Chapter 31
Isabelle
A few days after pushing through work while sick, I was recovering. I felt like myself again.
In the trauma bay, a nurse hung an IV bag filled with a vasopressor—a medication that would keep the patient’s blood pressure
stable and heart perfusing blood for the short term, and the victim of a side-collision car accident stabilized so we could
get him to surgery.
“We can take him back now. Can you call the OR?” I asked the trauma nurse and felt a few vibrations from my personal phone
in my back pocket.
The nurse nodded and I checked my phone.
An email came in.
Winthrop Reconstructive Surgery Fellowship Admission Committee: Interview Invitation
I scrolled down and read the invitation three times.
My guiding light was as bright as ever. The goal I was running toward was back in clear view. This invitation was the assurance I was on the right path.
Relief moved down my body.
Everything was perfect. I was seeing Austin later for dinner. We were going out and it was all I could think about. Maybe
this was what it felt like to have it all.
I tucked my phone back in my pocket and went back to the workstation on wheels that was specifically designated for the trauma
bay. I typed up a quick note as the nurses and transport began taking the patient to the OR.
The next three hours blended together as my brain went straight into autopilot. It was a kind of peace, in the cold OR under
the hot lights, where I found balance.
When the case was complete, I walked out of the OR like waking up from a trance. The rest of the world bled back into full
color for the first time in hours. I swiped my badge against the access pad and walked through the double doors toward the
residents’ room next to the OR.
I leaned against the doorframe and happened to catch Ami on the computer, meaning she’d already checked on all our patients
and was writing notes.
“How’s the list looking?” I asked.
“Fine.” She shrugged. “Nothing new, a few scheduled admissions. That’ll probably pick up soon when all the college kids filter
their way back into the city.”
Traumas always picked up around the time the universities in the city resumed classes.
“Great.” Today was shaping up to be perfect. “I’m actually going to head out soon.”
It was early in the evening. I wasn’t on call, and the floor was handled.
“Are you going to the visiting-professor lecture tonight?” Ami asked, not looking away from the screen.
“Actually, no.” I smiled. I knew I probably should schmooze, but tonight I didn’t want to.
The longer the day dragged on, the more excited I was to see Austin. And the more I was sure I’d rather see him than endure
a long dinner with octogenarian surgeons, even if it was “good for networking.”
I was going on that date. Not a steamy hookup and not me on the precipice of death with a particularly nasty case of RSV.
A real date.
Anxiety and excitement filled me in equal measure, because Austin was making me want things I hadn’t expected. Like forgoing
a night of networking to go on a date. Now that my interview was securely in hand, I figured I could take a beat to be with
the guy I wanted to see. It felt like I couldn’t possibly be knocked offtrack.
“I have dinner plans.”
Ami’s eyebrows shot up and she looked at me. Her face lit up with a thousand questions, but I wasn’t ready to grin and squeal
about my date just yet. She was probably equally surprised I was missing the lecture since Charles Winthrop would be there,
but I was tired. I had six years of nonstop work under my belt; I was allowed to skip this.
“Have fun,” she said with a short, coy smile.
“I plan to.” I grinned and turned on my heels toward the elevators.
Just as I pushed the down button, a few texts came in.
Austin: Hey, can’t make tonight, something came up. It’s a long story.
Austin: I know you probably won’t get this till later, but come over instead?
An actual date cut down into something else. I didn’t expect to feel as winded as I did.
Disappointment curled in my stomach. I tried not to let it because this was the sort of thing I did to dates. I had to reschedule.
Or minimize them down to just a quick night together because I didn’t have time.
So why did it bother me?
Maybe because I didn’t want to reschedule with him. And he made me want to be available.
I tried to reclaim the high I’d been floating on earlier. I’d gotten the interview invitation I’d been waiting for.
I took a deep breath as the elevator doors opened.
Maybe this was just a sign that my focus was never wrong to stay where it always had, on building my career. Everything else . . .
it was just something nice to have, but not worth compromising over.