Page 21 of Holiday Love
“We’re n—not in a relationship.” A nervous laugh erupts from my mouth, high-pitched enough that bats probably hear it. “I’ve met him twice. The last time was at his sister’s wedding.”
Her lips thin into a straight line. “A staff member has accused you of having a romantic relationship with this patient. They said that you recognized him but treated him as his physician anyway.”
Goddamnit, Larry. You asshole.
The world freezes. My chest stills.
“Umm,” I hedge, my mind whirring through a million different responses. In the end, I go with the truth. I’ve never been good at lying. It hurts my rule-following heart.
Heat rushes up my neck and over my cheeks. I can’t believe I’m about to tell my boss I had a one-night stand. Shame washes over me, turning my cheeks red. I suck in a deep breath and admit, “I d—did have a romantic interaction with him once, just one time, but it was a year ago. I haven’t talked to him since.”
Please don’t fire me. This hospital is my entire life.
Tap. Tap. Tap.Dr. Reynolds scowls and taps her pencil on the desk with an annoyed flicking motion. “I have to say, Helen, I’m disappointed in you.”
My stomach twists painfully.
Anything, I can take anything, except disappointed. Insults. Yelling. Throwing things. Just not disappointed.
My shoulders sink toward the floor as I mumble, “I’m sorry. I honestly feel like my treatment of Ted—Mr. Wright was the same that I would give to any other patient.”
Except for that IV. I keep the thought to myself.
“It doesn’t matter. You could have single-handedly saved that man’s life, and it wouldn’t change anything. They fact is that you broke the rules—”
I resist the urge to cry. Iloverules.
“—and now you have to face the consequences.”
My heart seizes. Unable to stand the sight of her frown, I drop my gaze to the floor. “Sorry,” I say again, knowing it won’t make a difference but unable to stop the word from coming out of my mouth. I twist my hands together in my lap and wait for my judgment.
In a monotone, like this is something she deals with every day, she says, “There will be an internal review of the case and of your performance, both in the past and as it relates to this particular patient.”
My chest spasms, and I bring up my hand to rub the ache.
Okay, a review.I ran that code by the book.They can’t find me guilty. Can they?
“When will the review be?” I ask, finally looking up and not liking what I see. Dr. Reynolds is busy writing something down in a file.
Is that my permanent record? Is that even a thing? Or just something they use to scare kids back in school?
I’m sweating now, actual droplets of sweat trickling down my back.
“The Physician Conduct and Discipline Committee meet once a month.”
Relief floods through me. I won’t have to wait.
She continued, “Because of the holidays, they take some time off so the next meeting will be December twentieth.”
I jerk back in my chair.That long?That’s two months away.
It’s fine, I try to reassure myself. This will give me more time to prepare. I think about all the research I can do: cases similarto mine with good outcomes, expert witnesses to explain how my judgment wasn’t clouded, affidavits from members on the critical response team.
I straighten my shoulders. “I’ll be happy to meet with the committee anytime,” I tell her. “I look forward to presenting my side of the story.”
My phone rings with a call from the social worker taking care of the patient in 26b. “Excuse me,” I tell Dr. Reynolds, “I’ve been waiting on this call. Is there anything else? I should probably get back out there.” I hook my thumb toward the door and the Emergency Room beyond it. I’m sure patients are piling up in the waiting room. Usually, I allow myself ten minutes for lunch, eaten alone at my desk, but we’ve already been in here longer than that.
She’s writing in my file again. The scratching sound of her pen on the paper makes my skin crawl. Without looking up, Dr. Reynolds says, “You’re not going back out to the department.”
