Chapter 2 - Dr. Kristian Krengel
“ D r. Krengel, here’s the chart you asked for.” Nurse Shelton, saunters into my office, looking festive with her flashing Christmas light necklace and candy cane printed scrubs.
The 40D’s stretching the seams of her top are some of my best work.
Lacing my fingers behind my head, I lean back in my chair and openly admire how even and perfectly shaped they are. “How are they working out for you?” I lift my chin in her direction, my eyes still fixated on her chest.
Her shoulders go back and she throws a hand on her hip. “It’s the best ten grand of my ex-husband’s money I’ve ever spent.”
I can’t keep the chuckle from rumbling in my chest. Her ex is an asshole and I don’t feel one ounce of guilt about taking his money. She’s not the first patient who has admitted they’ve done the same, but it is one of the reasons you’ll not see a ring on my finger. I’d rather my money be collecting interest in a bank somewhere than entertaining some guy’s fantasy of motorboating oversized tits.
Making my point, her cleavage is on full display as she leans over my desk and hands me the chart for my next patient. “He’s complaining of some pain in his forearm, but doesn’t have a fever, we’ve been checking every couple of hours or so.”
Tearing my eyes away from a job well done, I thumb through the pages, and find the notes from the doctor on an earlier rotation. Nothing he’s added immediately raises any concerns, but he’s also not the resident plastic surgeon, so it’s probably worth seeing for myself. Closing the manila folder, I rise from my seat. “Let's go have a look.”
Stepping out into the hall, we’re immediately assaulted by Christmas. Someone has outdone themselves this year. Wreaths hang from every door and garland snakes around the handrail. Even the artwork hanging from the wall has been wrapped to look like presents. It’s a nice reprieve from my office where I haven’t had a chance to do my own decorating.
Normally, by now, it would look like the North Pole or Christmas Town, but this year I’m not even fortunate enough to have so much as a festive pen.
We approach the nurses’ station and a small lit-up Christmas tree catches my attention. Pausing briefly, I admire the tiny ambulance, stethoscope, and other hospital themed ornaments.
“Ask him,” a nurse mutters from behind the counter, then elbows the one sitting next to her.
“You,” she retorts through gritted teeth, glancing at her peer before looking back at a monitor screen, apparently not having any intention of asking me whatever it is the other one is encouraging her to do.
“Is there a problem, ladies?”
“No, no problem, Dr. Krengel.” the first nurse says, rising from her chair and leaning against the counter. “Nurse Alda here, was just wondering if you had a date to the hospital Christmas party?”
Nurse Alda’s cheeks turn a heated shade of red and her head drops into her hands. Seems she may have shared her curiosity with the wrong person.
I glance between them then lift my eyes to Nurse Shelton, who just shrugs and smiles.
“Well, ladies, as much as I would have looked forward to sharing the evening with the both of you...” There’s a collective gasp from the three of them. “...I’ll be at the Bella Providence Hotel attending the medical conference. Maybe Nurse Shelton would stand in for me. You should ask her.”
Her lips form into a straight line and I toss her a wink before waltzing off to room 1225. She hates it when I suggest socializing with the other nurses, especially when she’s their boss.
Their shifts can be long and mentally draining. I see it as not only a way to blow off steam but also team building.
She’ll then remind me I’m not the resident psychiatrist, and I shouldn’t concern myself with the way she runs her ship. Ours is an unusual relationship. Friendship with a sprinkle of fucking on the side. Well, it was up until she went and got married. And now that she’s divorced, the spark just isn’t there any longer.
Tapping on the door, I wait for the patient's okay before pushing it open, and stepping inside. A large burly man is sitting up in his bed, finishing off the last of a small cup of applesauce and dropping it atop of three other empty cups stacked on his tray.
“It looks like the food staff is taking good care of you.”
He chuckles and raises the cup. “They said I have you to thank for this?”
“You should be back on solid foods for dinner. Just don’t overdo it,” I tell him, stepping over to his bed to get a closer look at the monitors behind him. “I hear you’re having some pain in your forearm. How would you rate it on a scale from one to ten?”
“Maybe a seven or an eight.”
He’d been rushed here by ambulance after a motorcycle accident had left the majority of his forearm minus several layers of skin. And even though a lot of it was missing, making sure every pebble of gravel was removed from what remained, before I’d performed his skin graft surgery, was quite the task.
The pain is inevitable.
“Hmm. Everything looks good on paper. Let’s take a look to make sure it’s healing okay, then maybe we can give you something a bit stronger.
Nurse Shelton, can you...” I don’t even get the full sentence out before she’s shoving a pair of sterile gloves against my chest.Yeah, she’s not one bit amused by my suggestion she spends time with her team.
This has the big man chuckling from his bed. “Oh man, it hurts more when l laugh, but hard to resist when that little spitfire is running the show.”
The room suddenly goes quiet when she snaps a glove dramatically against her own wrist. My ass cheeks clench together reactively from the sound. I suspect it’s the same for him because when she starts picking at the dressing around his arm and he realizes he’s not getting probed, his laughter bellows throughout the room.
“Hold still,” she complains. “Otherwise, this is going to hurt much worse.”
“Sweetheart, you can hurt me anyway you want.”
“The new tits are definitely working,” I mutter to myself while washing my hands.
Pulling two new sterile gloves from the box on the wall, I slip them on and turn around.
It would appear as though the patient is eyeing that very same cleavage but since all the color has drained from his face, I’d say he looked a little too far down and caught a glimpse of the damage to his arm.
“Take a couple of deep breaths and turn your head away slowly,” I say, lowering myself to the stool on wheels. “Good, now describe what you see outside.”
He begins rattling off random things as I examine his arm. Twisting it and turning, I inspect every single stitch. “There’s some redness here...” I point out a section to the nurse. “...and here. Add a heavier layer of antiseptic cream to these and change this dressing out more frequently until the redness goes down.” Rising to my feet, I drop my gloves in a nearby trash can and grab his folder, scribbling out some notes. “Mr. Hamilton, I’m going to prescribe something a little stronger for the pain...”
He nods, and air hisses through his teeth as the nurse reapplies bandages slathered with cream. “Seems I’m gonna need it after she gets done with me.”
“You definitely are.”
LEAVING NURSE SHELTON to do her thing, I head back to my office, a bit relieved to find the nurses’ station empty. After a walk down the festive hall, I was hoping for the same when I pushed through the door, instead, seated at my desk is Dr. Frederick Dasher, head of plastic surgery.
“That seat is already taken.”
He chuckles. “I was thinking the same about mine but, instead, I’m hearing rumors someone else is interested in it.”
Shit.
I knew Barlow couldn’t keep his big mouth closed. And he knew I wasn’t planning on making my intentions officially known until after the new year. The outcome of how I deal with my friend later all depends on how this conversation goes.
“There’s no sense in letting a good seat get cold when you retire, is there?” I ask, sitting in one of the chairs reserved for consulting my patients and across from him. It feels weird being on this side of things. Not a position I’m ever in and it’s knocked my confidence down a notch, maybe two.
“I don’t suppose so.” He leans back, looking a little too comfortable. “I’m just wondering why I didn’t hear it directly from you.”
Answering his unasked question could put me in a better position or hinder it. Ah, what the fuck, if I don’t get the head of plastic surgery job here, there’s always that offer in New York. With a shrug, I cross a leg over my knee and relax back, meeting his hard stare. “Haven’t had the time.”
He’s quiet for a lot longer than I feel comfortable with, then scoffs. “Not the answer I expected, but honest nevertheless. I’ll admit your surgery schedule is impressive. And your work is exceptional. What I have an issue with is you’re a one-man show. How can I trust you’d be a good person to fill my shoes if I’ve never seen you interact with your peers outside of the occasional mandatory surgeons’ meetings? How do I know you can lead them?”
“You mean my shining personality and rosy cheeks aren’t enough?”
Closing his eyes, he rakes his fingers firmly across his forehead. “If you’re not serious about the position, I’ll look elsewhere.”
Nice fucking job, Krengel . Blow the informal interview before you’ve even gotten a chance to prove yourself. Think of your parents, how far you’d be from them. And think of what it would be like starting over at a new hospital. Sure, the pay is better but with it comes an even more rigorous schedule. Here it’s by choice, there it would be required, at least for the first few years. Low man on the totem pole isn’t really what I’m after.
“If you’ve looked into my surgery schedule and like the way I do things, then you must’ve looked at my file. The charity work I’ve done should speak highly about my character. Sure, it’s not making the tough decisions with a team of surgeons, but you know I’m able to.” I pause briefly, letting my comments sink in before reminding him he came to me. “Fred, I’m interested, but I’m also not going to beg.”
“And no one is asking you to.” He stands and makes his way around my desk, heading toward the door. I stand as well, glancing at the phone on my desk, and wondering if I’ll be making that call to a new hospital after he’s closed the door behind him.
To my surprise, the man who was once my mentor doesn’t leave. “Put some time on my calendar for after the conference. Who knows, you might have something inspiring to say during your presentation and sway my decision.” At that, he disappears out into the hall.
“Low man on the totem pole sounds a lot better than coming up with an inspiring presentation in front of a mass of judgmental, world-renowned and award-winning doctors,” I mutter, lifting my white coat onto a hook before grabbing my keys, wallet, and locking up the office.
On my way to the elevators, I check my watch. There should be enough time to head home, shower, and sleep a couple of hours before heading over to the Bella Providence Hotel and check in.
Just as I lift a finger about to press the down button, “Dr. Krengel,” a distant voice calls out, her shoes tap rapidly against the linoleum floor behind me.
“Dr. Krengel.”
So much for the nap. Turning around, I’m met with the heavily breathing hospital receptionist, Rose.
“Dr. Krengel...” she heaves out, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “We... we... need.”
I place a hand on her shoulder. “Take a breath or two. We don’t need you passing out right here.”
She nods and takes a long deep breath. Then another.
“Good, very good. Did you run all the way over here?”
“Yes...”
“Just a nod is fine,” I instruct, guiding her over to a bench decorated with garland and we take a seat. “Is there an emergency?”
She shakes her head.
“That’s good. A few more breaths.” I take one of my own, showing her how.
Her breathing begins to slow.
“Now, tell me, what made you run a marathon through the hospital after me? I know I’m hard to resist and all, but not worth having a heart attack over.”
Her cheeks tint red and her eyes avoid mine. “We kind of need someone over in the children's burn unit.”
The burn unit is where I’d started my residency at Eastport General, and it holds a special place in my heart. Mentally, it isn’t a place any surgeon could stay long term, especially the children’s wing. No matter how much ice runs through your blood, after spending one day there the ice is soon a mushy puddle of self-realization.
Rose’s urgency has piqued my interest though. “Oh, is everything okay?”
She reads the concern in my eyes when hers finally meet mine. “Oh, yes, sir, everything is fine. It’s just, well... oh for heaven’s sake, never mind. You’re probably busy.”
“I’m not much for guessing games, Rose, especially when it comes to the kids. What is it?”
On a long breath, she lowers her eyes and begins tugging at the hem of her shirt. “Tonight, Dr. Halls was supposed to come dressed as Santa and spend some time with the kids. He’d even brought them some wrapped toys. But he’s feeling terribly under the weather and I just thought since you...I mean—I thought you might have some time to spare.”
I check my watch once again. I don’t. Not really. But who can resist seeing the faces of the little ones light up when the man in the red suit arrives? And bearing gifts.
“Sleep is overrated,” I mutter, gently reaching for her arm, I guide Rose to stand.
“Pardon?”
“Never mind, let's go spread some holiday cheer to those who truly deserve it.”