Hotshot Doc(11)

For the next few hours, I don’t move a muscle. I don’t fidget. I doubt I take a single deep breath. People filter in and out of the gallery, but I pay them no attention.

Someone new fills the seat behind me and leans over my shoulder.

“How long has he been at it?”

I don’t take my eyes away from Dr. Russell as I reply, “Three hours, last time I checked.”

Now, it’s probably been four, five, ten—who knows?

“What’s taking him so long? It should have been a simple excision, right?”

“The patient had failing hardware and Dr. Russell’s having a hell of a time getting it out.”

“Who’s that guy in the corner looking like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown?”

“The device rep for Newton Corp. The one gloating across the room is here with the new hardware from SpineTech.”

It’s a complete disaster. Everyone in the operating room holds their breath. Long, tense minutes pass as we listen to Dr. Russell shred the device rep from Newton for endangering his patient.

The rep tries in vain to defend himself. “The engineers are the ones in control of the design flaws.”

I inwardly groan. He’s better off keeping his mouth shut. At this point, he should break out in tears and plead for forgiveness. Although, maybe not, as Dr. Russell doesn’t seem like the type of guy who handles grown men weeping very well.

“Do you not also work for the company?” Dr. Russell barks as he adjusts his stance and asks the nurse to angle his light source so he has a better view of the surgical field. He continues to struggle to remove all the broken fragments of the malfunctioning hardware from the patient’s spine while the rep blubbers on. I want to jump to my feet, press the gallery’s intercom button, and shout at him to shut up. He’s only digging himself into a bigger hole. Soon, he’ll have himself six feet under.

“Even with its faults, the patient was interested in the system—”

“The patient is also interested in fucking fire trucks!” Dr. Russell booms. “And don’t you try to pin it on the parents either. These devices were banned by the FDA two years ago and they never should have been on the market in the first place. Your company knew they were faulty.” Then he turns to the resident assisting him and asks for suction.

I sit there completely speechless, not quite sure why I have the urge to run down and scrub in so I can assist.

I’ve never endured a surgery with Dr. Lopez that was half this traumatic. Every person in that operating room is fidgeting and nervous, careful to keep Dr. Russell’s anger from shifting onto them.

I’m on the edge of my seat. Even though I’m as annoyed with the Newton rep as he is, I don’t agree with how Dr. Russell is handling it. His temper is fierce. I can see how he would be a nightmare to work with, and yet I stay until the final stitch, until Dr. Russell turns from the operating table, yanks his gown and gloves off, and slams his hand against the swinging door. The patient gets wheeled out of the room and I’m still sitting there, alone in the gallery, awestruck.





Dr. Lopez’s retirement party is tonight. NEMC went all out and rented a ballroom at a fancy hotel. They’re going to open the dinner buffet soon, and I’ve already surreptitiously scoped it out. I have a plan of attack: I’m getting the truffle mac n cheese and the mashed potatoes.

In the meantime, waiters are passing around tiny decadent appetizers. I accept one of everything and wonder if I made a mistake wearing a dress with no pockets. If I could do it inconspicuously, I’d tuck a few of these bacon-wrapped dates in my purse for Josie. We’ve been subsisting on the bare minimum lately since I still haven’t found another position. My meager savings might have to support us for a few weeks, though I really hope it doesn’t come to that.

I push the thought aside. All I’ve been doing is worrying and applying for jobs and counting every penny that leaves my pocket. Tonight, I’m going to have fun! I’m going to pluck one of these coconut shrimps from a passing tray, let it melt in my mouth, and pretend life is going to work out. Okay, wow. That is good. I’ve really got to cram one of those down my bra for Josie. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.

I turn to catch the waiter before he gets too far. “Sir—”

“Kiddo!” Dr. Lopez grins and steps between me and my end goal: pilfering every last shrimp on that silver tray.

“Oh, hey, Dr. Lopez.” I try not to sound as dejected as I feel as the waiter disappears into the crowd. “I didn’t realize you’d arrived.”

He chuckles and knocks me gently on the shoulder. “You don’t have to look so sad. You’ll find another boss like me one day.”

That’s not why I was sad, but now it’s why I’m sad.

“At least we still have one last surgery in the morning,” I say with a half-hearted smile.

“I’ll even let you pick the playlist.”

Oh jeez. Tears are welling up in the corners of my eyes. I’d use my crumpled napkin to dab them away but it’s covered in shrimp juice.

“Let’s change the subject or we’ll both be crying.” He chuckles. “Have I already told you that you clean up nice? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you in anything but scrubs—and your hair’s down.”