Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Ani
Helen, my other partner, who was sixty, glanced up from the central desk that was in the center of our office where she was charting. She shot me an ominous look. A Penelope-is-not-cutting-it look.
Oh heck. I wished Penelope would be more subtle about her requests for help. Because Helen’s looks were getting darker and darker.
In response, I smiled pleasantly at her and at Pen. “Sure, of course.”
I’d been going nonstop since 8:30. It was nearing lunchtime, and my stomach was in knots because I had to tell my partners that I was possibly going to be a mom before the week’s end, as Children’s Services would be determining the baby’s fate—and my fate—sometime over the next several days.
This news was going to upend our already rocky practice.
Every minute felt like an hour. My stomach butterflies had butterflies.
I’d been suffering in this practice for ten months, trying to save Penelope’s ass and placate Helen, who was a brilliant clinician, worked at half-effort because she could and because I worked doubly hard.
Helen was completely sink or swim, had no compassion for Pen, and never helped her. So that fell on me too.
“Hey, you two,” I said before I walked into the exam room with Pen, “I need to talk to you during lunch, okay?”
“What lunch?” Helen asked. “There’s a nasty flu bug going around. We’re double-booked all afternoon.”
“It will only take a few minutes,” I said in a level tone. “It’s important.”
We often worked through lunch. Or at least I did. I knew that Helen snuck into her office, closed the door, and ate regardless of what was going on. I knew this because I smelled the delicious lunches that she warmed up in the microwave each day.
She must have never played sports, partaken in student government, or joined any extracurricular club involving working with people because she earned zero stars from me on her team-playing skills.
I followed Pen into the exam room, bracing to find a lethargic toddler clinging to consciousness.
Instead, a blond curly-haired little guy in a diaper was drooling and noisily crinkling up the exam table paper while his mother stood guard next to him.
He looked up with giant blue eyes and shot us a giant, mostly toothless grin.
Oh, joy. I blew out a pent-up breath. Whatever little Henry had, it wasn’t that bad.
“Well, hello,” I said. “Aren’t you handsome?” I turned to the tired-looking woman standing against the exam table. “I’m Ani Green, one of the doctors. Is it okay if I have a peek in Henry’s ears? It gets challenging to tell what’s going on when a child cries.”
I went on to ask Henry’s mom if he was tugging on his ears, rubbing them against his bed, crying when he lay down, or crying at night in general.
No, no, no, and no. Plus he’d been around his cousin, who probably had that flu bug going around.
I turned to Pen. “Were you able to tell if there’s any bulging? Air fluid level? Poor movement of the eardrum?” These were the questions we asked med students and residents. I asked them now because I wanted to know what she’d seen so I could help her figure it out herself.
“It was bright red,” she said, “and I couldn’t get a good seal to puff some air in there.”
I tackled Henry—gently of course—and did my job. It wasn’t ever easy. Examining eardrums was pretty much a war zone. You had to be quick, confident, and have a good eye. I got coughed on a few times, but other than that, got out unscathed.
Pediatricians had Olympic-strength immunity, by the way. If I had a dime for the number of times I got sneezed, drooled, or snotted on, I’d be a bazillionaire.
“I feel pretty confident that his ears are normal,” I said when I came up for air.
“Oh, that’s terrific,” Henry’s mom said as I handed him to her.
Back in the hall, Pen said, “I hate to miss something with that high of a fever. Maybe I should treat him with an antibiotic anyway.”
“Penelope.” As I leveled my gaze on her, I could see that she was practically twitching with nerves. “Henry doesn’t have an ear infection. He most likely has a virus.”
“Are you sure?” Her expression was pained.
Ah, that was the golden question. As a doctor, if you couldn’t live with uncertainty, you wouldn’t last long.
Funny, but they didn’t teach you that in med school.
For years you got nearly perfect grades in every single course you undertook because you learned the black-and-white answers, A, B, C, or D.
Then you got confronted by a human person who often didn’t play by the rules.
Humans almost never played by the rules. Especially men. That was why I sucked at relationships.
And Penelope didn’t handle uncertainty well. She wanted yes and no answers. But I kept hoping that with coaching and encouragement, she’d turn the corner and become a great doctor.
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure,” I said. “And you know why.”
“Right.” She didn’t sound like she knew. But I knew she knew, because she’d aced every exam from every prestigious institution she’d attended with flying colors.
“Tell me why.” I put my hands up, poised to count the reasons off on my fingers.
“Um, he looks good.”
“Exactly!” Good answer. “He was smiling, he was drinking, he was playing. His exam was negative. He’s probably going to be just fine.”
In medicine, you played the odds. You weren’t God, and you had to make tough choices, a million of them, every single day. Sometimes you had to be a cowboy, and other times you had to be a diligent professor.
“What if we missed an early otitis?” She wrung her hands. “I just—don’t want anything to happen. Maybe I’ll do a blood count to reassure myself that this is viral.”
I examined her carefully. She was a clinical decision-making wreck.
Finally, I simply told her what to do. “Counsel the mom to use Tylenol, especially at night, and call if Henry gets worse. It’s the best we can do.”
She gave a grateful nod. “Okay. Yes, I see. Thank you, Ani.”
She went to finish up with the family while I collapsed into a chair in our little conference room. I tugged at my blouse collar. I was sweating. I hadn’t made any waves since I started here. I’d played by all the rules.
But I was about to instigate a tsunami.
Helen sat a few seats away eating a sandwich and studying a stack of brochures of warm and wonderful places, Turks and Caicos among them.
Oh. As my mind did so many times through the day, it turned to Adam.
He’d been so wonderful. He’d supported me and helped make my case.
My blind passion to rescue this baby had an unintended consequence.
It was about to kill my relationship—maybe budding relationship?
—with Adam. If it was budding, which was a bit unclear.
But what normal man would want an insta-girlfriend with an insta-kid?
Add a grieving man into that mix and you got…
well, whatever you got, it wasn’t a sudden big happy family. That was a no-brainer.
But that was what I wanted, right? I did not want a relationship.
I was undertaking this huge life-altering event—and I had no intention of asking a man to come along with me.
And this man couldn’t.
And I definitely didn’t need him to.
Even though he’d been there for me more than I ever expected.
I found myself thinking back to Turks and Caicos. Thinking about how he’d touched me. So gently, so carefully. So…magically. I was reliving that—a lot. But also wanting to do other things—like, hang out with him. Ask him things about himself. Touch his nice hair and feel his muscly muscles.
And then I thought of Dr. No-Pizza-Rule, and I wondered how both Adams could be wrapped up in that same gorgeous bod.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked. Why was I thinking these thoughts when I was about T-minus-ten seconds away from upending all of our lives?
Helen swallowed and set down her sandwich. “I said, this thing with Penelope isn’t getting any better.”
“No, it’s not,” I admitted.
“You said you’d work with her, but she’s using you like a crutch.”
I hated those You sentences. Ascribing blame. Not saying We. As if this were my problem alone.
“I’m trying to make her think through the decision-making. Maybe that will help.”
“She hasn’t got the pediatrician gene,” Helen said. “I’m thinking we might need to schedule a meeting. The writing is on the wall.”
I froze. I couldn’t allow this situation to get to that. I knew how much Penelope, as a single mom, needed this job. Plus, she was nice. She just needed confidence.
Unfortunately, confidence didn’t come in a pill. Or a syringe. If it did, I’d booster her right up with one.
“Hey, what’s up?” Penelope asked as she blew into the room and sat down, a little breathless. “I gave that mom my cell phone in case she needs to call me.”
I bit back my words because if I said something, Helen would pounce. I decided to tell her privately later that if she valued any part of her life, then never, ever give a patient her private number. And that’s not even counting the documentation and malpractice reasons.
I bit the insides of my cheeks until I tasted blood. Please stop talking, Pen, I wanted to say. I tried to signal this with my eyes but to no avail.
“I told her she can call me anytime.”
“We’re actually going to have a little talk about performance,” Helen said.
“No,” I said. Both of my partners stared at me. I’d never been this…firm…the entire time I’d worked here. “Something—something’s come up. With me.” I cleared my throat. Something important.”
Just then, Edith, our sweet, gray-haired, bespectacled office manager, knocked on the door, waving a good old-fashioned pink slip, the way we still received our phone messages.
“Here you go, Dr. Green. A message. They said it’s urgent.
” She handed it to me. It was from Children’s Services, and it read, Home inspection tomorrow. Case worker coming at 4. Be ready.”
My heart leapt and sank at the same time—basically weaving like a basketball inside my chest. Up because something was getting done! Children’s Services was looking at my case, and a decision would follow.
And down because my house was…a disaster. And making it not a disaster by tomorrow would be…impossible.
“Oh, Dr. Green,” Edith said, “we heard from Dale that you’re working to adopt that little baby. How’s that going?”
Did I say Edith was sweet? I meant that she was a devil in disguise.
“Adopt a baby?” Helen asked, her sandwich literally falling from her mouth. Ew.
Pen added, “The baby that was surrendered?”
I nodded. “If things work out, I’m going to be able to be a foster mom.
With the potential to adopt. That’s what I needed to discuss today—I have a plan for finding a replacement for myself for the next month or so.
” Which was all I could afford, since you had to be an adoptive mother to get real leave. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Oh, Ani,” Penelope said. “That’s amazing. Congratulations.” She was so nice. I wished that I could figure out how to help her.
“You’re a foster parent?” Helen asked with a frown.
“Daria Lowenstein is going to supervise me. She’ll be the foster parent on record. And hopefully I’ll get a chance to take over.”
“We’ll never find a locum now,” Helen said. “If we’re lucky, we can find people who are finishing their residencies and looking for a job. Everyone good is already hired by this time of year.”
“I’ll hire a headhunter,” I said, although I needed someone fast.
“Someone inquired about a job,” Helen said. “Edith, who was that guy who called the other day? He said he was headed out to LA in a few months but was looking to work in Oak Bluff until then.”
“Dylan Baird,” Edith confirmed, staring straight at me. She ran to her desk and returned with a few sheets of paper. “I’ve got his CV right here.”
I closed my eyes. Edith had been around town long enough to know why.
“Ani, are you okay?” Pen asked, immediately picking up on something.
“I know Dylan,” I hedged.
Pen practically jumped in her seat. “Is he a good doc? He’s a warm body. Let’s hire him!”
“Um, I’m not so sure—”
“Why not?” Pen flipped through the papers. “He’s from a great program. He’s got great recs.”
Dylan had been my college sweetheart, the reason I’d applied to med school. He was a free spirit, very West-Coastian in his heart, very bohemian. “He’s my ex,” I said.
“Ex-boyfriend?” Helen asked. “Get over it.”
“No, ex-husband,” I said.
Penelope looked up. “Oh.”
Helen sighed heavily. “Did he cheat on you? Lie? Steal?”
“No.” But that didn’t mean he wasn’t irritating. And after ten years, I didn’t want him back in my life, taking care of my patients, having to communicate with me.
“Then we need to call him for an interview,” Helen said. “Any objections?”
“Helen is right,” Pen seconded. “Can we call him?”
I couldn’t believe it. It was a rare show of solidarity.
But all that I could think of was that a case worker was coming tomorrow to vet me as a suitable parent and would soon find that I had no crib, no car seat, no…
baby anything but also no furniture in my house.
That made Dylan the least of my worries.
“Okay, fine,” I said, surrendering. “Call him.”