Hotshot Doc Page 6

  I’m breathing like an old geezer at the finish line of a marathon.

  People unknowingly step into my path and I shout at them to get out of my way.

  “Move! Watch it!”

  I have time to recover, I tell myself. I won’t let this late start ruin my one chance to impress Dr. Russell. I’ve set up an OR quickly before, and I know how to kick it into high gear. I check the surgical board as I sprint past and confirm that yes, the surgery has been delayed by twenty minutes (Don’t panic!), but it’s still going to happen.

  In room four, I’m expecting the worst: a messy, disorganized OR that needs to be completely overhauled, but fortunately, my luck turns. Dr. Russell’s nurse is already inside prepping the room. She’s tall, with extremely short hair and round, navy glasses. She’s older than most of the surgical nurses on the floor and when she sees me enter the room, I am fully prepared for her to chew me out for being late.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sor—”

  She holds up her hand and cuts me off. “If you want to survive your first day, you’ll stop right there, turn around, and go get changed into scrubs. I’ve got this. Dr. Russell knows you’re late. I couldn’t help that when he came in here and saw you were missing, but we can salvage this. Go. Hurry!”

  My mouth drops open in shock.

  I think…I think she’s my fairy godmother.

  I bolt and do as she says, running straight for the scrub vending machine. It’s a hulking beast of a contraption at the very end of the hallway. It’s where we all grab our scrubs before every surgery, and it’s where we turn them back in when we’re done so they can be sanitized. I think of Dr. Russell’s stupid comment on Friday: Where do you even find scrubs that small?

  Right here, you jerk.

  Though, I do have to roll the elastic band a few times so they’ll fit snugly, but he’ll never know that.

  I’m changed and looking the part when I rush back into the room, adjusting my ponytail so it sits a little higher on my head before I cover it with a surgical cap. I puff out a breath and prop my hands on my hips. I have dried tears on my cheeks and shaky hands, but I am so close to pulling this off.

  “Where do you want me?”

  The nurse nods toward the back door of the OR, the one that leads to the room where the hospital stores its clean instrument sets. “Go in and check that they have everything ready to go. The autoclaves were backed up earlier and I don’t want anything else delaying this case.”

  I do exactly as she says and I don’t declare my love for her like I want to. There’ll be time for that later, like after this surgery goes off without a hitch. Ha. I’m going to buy her a gift, something epic, something with melted chocolate.

  That is…if I survive the morning.

  Chapter 8

  MATT

  “We’re looking at a thirty-minute delay, nothing more.”

  Mrs. Valdez is wringing her hands. Her husband is pacing. They’re both worried. Fiona should have been taken back to the OR already, but the surgical team hasn’t moved her. I understand their concern. They’ve traveled 1400 miles to be here today. Their daughter is about to have a major operation. Any number of things could go wrong. They won’t, of course—I won’t allow it—but her parents don’t know that.

  They don’t trust me, and now this delay is giving them even more cause for concern.

  “Back home, the doctors weren’t sure about this procedure,” Mrs. Valdez says, turning to her husband and shaking her head quickly. She’s about to pull the plug on this whole thing.

  I step forward and try to catch her eyes. I need her to listen to what I’m about to say. “I understand, but that’s because those doctors don’t have the skills I do. I’ve spent my entire career working on complex pediatric spine cases. This surgery is exactly what I’ve been trained to do. I promise your daughter is in good hands.”

  There’s movement behind them, at the door of the room. It’s my nurse, Kendra.

  “We’re ready,” she mouths while winding up her finger as if to say, Let’s get this show on the road.

  I nod and inwardly sigh.

  That means Bailey has finally arrived. Late on her first day.

  I have another surgeon assisting me today, Dr. Collins. He’s a colleague I’ve worked with in the past. It’s a hassle coordinating our schedules, but he’s good, and for this case, I need all the hands I can get.

  Unfortunately, that means Bailey has not only wasted my time, the patient’s time, and my staff’s time, but also Dr. Collins’. The operating room is booked up for the rest of the day. If this case runs late, that means the hospital is shitting money and we have an entire surgical crew pissed that we’ve eaten into their schedule.

  I want to dismiss her on the spot, but I can’t. Right now, I have a seven-year-old girl who needs my full attention, so I compartmentalize my annoyance, reassure the family one last time, and then excuse myself from the room so I can find my colleague. He’s in a conference room, taking calls, and when I let him know we’re ready, he’s relieved.

  “I have a flight booked at 3:00 PM, so I hope your staff won’t cause any more delays,” he says with a shake of his head as he stands to follow me to the OR.

  “We’ll get you out of here in time.”

  That’s all I’ll say. I like Dr. Collins because he’s a good surgeon, but he’s kind of a prick. We aren’t friends, and though he has the right to be upset, I won’t indulge him.

  We scrub in side by side, and I watch through the window as they roll Fiona into the room and transition her onto the operating table. She looks tiny up there. They always do.

  I can see the fear in her eyes. One of the nurses tries to make her laugh, but she won’t. Her eyes scan the room, trying to peek at the tools we’ll use on her, but they’re hidden on purpose.

  She’s still looking around, trying to spot anything menacing, when the anesthesia takes effect. One second she’s awake, counting backward from ten, and the next she’s out cold.

  It’s time to roll.

  I press my back to the swinging door and enter the operating room to join the flurry of activity. In an effort to shield the patient from the worst of it, the instrument sets and tools aren’t arranged until after they’re asleep, but we’re also on a time crunch because we want her to be under for as little time as possible. This give and take means everyone is running around like a chicken with its head cut off. It’s a dance, one my staff is usually pretty good at, and today is no different—except for our new team member.

  I see her across the room, assisting the device rep. He’s holding the instrument box while she carefully lifts the sterile set out. I scan her quickly, looking for blood or a newly placed cast—a legitimate reason for her tardiness—but unfortunately for her, she looks fresh as a daisy.

  “Which one of you is to blame for holding up this surgery?” Dr. Collins asks the room.

  Everyone freezes and then their gazes sweep to Bailey as she slowly turns around, steeling herself. With her mask on, all I can see are her worried brown eyes.

  “I’m sorry about the delay,” she says, voice stronger than I expected it to be.

  He points his finger at her. “You’ll be the one paying for my flight if I have to book a new one.”

  Her eyes widen. He’s not being serious; it’s a threat in name only. He wants to let her know he’s pissed, but now I’m pissed. This is my goddamn OR and we have a patient who needs our full attention.

  “I’ve already assured you you’ll catch your flight.”

  With a wave of my arm as if to say, Let’s get on with it, my staff jumps back into action. There’s a rush of movement as everyone finishes setting up. Kendra hands Dr. Collins and me sterile towels to dry our hands then makes quick work of helping him with his gown. Meanwhile, Bailey’s taking too damn long with the instrument sets. I’m still standing here waiting for her help.

  She leans in close to whisper something to the device rep.

  I clear my throat. “An
y day now, Bailey.”

  She jumps out of her skin and twirls around to face me. “Dr. Lopez usually had his nurse help him with this gown.”

  “Yes, well, my assistant helps me.”

  She rushes over to take the gown out of the pack Kendra’s holding open for her. She holds it up. I step forward and slide my arms into it then turn so she can get to the top back button. She clears her throat and I bend my knees a smidge so she can actually reach it. I barely hear a quiet “Thank you” before she finishes. Then her hand skims inside the gown, along my waist so she can grab for the first of two strings that tie the sides closed. Her hand feels along the fabric of my scrubs and I inhale, hyperaware of her movements. I’ve never paid this much attention to a surgical assistant while they tied my gown. Her hand is small and it’s taking her thirty fucking minutes to find the damn thing.

  “Do I need to have someone else do this?”

  Without a word, she finds the string and its mate quickly, twirls them around one another, and pulls—tight, like she’s trying to punish me.

  “Oops,” she says, docile as a lamb as she loosens it a bit and ties it in a bow.

  The ridiculous holdups don’t stop there. When I move to the operating table, Bailey scurries over to stand at my side…and by my side, I mean halfway down the table. I’ll have to extend my arm and lean over just to reach the instruments she’ll be passing to me. On top of that, she’s short, too short for the height the table’s currently set at, and she realizes that fact at the same time I do.

  “Dr. Lopez usually kept his table a little lower…”

  Dr. Collins murmurs impatiently under his breath.

  I turn over my shoulder and nod to a tech. “Grab some of those stepstools.”

  A few moments later, they’re dropped next to Bailey’s feet and I sigh, trying hard to keep my cool after a hellacious morning.

  “Bring them closer,” I bite out impatiently.

  The tech scoots them right beside me and Bailey steps up and clears her throat. Now she’s closer to my height and not so far away.

  Not wanting to waste any more time, I start the time-out, and each member of my team confirms they’re ready for the procedure to begin. The roll call circles back to the operating table, Dr. Collins introduces himself, and then it’s Bailey’s turn.

  Part of me expects her to turn on the spot and walk right out of the room. Dr. Collins just publicly shamed her. She’s single-handedly wasted everyone’s time this morning. If she’s half the surgical assistant Dr. Lopez claimed she is, she’s likely beating herself up right now.

  She looks over at me and so much of her is concealed beneath her scrub cap and mask—the freckles, the smile, the pale blonde hair. All I have are her eyes, and they’re staring up at me, revealing a mixture of emotion I can’t quite name. To the world, our exchange might be a millisecond, but between us, it feels like a long, contemplative pause.

  My eyebrow quirks as if I’m asking, Well? What’ll it be?

  She jerks her attention back to the table, and I stare at her masked profile as she says for the entire OR to hear, “Bailey Jennings, Dr. Russell’s surgical assistant. Everything’s set.”

  Well then.

  Dr. Collins clears his throat, clearly annoyed he didn’t get a better chance to lay into her. Then I speak up, my voice booming over the quiet room. “This morning we’re operating on a seven-year-old female named Fiona Valdez. She and her family have traveled a long way to be here in our operating room. We’ll be performing a pedicle subtraction osteotomy in an effort to remedy and delay further curvature. We’ll take a posterior approach. Does everyone agree?”

  A chorus of voices speak at once and then I hold out my gloved palm.

  “Bailey, ten blade.”

  Chapter 9

  BAILEY

  This is ridiculous. I knew I’d suffer consequences because of my tardiness, but it must be my lucky day because I have to endure not only one crabby surgeon, but two. I thought Dr. Russell was bad, but he doesn’t compare to Dr. Collins.

  Older, tall, in shape. In the five minutes I’ve stood at the operating table with him, he’s already mentioned the fact that he “cycles” twice.

  I decide to ignore him as much as possible, mostly because I’m still reeling from the public scolding he gave me when he first entered the OR, but apparently my lack of interest needles him because right after the first incision, he meets my eyes over the operating table and sneers. “Y’know, Dr. Russell, I don’t know if I would put up with my surgical assistant holding up a quarter-million-dollar case like this.”

  He says it just like that, while looking me in the eyes! My cheeks grow hot. I want to snap at him to drop it. Yes, I was late, but I’ve apologized and there’s nothing more I can do about it. Instead, I jerk my gaze back to the patient, knowing better than to respond.

  “Well then it’s a good thing this surgery is coming out of the hospital’s pro bono budget,” Dr. Russell replies, his voice even colder than usual. “Bailey, pay attention. I need you to suction more.”

  I jerk forward and shout at myself to stay focused.

  A few minutes later, Dr. Collins decides to turn his attention back to me once again. Like a grade-school bully, he just can’t seem to get enough. “How long have you been on Dr. Russell’s team?”

  Why, oh why did he have to ask that question?

  “This is my first day,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. With my mask on, I doubt he can hear me, but he must, because he laughs like I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in the world—and, well, I have.

  “Not making a great first impression, are you?”

  I want to tell him to fuck off, but I can’t. It’s not how this works. I have to sit quietly and stay focused. He can basically say or do whatever the hell he wants. Oh, the privilege that comes with a white coat.

  Dr. Russell could speak up and come to my defense. He could tell Dr. Collins to shut his trap, but he doesn’t. He’s focused on the case. He doesn’t say a word unless he’s asking for an instrument or giving an order.

  On the Worst Surgery Ever scale, I’m hovering somewhere near a 9.5, and then fate decides to ramp it all the way up to a perfect 10 when my stomach starts to growl. We’re only halfway through. I realize I completely forgot to eat the muffin Josie threw at me when I left the house.

  For a second, I think no one heard it.

  Thank God.

  “Is that your stomach, Bailey?” Dr. Russell asks, accepting the pedical screwdriver I hand to him.

  I swallow and am careful to avoid eye contact. “Yes.”

  “Did you eat breakfast?”

  I consider lying, but there’s no denying the very loud, angry noises coming from my stomach, so I sort of veer around the question. “I was in a hurry to leave the house.”

  He nods and then with an even, hard tone that sends chills down my spine, he says, “Don’t ever step into my operating room without eating again. It’s careless. This is grueling work. You’re standing over a table for hours, retracting and cauterizing. If you pass out, you endanger my patient. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “What is that, the second or third strike against you, Bailey?” Dr. Collins asks with a chuckle that slices straight through me. “Looks like you might be in the market for a new surgical assistant sooner than you thought, Dr. Russell.”

  It’s not the worst thing a surgeon has said to me, I know that, but it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I’m not good at taking criticism. I thrive on positive feedback and try my hardest to be a good employee. I don’t like getting in trouble, and I definitely don’t like being scolded in front of my peers.

  It’s too much. Maybe I can take one shot or even two, but I can’t stand in front of a freaking firing squad and pretend like I’m not getting destroyed. Worse, every person in this operating room has a front-row seat to my humiliation. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, judging. I know they feel bad for me, and then, because my br
ain loves me, it chirps up and reminds me there’s a whole slew of people up in the viewing gallery too. Wonderful.

  I think of all the effort I put into preparing for this case. I didn’t want to let Dr. Russell down. I wanted to be better than all the failed assistants who came before me, but it turns out I’m worse.

  I’m grateful for my protective glasses as a tear works its way down my cheek. It soaks into the corner of the blue mask covering my mouth and I scream at myself to get it together. Just like with baseball, there’s no crying in surgery.

  Stop! Stop! STOP!

  Except, the floodgates are now open, and sure, I’m not sobbing, but my eyes are welling with tears enough that I have to blink quickly to clear them away so they don’t obscure my vision. That’s just what I need: a tear dripping from my face onto the surgical field. I would melt into the floor.

  In all, I think I’m doing an okay job of hiding my distress by spacing out a few necessary sniffs so they can be chalked up to nothing more than allergies, but I’m not.

  “Do I need to have someone relieve you?” Dr. Russell asks.

  I shake my head, knowing if I speak, an errant sob will sneak out. I won’t give either of them the satisfaction.

  Dr. Collins is staring at me. He knows I’m crying, and his opinion of me has hit an all-time low. My eyes narrow on him, daring him to call me out.

  “I need you to communicate,” Dr. Russell says harshly. “My attention is on my patient. If you need to be excused then say so.”

  I want to scream at him to leave me alone, but I can’t. Instead, I take his angry, sharp words and use them to evaporate my remaining tears.

  “I’m fine,” I bite out with a shockingly steady voice. “Would you like me to ask Kendra to start preparing tray three?”

  “Yes.”

  That’s all. No Thank you for being efficient and attentive even as two overbearing surgeons berate you in front of all of your coworkers. No Thank you for salvaging this situation as best you could even though I’ve put so much pressure on you that you’re liable to have a nervous breakdown.