Page 68 of Love Sick

Our outpatient clinic across the street from TUMC is run by the residents and overseen by our faculty attendings. Each resident is required one half day of clinic per week. For the first time since we started residency, Julian and I share the same time slot—Friday morning.

It’s been nice—dare I sayfun?—having him by my side. Turns out, his sarcasm is quite entertaining when it’s not directed solely at annoying me.

I settle into my computer in the dictation room as morning sunlight streams through the windows behind me. Like the rest of the resident areas, the place is a mess, but I love it.

It’s home.

My first appointment is a girl establishing prenatal care.

She’s fourteen.

A lovely girl, if a little quiet, and quite diligent. She takes industrious notes on everything I say. The irony that those notes are scribbled in an outdated Lisa Frank notebook is not lost on me.

As I chart afterward, I sip my Starbucks and side-eye my clinic partner. “We still on for later?”

Julian continues to type. “One o’clock, right? Sim lab?”

I nod. In July, Julian and I spent our minimal spare time coaching each other, but all of August was lost since he was on nights and I was on days. Now that we’re both on days again, we’re back at it. I quiz him on medical diagnoses and treatment options, and he works with me on surgical techniques—the steps of procedures, suturing, practicing on models. He even set up a laparoscopic training box for us to use in his apartment.

He’s getting better at the flashcards, though it seems to require immense effort for him to concentrate. I have to redirect his focus so many times each study session that a wild curiosity has risen, wondering what’s happening in his head that’s so distracting.

My improvement, on the other hand, has been slow but steady. He may not be the best student, but patient and thorough, he’s a phenomenal teacher.

This week, the simulation lab opened after being closed for remodeling since the spring. The lab boasts a laparoscopic simulator, several training models and a DaVinci surgical robot console. He booked time for us to practice this afternoon.

“What about Group Therapy at Kai’s?” I ask. “You coming to that, too?”

He slides a glance toward me. “Do I ever miss Group Therapy?”

“This drink you promised better be as good as you say it is if I’m missing out on a Mambo Taxi for it.”

He gives his screen the no-smile.

“Darling!” a voice shouts behind me, and I turn to the door as Asher sweeps through. He beams. “And here I thought my day would be boring.”

“Hey, Asher,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

He pulls a chair between me and Julian. “Had to turn in some evals to Chen. And what are you fine people doing this morning?”

Julian points to his computer. “Obviously, we’re working.”

Asher sighs. “Oh, to be young again.” He winks at me. “Actually, I don’t miss second year at all. It’s the worst. Did I ever tell you about the time I was given a punishment weekend shift because I was ten minutes late to a surgery a senior had claimed, then didn’t show up to?”

My mouth drops open. “Seriously?”

“Yep. And the punishment shift I was assigned wassupposedto be that senior’s, so she slept in on the day of the surgery,andgot the weekend free for her troubles.”

Both Julian and I stare at him in horror.

“Yep. Second year sucks. But hey, it’s already September, so only…nine months to go.”

“Thanks for that reminder.” Julian pushes away from the desk to see his next patient.

Asher and I chat a few more minutes before a chorus of oohs and aahs peal through the door. We exchange glances, and I slip outside the dictation room to investigate.

Asher bumps into me when I stop short at the sight before me. In the middle of a crowd of medical assistants, Julian cradles his patient’s newborn baby girl. The new mom stands beside him, beaming, along with all the MAs. Julian’s gaze is fastened on the sleeping baby. A soft smile plays at his mouth.

My insides scream in joy.

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