Page 16 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
“I just saw a patient and—” The machine began to beep like a construction truck backing up, causing Sam to jump three inches. She clutched her collarbone and tried to identify the source of the sound.
“It means it’s done. You’ve never used this before?”
“How is this done? There is like two tablespoons of weird sludge in there.” Sam frowned at the machine, which continued to squawk. “And no. Jehan makes us all a big thermos of coffee every shift. Now I know why.”
“You have to take the cup out, or it’ll just keep beeping,” Grant said, sounding tired.
“Talk about a design flaw,” Sam mumbled, snatching the cup out of the machine. In her mind, this conversation had gone a lot smoother. Still holding the weird cup of foam, she turned to face Grant. “Right. So where was I?”
“You had a question.” He raised an eyebrow at her from over his shoulder.
“Yeah ...” How could one eyebrow make someone feel so stupid? Struggling to reform her question, she said, “I’m wondering what resources or coaching we have available for pregnant individuals?”
“Oh. Good question ...,” Grant said, leaning away from the coffee table and drawing his shoulders back in a subconscious stretch as he thought. “Do you mean in the hospital?”
“Yes.” Sam felt the tension in her face return and rubbed her forehead as she made her way over to the shabby chair next to the couch. Dropping herself into it, she added, “Typically, hospitals often have community programs. I know I should know these things by now—”
“You have been a doctor here for exactly two months. Why would you know that?” Grant chuckled, then grinned at her. There was that disarming smile again. The one that felt like sunshine. “I can guarantee you half the staff here don’t have a sense of any community programs besides the one for smoking cessation.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Don’t beat yourself up over this one. There will be plenty of other stuff to be upset about. Trust me,” Grant said. His tone was more kind than the dismissive shrug that accompanied his words, and Sam found herself smiling in spite of her best efforts.
“As long as there is an avenue for guilt somewhere. Wouldn’t want to miss out on the self-flagellation.”
Grant smirked at her joke, then leaned forward again. “To answer your question. It wasn’t covered in orientation because we don’t have any community programs for it.”
“What?”
“You came to SF Central because you wanted to work with some of the city’s most underserved people, didn’t you?” Grant asked. It wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t warm and fuzzy either.
Sam’s unease returned as she nodded her affirmation, deciding that words would likely get her in trouble.
“I did too. The reality is that public hospitals and clinics don’t have that kind of money, even with our research partnership with Stanford. This hospital barely has money to keep the lights on. We don’t have staff for community groups.”
Sam inhaled sharply in an effort not to bite Grant’s head off. She understood the budget situation. It was evident in everything she saw all day, from the dated exam rooms in the clinic to the fact that she didn’t have a laptop for charting. She knew what a lack of funding looked like, and she didn’t need him to explain it. If the hospital didn’t receive funds from the government to hire young doctors like her, she wouldn’t be here.
“I know the hospital has limited resources. I’m not completely stupid, contrary to my efforts on the plane.” Grant’s eyes went wide, his eyebrows inching toward his hairline. “Using my own powers of observation and a shred of common sense, I figured out the funding thing pretty quickly. I just thought maybe someone here might have started—”
“I’m sorry. Of course you understand hospital budgets. You’re a community health researcher.” Grant twisted the pen in his hand and let out a nervous chuckle. “You have a master’s in public policy.”
“How do you know that?”
“Orientation booklet.” Grant shrugged, managing to look both contrite and charming. “Anyway, I don’t think you are stupid, and implying that was not my intention.”
“Oh.” Sam blinked a few times. She had steeled herself for a fight, and now she was sitting in her battle armor with no enemy in sight. The whole interaction had caught her off guard. She wanted to hold a grudge, but a small voice in the back of her head registered Grant’s tone. He wasn’t trying to be rude. If anything, he seemed to be attempting to relate. Albeit poorly. Still bristling, she said, “It happens.”
Grant’s expression hovered somewhere between charming repentance and a grimace. “Anyway, before I interrupted you, you were saying?”
Sam looked down at her coffee cup, less with the intention of drinking whatever was in there and more to help herself focus. Better to block out Grant’s presence while she tried to formulate her question. “I was just thinking that maybe some of the staff might have gotten something off the ground. Maybe partnered with a local birthing center or something?”
Sam looked up in time to catch Grant exhaling slowly. Letting his eyes flick to the door of the room, he shifted his posture, leaning toward her. “It’s a little trickier than just funding limitations. There is a generation gap at play. I think you’ll find that some doctors here are excited about community programming and the idea of a community hospital as more than a triage center for people who are underinsured.”
“And?” Sam felt herself leaning forward, too, as if being pulled into his secretive observations by a magnet and abandoning whatever effort she might have made to be cool.
“Then we have some who are ...” Grant looked back toward the door again, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “They are just more comfortable with how things have always been done.”
“Oh.” Sam’s heart sank as Grant’s meaning dawned on her. “Let me guess—the people who are ‘traditional’ also happen to be making program decisions?” Sam asked, puttingtraditionalin air quotes.
