Page 25 of Paging Dr. Hart
When we enter the circular drive that leads to the main entrance, I get my first look at Highview Hospital. It’s made of tan brick with a central one-story lobby. Two towers flank the lobby, their tinted windows reflecting the cloudless sky. Silver wheelchairs sit empty by the front doors, waiting for patients.
This hospital is smaller than Mercy Hospital, where I usually work. Hopefully that means it’ll be less busy. Ethan and I have an enormous task ahead. Properly setting up a residency exchange program usually takes months, if not years, but Dr. Washburn expects us to do it in four short weeks. The thought of all that work in a brand-new hospital is overwhelming. I’ll need to learn the hospital layout, get to know the doctors and nurses, and memorize the hospital’s specific protocols.
At least I have Ethan. He already knows his way around this place. It strikes me that we’ve switched roles. Now he’s the one giving the tour, pointing out different areas of the hospital as we walk through. He’s so familiar with these halls that it’s easy to blindly follow him to the medical education offices. A receptionist has us wait for the medical education director. Dr. Washburntold us to check in with him first. Ethan sits in a tufted brown leather chair in the waiting area, stretching his long legs out and crossing his ankles.
Restless, I pace slowly, trying not to trip over him, and look around at my new surroundings. I stop to put on my glasses and investigate some pictures on a nearby wall. It’s a row of portraits of all the medical directors since the opening of the hospital in 1952. Picture after picture of dour old white men.
Typical.
Judging from these photos, you’d think that no women or people of color have ever worked here. I focus on the third picture in the row. Something about the man is vaguely familiar. Squinting at the tiny gold plaque under the picture, I read Nathaniel Clark, M.D., 1998–2001. I stare at the portrait, trying to figure out why it catches my attention. Then the answer comes to me.
“Ethan?”
“Hmm?” He’s been quiet, watching me look over the portraits.
I notice he isn’t smiling. It’s weird to see Ethan without a smile. He has many smiles, from a smart-ass smirk to a shy grin. Blank-faced, he looks different, still handsome but more generic.
It troubles me.
“Is this guy related to you? His last name is Clark, and he kind of looks like you.” I point to the picture in question.
“That’s my dad. He spent his entire career here. Finally retired three years ago.” Ethan stands up and joins me in front of the picture wall.
He points to another photo, much farther down. “My grandfather, my dad’s dad. He was one of the founding doctors of this hospital. According to my dad, he was never home. Too busy getting this place up and running. He passed away before I was born.” His voice is matter-of-fact, like he’s talking about someone else’s family.
I move to look at the picture of his grandfather. They must have strong genes on that side of the family. This man has the same features as Ethan and his dad. They all share that full mouth, cleft chin, and dark straight eyebrows. Even though the picture of his grandfather is black and white, I can tell he has the same golden-brown eyes. Penetrating, they stare out from his face in the gilded picture frame.
With questions swirling through my mind, I turn to look into a younger version of those eyes. Why didn’t Ethan mention that his family basically built this hospital? With that history, they must have connections and status in the community. Seems like something most people would bring up. Maybe even brag about.
Just then, Dr. Santos, the medical education director, comes out of his office. “Ethan!” he says warmly. A South-American accent softens the first syllable of the name. He’s middle-aged, with dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses.
Ethan smiles widely. “Dr. Santos. Let me introduce my fellow radiology resident—”
“Ah, yes.” Dr. Santos turns to me. “This must be Tiffany Hart. So nice to meet you.” A dry, cool hand engulfs mine and squeezes gently. “I’ve known your residency director, Dr. Washburn, for years. Met him at a medical conference when we were just interns. Can you believe it? Time flies by so fast, as they say.”
Dr. Santos asks Ethan, “How are you liking Columbus? Is radiology everything you wanted it to be?”
For some reason, the question makes Ethan flush and look sideways at me. “Columbus is great. Going even better than I expected. Thanks for helping me get the spot.”
With a rich laugh, Dr. Santos rocks back on his heels. “As if I had any choice. You were always coming by and asking if I had any leads.” He addresses me. “Practically every day, this kid was here pestering me to find him a radiology residency position. He was so eager to leave Cleveland.”
I feel a pang of sympathy for Ethan. It sounds like he worked hard to leave this hospital, yet here he is—back again.
“Hope he’s doing a good job for you all. He promised to work extra hard once he got to Columbus.” Dr. Santos looks at me expectantly, and I realize I’m supposed to comment on Ethan’s performance.
This would be a perfect moment to sabotage Ethan. I’m sure Dr. Santos is one of the doctors reporting back to Dr. Washburn about our progress. If I want that Resident of the Month award, I need him to think I’m better than Ethan.
Ethan’s staring at me like he can read my mind. In my peripheral vision, I see him clench his jaw, bracing for me to say something derogatory.
“He’s doing great, sir. We’re lucky to have him,” I say, looking Dr. Santos right in the eyes.
Ethan relaxes at my words. I’m offended that he didn’t have more faith in me. Did he really think I’d throw him under the bus to get that certificate? Once, many years ago, I tried to pull myself up by dragging someone else down. It’s a decision I still regret. I won’t ever make that mistake again. I will win the award, but I won’t do it by dimming Ethan’s light.
I’ll win by outshining him.
“You both need to sign some quick paperwork, and then you can go to the Radiology Department.” Dr. Santos hands us each a stack of papers, which we complete. Then we say good-bye, and Ethan leads me toward the Radiology Department.
“Dr. Santos seems nice,” I comment as we walk down one sterile, white-walled corridor after another.
