Page 10 of Love Sick

“God.” I glare at Tori as she takes some black weapon to her eyelashes. “Whose side are you on?”

“Hers.”

JULY, YEAR 1

Day one. We call the summer spike in deaths at teaching hospitalsThe July Effect. The medical errors of bumbling new interns are so numerous, many are overlooked. Despite layers of oversight, interns lack experience, and mistakes are frequent.

As an intern, I find these facts a tad nauseating.

I am determined to not fuck this up.

My sisters’ encouraging first-day texts have the opposite of their intended effect. I’m reminded that I’m still a kid. A twenty-eight-year-old fifth-year medical student with some fancy letters after my name.

But not the good letters.

Six a.m. shift change, aka sign out, with the night resident—a bleary-eyed second-year named Whitney Couvelaire—goes smoothly enough. I complete rounds with few issues. At this lower acuity hospital, labor and delivery isn’t slammed, but Maxwell and I are the only physicians on the floor. Seven postpartum patients are tucked in. Three laboring patients and a busy OB triage unit take most of our time.

Between patients, we sit in the doctor’s dictation area. It’s a tiny computer room meant for charting, but it’s become a storage closet for educational dioramas, discarded instruments, suture and a bony pelvis replica with a doll named Darla used to teach the cardinal movements of labor. Darla wears blue overalls with a pink flowered shirt and has a teardrop tattoo. She’s lived a rough life.

Papers are taped and pinned to every surface. Medical algorithms, resident schedules, anatomic diagrams, all of it plastered with cartoon dicks, memes and handwritten, well-timed notations ofthat’s what she said.

“Look at this.” Maxwell points at his computer screen. “Bed two got the TUMC special.”

I glance at the monitor, open to the patient’s lab results lit up like a Las Vegas casino.

“Christ. Is there any STD shedoesn’thave?”

“Syphilis.” Maxwell scrolls. “Oh, and HIV. I’m gonna let you tell her about her new hep C diagnosis. Good practice for you.”

“Thanks.” My voice is dry, but I scribble another line on my to-do list.

“This is why we don’t mess with dirty dicks, ladies,” Maxwell murmurs as he flips to another patient’s chart. “Doubt that asshole in the room with her will bother to get treated.”

He proceeds to ask me a series of questions. How do you treat chlamydia in pregnancy? Does she need a test of cure? When? What about trichomonas?

Medical pimping at its finest. At least Maxwell’s pimping style is nice. He shows me how to find the answer when I don’t have it, instead of chastising me and telling me my patients will die. My attendings definitely won’t be this civil.

My pager beeps and I frown at the digitsx5373.

Leaning over, Maxwell groans out a sigh. “That’s the ER’s number. Welcome to your first ER consult. See what they want.”

I make the call, jotting notes, but my pen stills at a lilting feminine voice behind me. The sound creeps along my spine, and my skin pricks like it’s waking up after a long time without adequate circulation.

I sense a threat.

She’s behind me. I’m not sure how I know it’s her, but it’s definitely her. Tingles raise the hair on my nape.

When I hang up, Maxwell lifts his eyebrows, throwing a give-it-to-me sign.

I slide him my notes. “They have a consult for pelvic pain. I told them to get an ultrasound.”

Maxwell smiles and wags a finger at me. “Good man.”

My sigh of relief is subtle but calming. Even the smallest orders take on life-altering significance now that I’m the one in charge. Each go-ahead for Tylenol or TUMS has to filter through my safeguards. My easily distracted brain is already exhausted.

Maxwell returns his attention to our visitor and I turn toward her.

Grace Rose, standing in the dictation room doorway, wears powder-blue surgical scrubs, two pagers clipped at her waist and a rainbow of pens in her breast pocket. The giant mass of curls from two nights ago is contained in a messy knot, wisps escaping around her face. Without the red lipstick, a single freckle on her upper lip stares at me. Weird place for a freckle. Distracting.

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