much suspicion in her tone. “For now, you just have to muscle through.”

“What does that mean?” his mother demanded, picking up on her subtle message. “How can you say that?”

“Alisa.” Dr. Zucker’s tone was challenging, urging her to explain herself.

She fumbled, her eyes darting back and forth.

“We see a lot of cases,” Alisa started, trying to find the right words. “And in your case, I think you can get through the pain as best as you can. I think you’ll just have to deal with it until we have answers.”

“Alisa”—Dr. Zucker stepped forward, pointing at the door—“a word.”

The boy’s sobbing behind her escalated as the pediatrician escorted her out of the room, taking her aside in the hallway to have a conversation. His face didn’t read happy.

“You can’t talk to patients like that, especially children!”

“He’s thirteen,” Alisa offered, as if that would save her.

“Exactly, Alisa—he’sonlythirteen. You can’t make a child feel like they are making up stories about their pain, and you certainly can’t make them feel like you aren’t willing to help them,” Dr. Zucker said. “You are one of my brightest students, but your head needs to get out of textbooks and into reality. This isn’t how we deal with people.”

“I’m— I’m sorry,” she said, but was cut off by the lead med student, who’d suddenly appeared.

Dr. Zucker turned to him, receiving an update from the biopsy.

“The results are in, doctor— Callum has an atypical bacterial infection at the base of his stomach. We should be able to resolve this quickly with antibiotics,” the med student explained, trying to keep his eyes averted from Alisa. He definitely knew she was getting in shit.

“That explains the pain.” Dr. Zucker flashed back at Alisa, sending her a clear look.

She’d failed the test. A little part of her dropped to its death inside her.I’m hopeless.

Dr. Zucker turned to head back into the patient room to deliver the news. Alisa moved to follow him, but he stopped her.

“I think I should do this alone,” he said, his expression disappointed. “You know, Alisa, you are at the top of the heap in academics, but you won’t get far if you can’t find a way to round yourself out.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

He flipped his journal, shrugging slightly. “Spend more time with people.”

Then he marched into the patient room.

Chagrined, Alisa lumbered behind the nurse’s counter to grab her bag. It was time for a break. She needed some air. She needed to think.

Time and time again, her bedside manner was proving to be problematic. She just wasn’t good at it, she grumbled silently to herself, walking out of the ward’s locked doors. Her dream of becoming an effective physician was threatened by the fact that with others, she was too cool, too unfeeling—not nearly friendly and sympathetic enough.

Pacing down one of the quieter hospital corridors, she tugged her cell phone out of her bag for needed distraction. There was nothing more depressing than working so damn hard and still feeling like a failure. She sifted through app notifications, none of them social, but she wasn’t able to analyze much because a call from a blocked number came through.

“Hello,” she answered.

Warren’s deep voice came through the line. “What are you doing later? I’ve got the part for your car.”

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