Dr. Attending (Midtown Memorial #4)

38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Caroline

I ’m sipping my coffee, halfway through one of Morgan’s spicy books about kinky doctors when my phone pings. I put my Kindle down, praying that the message is from Weston because I’m currently feeling a little worked up and wouldn’t mind a little sexting session.

SOS I NEED YOU TO COME TO MIDTOWN MEMORIAL

I frown as I read the text. Unfortunately, it’s not from my boyfriend, trying to have a mid-morning quickie—it’s just my dramatic friend, trying to irritate the hell out of me.

You don’t have rabies.

And stop sending SOS when it’s not an emergency.

If I had to guess, she’s about to tell me that she thinks she has a pulmonary embolism, or something equally as absurd. And I’ll have to tell her that she doesn’t . . . she’s just pregnant.

In the year and a half since I started medical school, I’ve learned one thing without a doubt—healthcare workers are the biggest hypochondriacs in the world. It’s probably because we know too much, and we’ve seen too much. So any time anything abnormal happens to our bodies, we immediately come up with the most obscure diagnosis we can think of.

This is an emergency.

I have hyperemesis gravidarum.

I finish the last sip of my coffee and let out a sigh.

The condition she’s talking about is the medical term for uncontrollable vomiting during pregnancy. And while I would normally take a concern like this much more seriously because it can become emergent if the patient isn’t able to keep anything down for a while, I know without a doubt that Morgan isn’t nauseated in the slightest.

You’re fine. Drink some water.

As soon as I send a response, Morgan begins typing back.

No!!! I need you to bring me my ginger chewies.

Please. I’m going to vom all over myself.

I roll my eyes because I don’t believe her for a second, especially after she sent me a picture of herself last night with a mouthful of Nerd Clusters, telling me that the new Christmas flavor was both delicious and nutritious.

Plus, if she truly is that nauseous, she needs an IV and some medicine, not an over-the-counter candy.

I type out a reply as I cross my apartment to put my mug in the dishwasher.

Have one of the residents that you love write you a Zofran order.

A text comes through almost immediately after I press send, making me wonder if she’s even working today.

Funny. You know I hate them all.

And I don’t want meds. I’m #holistic.

I actually laugh out loud because now I am absolutely sure that she’s full of shit—the woman loves processed foods more than anyone I’ve ever met.

She called me crying last week when Walker told her she shouldn’t have Sweet’N Low in her coffee because it can cross the placenta. If I remember correctly, the direct quote between her sobs was something like, “This baby is taking away everything that I love in life.”

Yeah. I’ll believe it when I see it.

To be fair, I can’t judge her love of processed foods because I’d probably be clinically depressed if I had to give up my Alani energy drinks. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve included them several times on my list of things to be happy about each time they release a new flavor. But that doesn’t mean her argument is convincing enough to get me out of my apartment in forty-degree mid-November weather. There’s only one person who could do that, and he’s been in the clinic all morning.

I put in a pickup order at Target under your name.

PLEASE GO GET THEM.

I know you’re not busy.

Hello???

Do you even love me?

I shake my head because I’m at a loss for words. While she’s right that I’m not busy, I was hoping to catch up on a few things at my apartment before I start my first clerkship block tomorrow. But because I’m a great friend, and I know she’s not going to let this go, I give in.

Fine.

I’ll see you soon.

***

T he security at Midtown Memorial is virtually nonexistent if you’re wearing scrubs, which Morgan reminded me about before I left. All I had to do was walk through the ER entrance in my navy Figs and nobody even looked twice or asked to see my badge.

I pick up my phone to call Morgan, but have to stop to do a double-take as I pass the triage desk. The area around me is silent, so there must be a mid-morning lull, but I swear I just saw my sister walk into one of the bays.

“Claire?”

She’s in her third semester of nursing school now, and even though she’s on her pediatric rotation, she still works at the hospital as a tech when she has spare time. I think it’s less about her enjoyment of the emergency room, and more about the fact that it allows her to see her boyfriend.

Which is why I’m not at all surprised when I open the swinging turquoise curtain and find them making out.

I cough to get their attention.

“Shouldn’t you be playing with bones or something?” I ask, arching my brow at Beau.

He pulls back and gives me a sheepish grin. “I’m kind of in the process of convincing your sister to play with one . . . if you know what I mean.”

Claire slaps her hand against his broad chest. “Boner Beau,” she exclaims. “That’s such a good one.”

Her icy-blue eyes drag to mine, and she smirks like she’s holding back a secret. “Fancy seeing you here, little sis.”

I let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yeah, well, Morg asked me to bring her something for her nausea, because apparently modern medicine isn’t good enough,” I explain, holding up the plastic bag for emphasis. “Have you seen her?”

Morgan’s pickup order also contained cheese puffs and Blue Gatorade Zero, so I definitely have no concerns about her stomach anymore, but I might as well deliver her the food since I came all this way.

“I think she’s in the charge nurse office around the corner.” My sister nudges Beau as he’s checking his pager. “Right, big boy?”

He glances up and nods his head overzealously.

“Oh yeah,” he chuckles, his voice almost teasing. “She’s definitely in the charge nurse office.”

“Uh, okay . . . thanks.”

I turn to leave them to . . . whatever they were getting into. But before I can make it two steps, I hear the sound of giggles and pause to backtrack.

My eyes land on the two stooges rolling their lips suspiciously, their chests shaking with suppressed amusement.

“What?” I ask, trying to figure out what could be so hilarious about Morgan being in the charge nurse office. “Is she bossing around more people today than just me?”

I feel like I remember Morgan telling me at one point that she never wanted to work in nursing administration, but she talks out of her ass so often that it’s hard to know what’s true. She just kind of does whatever she wants to do while somehow making it all look so easy.

“No . . .” Claire giggles into her palm. “Well, yes, but that’s not why—”

Beau pulls her close and mutters something into her ear that makes her blush.

“Sorry, Sis.” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “We can’t say anything else. Can we, pretty girl?”

“Nope.” Claire draws a line across her lips like she’s zipping them.

I’m starting to feel more lost than I did when I was learning the brachial plexus, so I tell them I’ll see them later and leave to go find Morgan. At least she doesn’t talk in riddles—she doesn’t have the patience for that.

It only takes me a minute to locate the charge nurse office. The door is cracked, and it sounds like someone is having a conversation inside. I’ve already decided that if she’s not here, I’m just going to leave the bag with one of her coworkers and head out. I’m already pushing my luck by hanging around, and the last thing that I want is for someone to mistake me for a real doctor and call me into a code.

I knock on the tan wooden door before giving it a light push, finding my sister-in-law and Morgan in the room.

“There you are.” Morgan beams, holding out her hand to invite me in. “It’s about damn time.”

Her orthopedic-looking tennis shoes are crossed on the metal desk, and she’s lounging back in her chair like she owns the place. She looks completely fine. Better than fine, actually. She looks like she’s glowing.

My eyes land on a half-eaten chicken tender sub in front of her as I put the bag down on her desk. “Hyperemesis? Really, Morg?”

Her emerald-green eyes find mine, shimmering with mirth. “What do I know? I’m just a nurse.”

Cassidy lets out a soft laugh that says she’s just as exhausted by Morgan as I am.

“Hey, Cass,” I say, offering her a smile. “Jeez, is everyone here today? I just ran into Claire and Beau in triage.”

I didn’t realize that they all saw each other so often at work, and I won’t lie . . . it makes me kind of jealous. The only familiar face I have a chance of seeing at UH during my clinicals is my ex-boyfriend. Or Walker . . . but he’s not really a stand-around and chat kind of guy.

Morgan snickers, and Cassidy gives her a warning glare before answering my question.

“That’s weird,” Cassidy replies, her voice just a little higher pitched than normal—like she’s trying hard to sound nonchalant. “But I guess so. I know Parker’s here somewhere. I saw him rounding with a few residents this morning.”

“Yeah, he’s probably making them cry,” Morgan mutters under her breath.

“You’re one to talk.” I chuckle and lean against the door frame, recalling a story that she recently told me about an intern.

Morgan straightens as a wicked grin spreads across her face.

“And I’d do it again.” She taps her fingertips together like she’s plotting something devious. “The idiot refused to come assess one of his crashing patients, so I called a code.”

I wince because if my friendship with nurses has taught me anything, it’s that you always trust their judgment. I don’t blame her at all, but I’m sure the intern and his attending weren’t pleased.

“Right,” I say casually, feeling like I’ve overstayed my welcome. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to work. I’ve got a book to finish.”

Morgan wags her brows. “Isn’t it so good? I heard the author is, like, really cool.”

“Mollie Calhoun?” I ask, trying to figure out why she would know some obscure indie romance author.

“Yeah,” she giggles, shooting me an over-exaggerated wink. “And she tests all of her sex scenes first hand.”

“Damn,” I mutter.

I felt like I was fairly educated on kink after my journey through Weston’s chest, but there have been several things that I’ve had to look up while reading this book. If the author is trying everything herself, I kind of want to be her bestie.

“Wait,” Morgan says as I’m turning to head out. She reaches over to grab something from the other side of the desk. “Can you leave this in Weston’s office on your way out? He dropped it this morning.”

She holds out a gray backpack with his badge attached to the front pocket, and it makes me pause because I swear he said he wasn’t taking any unscheduled cases today.

“Was he not in clinic?”

“How would I know?” Morgan rolls her eyes like I just asked her the most absurd question in the world. “I don’t keep up with his schedule. All I know is that he was here, and when I asked him what he wanted me to do with it, he said that someone could bring it to his office.”

She shakes her hand as a devious smirk sweeps across her face. “You’re that lucky someone.”

I glance at Cassidy, who gives me an apologetic shrug before I decide to take the bag. I might be tired of doing my friend’s bidding, but at least I’ll finally get to see Weston’s office.

“You owe me a thousand margaritas for today, Morg.”

“Love you, mean it,” she calls as I’m heading out.