Page 50 of The Devil You Know
“You should see ‘em when I stand up,” Mr. Garrett tells me. “They swell up twice as big. I can’t stand more than twenty minutes.”
“It’s terrible,” Mrs. Garrett assures me. “They really need to be taken care of.”
That’s my job—to clear Mr. Garrett for his varicose vein stripping. A job he hasn’t made easy for me, considering his blood pressure is through the roof.
“I’m going to increase your metoprolol dose,” I tell him. “I want your blood pressure to come down before the surgery. Do you have any questions about that?”
Mrs. Garrett raises her hand. “Where did you train, Dr. McGill?”
Obviously, Imeantdid they have any questions about the blood pressure medications. But at least aquarter of the time, patients take this as an invitation to ask whatever they’d like to know about my personal life.
“I did my residency at County Hospital in Manhattan,” I tell them, hoping that’s sufficient.
“How nice,” Mrs. Garrett sighs. Actually, it was awful. “And are you married?”
Well, at least she’s not asking me if this is my natural hair color. “Yes.”
She smiles. “And do you have any children?”
“I have a daughter,” I say stiffly.
“Do you?” Mrs. Garrett seems surprised. “You look soyoung!”
There was a time when that comment would have really bothered me. When I was in residency, I heard it all the time.You look so young! Like you’re still in high school!It was the standard undermining of my authority.
But now that I’m in my late thirties? Oh man, I eat it up. I could sit here all day and have Mrs. Garrett talk about how young I look. I was getting irritated with all the personal questions, but now all is forgiven. Mr. Garrett is my favorite patient of the day.
“Thank you!” I say happily.
“You probably hear that all the time,” she tells me.
“Less than I used to,” I admit. Reluctantly, I turn back to the medical reason for Mr. Garrett being here. “Anyway, do you have a date scheduled yet for the surgery?”
“We will as soon as you clear him,” Mrs. Garrett says. “The surgeon said we could call him as soon as we were good to go. He was so nice about it.”
Mr. Garrett jerks his thumb at his wife. “She’s got a huge crush on that surgeon.”
Mrs. Garrett titters slightly. “I do not!”
He rolls his eyes. “You think I can’t tell? That’s okay. He’s too young for you anyway. He’s better for Dr. McGill here.”
It doesn’t come as any surprise when I click on the last vascular note and find that the surgeon performing the varicose vein stripping is none other than Dr. Reilly.
Ever since Ryan drove me home from that party last week, I’ve been avoiding him. It’s not that difficult, considering he’s usually in the OR and I’m usually up here. But there have been a few times when I’ve seen him in the hallway and had to make an awkward about-face or duck into a stairwell. I’ve also ignored the half dozen text messages he’s sent since then. I realize that nothing good can come out of communicating with Ryan.
But now I’ve got to forward this note to Ryan. I mean, that’s myjob. And it’s not like my progress note on Mr. Garrett is going to give him any ideas.
_____
When I go to check the schedule for afternoon clinic, I see that it’s completely blank. Barbara, of course, is nowhereto be found. Maybe she’s decided her job description no longer includes keeping track of patients and only includes personal nail care. Who knows?
I’m about to go look for Dr. Kirschstein when Lisa rushes in, shoving her wild black curls out of her face. She’s wearing a black shirt under what appears to be some sort of poncho. She’s rocking the work poncho look though.
“Jane,” she says breathlessly. “Guess what? Barbara forgot to book a clinic this afternoon! Surprise free afternoon!”
“Great!” What’s sad is that I’m mostly excited about all the paperwork I’m going to get to catch up on. Yay paperwork!
“So let’s go shopping,” Lisa says.
