Page 11 of Hearts on the Table
Any clinician in the world will tell you that the worst part of their job is notes. Give me a spurting aorta all day long. Necrotic tissue? No sweat. Butdocumentation? I’d rather pitch myself off the roof.
Unfortunately for me, my chosen profession required a lot of documentation, and all of it had to be completed before my butt left the hospital. People developed their own coping mechanisms for inputting notes. I’d watched every attendings’ habits like a good little worker bee and found that I did best when I could devote the last bit of my day to some serious, godforsaken note taking.
I didn’t always accomplish it. Emergency surgeries and declining patient cases took priority over an hour of peace at the end of my shift. When I could, though, I escaped from the unit to find a quiet conference room or empty office on the administrative side of our floor.
Oddly enough, today was the first day I realized I’d adopted this particular habit from Dr. Reese. Which is why I shouldn’t have been surprised when I found him hunched over the conference table in meeting room B.
“Oh! Shoot. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in here…I can…” I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder at the hallway. The movement set off a chain reaction that bobbled my laptop and caused my phone and tablet to slide precariously across the protective plastic case. I made an undignified squeaking noise asI clapped my hand back over the whole technological mess. My neck heated again.
The on-call board said he was supposed to leave at six today, and I’d breathed a sigh of relief when the clock hit 6:01. I’d spent the last few days looking for him around every corner, equally anticipating and anxious that I’d run into him. It was exhausting.
But lo-and-behold, here he was, still in the building. Staring at me with raised brows while I flushed and squeaked in his direction.
“Stay.”
I froze, halfway out the door. “Oh, ah, I don’t want to interrupt your—” My belongings shifted again as I flailed my hand towards his computer.
“I’m almost done. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m responsible for intervening when hospital property is endangered.” He pointed a look at the wobbling pile of devices in my hands. Across the table from him, one of the rolling chairs shot backwards, kicked out by his sneakered foot.
“Thank you.” I cleared my throat, lowering myself into the chair and spreading my various gadgets around me. “I can’t chart without some quiet.”
“Mmm.” Reese’s eyes met mine for a split second before lowering to his computer screen. Just long enough for me to perceive very clearly that he had already, in fact, known this about me.
My throat worked as I tapped my way through the log-in screen to the electronic health record portal. I’d start with Mrs. Johnson and the post-op I’d gone through this morning.
“I’m attracted to you. I have been for a while.”
His words from this weekend lingered in my mind as I navigated through her chart, entering the codes and notes. Just how muchdidhe know about me? As my attending, it wasnormal that he knew my preferred charting environment, right? I knew his, after all.
I didn’t realize I’d stopped typing to stare at the man across from me until his blue eyes connected with mine. His eyebrow twitched, and I wondered how, seemingly overnight, I could interpret those little ticks and twitches. In this case, something along the lines of“You good?”
“Sorry. Long day.” I shrugged, slipping lower in my chair in an unsuccessful attempt to hide behind my computer screen. He was sotall, and I wasn’t sure what to do with him now that I knew he had feelings for me; at least, he claimed he did. His behavior didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary. I was the one being a doof.
“Any issues with that valve repair this afternoon?”
“Nope, all good. Patient is stable.” I tip-tapped away, trying not to draw attention to the flush slowly crawling up my face.
He paused. I could stillfeelhis eyes on me. I frowned at my computer, hopefully doing a decent job of imitating someone actually working. He nodded once and then focused on his own screens, fingers running over his beard.
I managed to get through three more patient files before my gaze strayed again. His eyes met mine for an instant before he returned to his notes. Unfazed.
“What are you working on?” The question tumbled out of me before I could stop myself. It didn’t feel right that I was suddenly so preoccupied with his existence and he was so unaffected by mine. I remembered how intensely he’d focused on me at the gym. His unwavering honesty in the parking lot. The entire experience had been so different from my normal interactions with him. It was distractingly enigmatic.
Like he always did, he paused, studying me. “I’m working with a patient right now that I’d consider a fringe case. Imay recommend an ablation, but I’m not sure she’s the right candidate.”
“An atrial fibrillation ablation?” I gasped. The corner of his mouth twitched. Something about it felt like a win.
“Yes.”
“You’re performing an atrial fibrillation ablation in this hospital? Like, soon?”
“Maybe.” The twitch turned into something deeper. Not quite a smile, but not quitenota smile.
“Do you need an assist?”
A full-blown grin slipped across his face. Something fluttered in the vicinity of my gastrointestinal system. He leaned forward slowly, tenting his elbows on either side of his computer. “Doctor Carmichael. If I move forward with the procedure, would you like to assist in the operating room?”
“Yes!” My voice sounded squeaky again. How could it not, when one hundred percent of this man’s attention rested squarely on my face? But I didn’t care. I’d just nabbed a potential assist for a very cool surgery. “I’ve never seen one before. Not live, that is. Only videos.”
