Page 26 of Dr. Bad Boy

“Remember we talked about cognitive rest? And how you get out of homework for a little while?” He nods, but I can tell he’s still thinking about Star Wars. And I don’t want him thinking too much, using his brain too much, so I’m nipping this in the bud. “Tell you what. We’ve got some episodes of the Clone Wars around here. We can watch half of one tonight and the rest tomorrow. If that goes okay, then we’ll see what we can do about busting you out of here, okay?”

My resident’s pager goes off, and he excuses himself, but I stay another few minutes, answering questions about headaches and warning signs of overdoing it. I explain sub threshold activity levels in as many different ways as the family needs—usually a different way for each member, and that’s true today, too.

I don’t leave that room until the worry lines have faded and the silence stretches long enough to accommodate tentative smiles again.

“I’ll see you later, Ethan,” I say as I excuse myself.

There’s a work room behind the nursing station, and since I don’t have my laptop on me, I log in to the computer there. Every patient encounter now has to be logged electronically, which is a pain in the fucking ass.

I do it anyway, quickly and efficiently, because within these walls I’m a professional.

“Dr. Donovan, sorry to interrupt.” I glance up. One of the nurses is standing in the doorway. “There’s a call for a paeds consult down in the ER. Gibson’s not answering the pager fast enough, apparently.”

I roll my eyes. The other junior resident on service today is an excellent doctor who’s probably just stuck in the line at the cafeteria. I set aside the files I was reviewing and follow her back to the front desk as she tells me what she knows.

“Kid came in with suspected appendicitis, but the surgery resident has shunted it back to us. They’re saying it’s a likely admit.”

I reach for the phone at the same time as I check out the white board behind me. It’s full. We don’t have another bed, but we have one patient who could move to the surgical floor. And we have auxiliary rooms we can open up on an as-needed basis, but it stretches the nursing care. “This is the paediatric consultant on call, who am I speaking with?”

“Sam Ellery, Surgery.”

“Sam. Max Donovan. Tell me why this case isn’t appendicitis.”

He goes through enough of a report that I know he’s done his job.

“Here’s the thing, Sam. We’re jammed this weekend. So if this kid is going to end up having surgery anyway, let’s make sure there’s good resource management from the start. You feel me?”

“Loud and clear.” I hear rustling in the background as Sam flips through a file. “This is the third ER visit for abdominal pain in the last six months. Something else is going on.”

Well, fuck. That definitely puts the ball in our court. “I’ll be right down.”

The junior resident, Gibson, walks in just in time to hear that. She gives me a curious look. “ER?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to take it?”

“Nah, I’ll go down. Everything’s quiet here. But we might need another bed tonight. Get your head together with Susan and figure out the best way to manage that.”

“Will do.”

I take the stairs down, grateful for the moment of quiet before I walk into the ER. I introduce myself to the head nurse. I’m still meeting everyone here, and she’s someone I’ve only seen once before. She takes a quick glance at my ID badge, then points me to a bed way in the back, adjacent to the adult side of Emerg.

The entire hospital is crammed to the gills.

I stop outside the curtained off bed space, letting my footsteps and shadow announce my presence for a moment before I tug the curtain aside.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Donovan. I understand you’re not feeling well.” I address the patient, a nine-year-old girl named Emma, but make sure I give mom and dad some eye contact, too.

They look worried.

Emma’s in obvious pain.

I take a deep breath and dive in.

Twenty minutes later, Emma’s on her way upstairs. I find the nearest computer station and log in to the system to record my orders for my newest patient. We’ll get her started on medication and order a battery of tests, but it’s going to be a few days before we have a clear understanding of what we’re dealing with. Gastro conditions are notoriously difficult to treat.

My stomach growls at me as I stand up. A quick glance at my watch tells me it’s dinner time, and as usual, I’m unprepared. The weekend offerings at the cafeteria are useless, unless I want pizza, and I eat enough of that shit with Gavin. Add Lachlan into the mix and it’s a miracle I haven’t put on a freshman-fifteen since moving to Ottawa.

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