Page 84 of The Devil You Know
Mr. Katz has been transferred to the Medicine service, as his medical needs have now superseded his neurological needs. On top of the pneumonia, he developed a blood clot in his leg that traveled up to his lungs, so they’ve put him on a heparin (a blood thinner) drip. Mr. Katz seems to be one of those patients who is destined to have every complication there is.
I take the stairs to the Medicine floor, deciding I don’t want to deal with another encounter with George. Even with all the sick patients on the Medicine service, the floor is quiet right now. The way my shoes create loud echoes when they touch the ground makes it feel more like it’s midnight rather than barely five o’clock.
When I reach Mr. Katz’s door, I see a young man in scrubs leaving the room. I read the ID tag clipped to hisshirt pocket: “Deepak Singh, MD.” And underneath, “Vascular Surgery.”
When the surgeon sees me approaching the room, he smiles apologetically, “Mr. Katz is asleep.”
“Oh,” I murmur.
Dr. Singh raises his bushy black eyebrows, verging on a unibrow. But at least he doesn’t have eyebangs. “Are you… his daughter?”
“Me?” I look at him in surprise, then I realize that I’ve pulled off my own ID badge and am now wearing my jacket. I’m surprised I didn’t get stopped sooner. “Actually, I’m Dr. McGill. He was… is… my patient. Outpatient. In primary care.”
“Oh!” Dr. Singh nods. “Sorry, you just looked… I mean, you seemed so concerned… not that you wouldn’t be as his doctor, but…”
I raise my hand. “No, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” I look over the young surgeon. He doesn’t remind me much of Ryan or most of the surgeons I’ve met—he’s too nice. “Are you Dr. Reilly’s resident?”
For his sake, I hope not.
Dr. Singh smiles. “Yikes, do I look that young to you? No, I’m an attending surgeon. Finished my fellowship and everything.”
I frown at him. “Yes, but…” Where the hell is Ryan then? Too good to see the patient he screwed up on? “I thought Mr. Katz was Dr. Reilly’s patient?”
He hesitates, and I get this awful, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. For a moment, I’m sure I’m going to lean forward and vomit all over this nice, young surgeon. But I keep it in at the last second.
“Dr. Reilly isn’t seeing any patients anymore,” Dr. Singh says quietly. “For… medical reasons.”
I stare at him. “But he still works here?”
He nods. “Yes. But he’s not involved in patient care.”
I glance down at my watch. Ben is going to go crazy if I’m late, but there are some things more important than peanut butter. I can’t leave here while still wondering what happened with Ryan.
I mutter a quick goodbye to Dr. Singh, then sprint down the hallway. I take the stairs two at a time to get to Ryan’s office. Although whatever time I saved by racing up the stairs is lost when I spend a good sixty seconds doubled over in the stairwell, gasping for breath. I probably should get in shape again one of these days.
I nearly miss him. When I get out of the stairwell, I see Ryan locking the door to his office and race the rest of the way as fast as I can.
He’s not wearing scrubs. He’s in fact wearing a nice pair of gray dress pants with a pressed white dress shirt and a blue tie that makes his eyes look that much bluer when he turns to face me. Ryan in scrubs is handsome—Ryan dressed up is almost painfully handsome. I feel like I should shield my eyes.
“Jane.” He scrunches up his forehead. “Are you okay? You look like you just ran a marathon.”
I didn’t run a marathon, but I did go upthree whole flightsof stairs. “Are you not seeing patients anymore?” I manage.
He doesn’t answer me right away. He glances around to make sure we’re alone in the hallway, which we obviously are, since it’sOMG five o’clock. Finally, he says, “Who told you?”
“Dr. Singh.”
Ryan sighs and his shoulders sag. “Yeah. That’s pretty much the situation.”
“What happened?”
He sinks against the wall, shaking his head. “I was doing a surgery last week and… I don’t know what the hell happened because it’s never happened before. My hand just would not stop jerking. I had to scrub out and get Singh to finish the surgery for me.” He shuts his eyes. “About five minutes later, the department chair called me into his office. I had to tell him everything.”
My phone buzzes inside my purse. It’s almost certainly Ben. “I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“So that’s it,” he mutters. “No more operating for me. Ever again. I get to do paperwork for the rest of my goddamn life.”
“You could still see post-op patients, couldn’t you?” I ask.
