7. Michael
The scalding water created steam that rose up around me as I scrubbed in for today’s surgery. Dr. Fetters stood next to me scrubbing in as well, though I was instantly annoyed by his lackadaisical scrub method. As a second-year surgical resident, he should have known better, and though I was the one who would actually be performing the esophageal resection, he still had to scrub in properly.
I watched him swirl the soap over his hands and wrists, lazily rinsing the bubbles away before turning off his own faucet and taking a towel to dry. I gritted my teeth and felt my temper flaring but tried to maintain control.
“Dr. Fetters, I’m certain that by now, you’ve learned proper scrub techniques. What was that?” My hands deftly took the sterile scrub brush from its package, and I used it to work the soap beneath my fingernails and in the creases of my joints to get all the exposed skin a good dose of sterilization.
“I’m not touching anyone, so I don’t really have to be that clean.” He shrugged his shoulders and tossed his towel onto the dirty linens bin—not even bothering to open the lid with the foot pedal.
His arrogant comment had me so angry I almost bit his head off, but I managed to keep my tone to a low growl as I said, “You’re not being trained to do things halfway. Return to this sink and scrub in properly, or you’re off my team.” I felt my shoulders tense as he rolled his eyes and returned to the sink to scrub in again.
“I’m just saying, this is a waste of water and soap…”
“Protocol is protocol for a reason, Dr. Fetters. If you want to do anything in this field of medicine, you’ll do it right or you’ll be fired and your license removed.” My tone was harsh, and I was upset as I started grilling him on the proper way to scrub in. When he was sufficiently irritated by me over that topic, I switched to the procedure itself.
The patient lying on the table in the operating room was a man in his late sixties whose biopsy revealed esophageal cancer. We had to remove the portion of his esophagus where the cancer had been discovered and send it off to a lab. It was a delicate procedure, but not too risky with our modern science, but even these questions, my lazy resident seemed to disdain.
“I don’t see why you’re grilling me. Dr. Newman doesn’t do this to me when I assist him.” Fetters stood with hands in the air, water running from the faucet in front of him. He stared through the window with a scowl on his face, watching the nurses prep for the procedure.
“Dr. Newman is his own man, and I am not him. He wasn’t available to do this procedure today, so you’re with me. If you don’t like working with me, you can leave.” This man had really ruffled my feathers, so when Sarah walked in, ready to help us both put on our gloves and gowns, I was relieved that the lecture was over. I still felt irritable, though, and so I washed my hands an extra time and internally processed how frustrated I was. When he left the room to enter the operating room, I turned toward Sarah’s bright smile and even that irritated me.
“Good morning, Dr. Lawson,” she said as she held my gown up. I slid my arms in the sleeves, not responding to her, and turned for her to tie the strings. A shadow passed across her forehead and eyes, her lips hidden beneath her mask, then she took a mask and held it up. “Rough morning?” Her fingers deftly tied the mask to my face, and I scrunched my nose and opened my mouth a few times to make sure I had enough room to talk freely during the procedure.
“Now, you’ve just tied it too tightly!” I snapped a little, and it was like releasing steam off a pressure cooker. I felt bad for letting my frustration out on her and instantly regretted it, but we both grew quiet and it left me thinking about what happened between us last week.
She put gloves on my hands, following my personal protocol—which was much more stringent in my opinion than even the hospital’s—and I watched as her eyes avoided my gaze. We hadn’t spoken since that night, though the long weekend for Labor Day had given us both time off, and I didn’t have her number to call her since she ran off before I had a chance to ask.
Now, I feared that I’d set the wrong impression of myself or my reaction to our last interaction. Guilt churned in my belly as I thought about how she might have taken that bit of hasty correction. I opened my mouth to say something, but words failed me. I wondered if she regretted having sex with me in my car, which was why she ran off, or if she had even thought about it.
I’d thought about it a lot. I even drove past her parents’ house thinking I should stop and see her, but I thought better of it. She still lived with her parents, and that might be awkward. On top of that, I was easily twelve or thirteen years older than she was, which meant I was probably almost the same age as her parents. The idea that I was closer in age to her father than her put the fear of God in me and I kept driving. I didn’t know the man, but if I had a daughter who was dating a man five or six years younger than me, I’d have some concerns.
“You okay?” she asked as she put the final glove on, and I realized I was staring at her with a glare on my face, though half of my face was hidden by my mask.
“Fine,” I mumbled, which probably wasn’t the best thing to say. I wanted to jump into the conversation I was having with her in my head, ask whether she’d thought any more about what I’d said about there being something between us. I just didn’t want it to come out in the wrong tone or sound like I was upset with her. I wasn’t at all. I just let my frustration with the resident affect me too much. Maybe that was a reason I had so few people in my life, which was a realization that hit me as she spoke.
“You were sort of hard on that resident.”
My mouth opened without my mind’s permission. “Well, he’s a complete idiot. He thinks he can just come in here and half?—”
“Michael…” she said softly, resting her hand on my chest lightly. It was a friendly and compassionate touch.
“I’m sorry, I just?—”
“You are an incredible surgeon. You are the best in this hospital for a reason.” I could see the smile twinkling in her eyes even though her ruby lips were hidden. Every word she spoke brought my temper down a notch, soothing the angry beast inside me, and I wanted to pull her against me and feel her warmth. “You are a great teacher too. That resident is so lucky you are teaching him the way you do things because he’s going to be a better doctor because of it.”
I felt calmer, and I was thankful for her ability to see past my grumpy demeanor and help me calm down. And though now was not the time nor the place to discuss the sex we had, we did have a second to chat before being needed in the operating theater.
“I want to take you to dinner this Friday,” I blurted out, wishing I could touch her, but my hands were sterile for surgery and she still had to scrub herself in.
“Oh, Dr. Lawson, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We’re coworkers, and you know hospital policy…” Sarah shied away from the topic, turning to the sink to finish her protocols.
“That didn’t stop us last week.” I didn’t look at her, but I did see her response through her reflection in the window. Her body tensed, and I swore I saw her eyes light up as if she were smiling again.
“Last week was a moment of impulse on my part. I let what my body wanted get in the way of what my mind knew was proper.” She tugged off her gloves and shrugged on a new gown, then started scrubbing.
“Ah, so your body wanted me. Does it still want me?” I asked, pushing the button she obviously loved having pushed. Otherwise, she’d never have caved to her visceral needs and climbed on my lap in my car.
“My body’s desires aren’t a topic we should discuss while on the clock.” I could hear the smile she spoke through, and I knew I was wearing her down.
“Which is why I suggested we have dinner. To discuss this off the clock. So, I’ll swing by and pick you up around seven on Friday.” She didn’t respond so I continued, “And wear something comfortable. Your mind might not like the impropriety of what happened last week, but I have a whole list of other improper things we could do that you might like better.” I felt myself growing aroused and knew in order to do this surgery, I needed to stay levelheaded.
I turned and put my back against the door, and she looked up at me with wide eyes like she was a deer caught in headlights. Then the door to the scrub room opened and the scrub nurse came in to help Sarah finish up. She seemed to panic momentarily and then sighed.
“I think the discussion you’d like to have should definitely happen, and the time you picked is fine with me. I’ll be prepared to fully delve into that topic,” she said, so calmly and professionally, the other nurse didn’t even bat an eye, and I backed into the operating room with a stupid grin on my face.
Sarah would be eating out of my palm and I would be eating her out. God, I couldn’t wait. The rest of the week would crawl now, but the weekend would be incredible.