6. Chase
Chase
Ihate being late. And in the hospital, if you aren’t ten minutes early, you’re already late. Bypassing the elevator, I fly up six flights of stairs. I only get a handful of minutes for lunch most days, and I promised Marcy I’d swing by today.
Sweat dots my brow as I push through the stairwell door into the pediatric oncology wing. I have to badge into this part of the hospital and scrub in as if I were going into the operating room, since the kids in this unit are severely immunocompromised.
Turning the corner into room sixteen, Marcy’s eyes brighten at my presence, making my heart ache in my chest. It’s unfair that so many kids like her have already suffered so much in their short lives.
Except for the pale blue bandana with dolphins covering her bare scalp, you’d never know Marcy was fighting leukemia. She never utters a single complaint and always wears a smile. A lot of adults I know could learn a lesson or two about gratitude and a positive attitude from Marcy.
“Marcy Bear!” I exclaim, approaching her bed.
“Dr. Chase!” she returns with just as much enthusiasm.
“What are we watching today?” I ask, pulling a chair up next to her bed.
Marcy’s mom is a single parent who has to work in order to keep health insurance and pay the astronomical prices that Marcy’s treatments cost, even though she’d rather be spending time with her daughter.
But just like Marcy, Helen never complains.
“The Real Housewives of Georgia,” Marcy answers automatically and without shame, making me chuckle.
“You love your trash TV, don’t you?” I tease.
Marcy’s only eleven, but no one tells her she should be watching something more age-appropriate because no one knows if she’ll live long enough to make it to an appropriate age to watch the shit she loves.
“So much,” she says with glee as she laces her fingers under her chin and bats her eyes at me.
I wish I had time to get to know all the kids on this floor, but as it stands, I can only sneak up here a couple times a week to say hello to a few of the kids I really connected with during an observational rotation I did my last year of med school.
Trauma and general surgery only take. They require my knowledge, my concentration, my energy, my time, and, to a degree, my health.
But these kids, especially Marcy…they give. Their laughter brightens my day. They face daunting challenges with incredible strength that pours into everyone around them. Some find this ward unbearable, but to me, it’s hope.
Their innocence and will to live make me want to invest every ounce of myself in them.
And while there are grateful patients on the trauma service as well, it’s hard not to feel resentful when a gangbanger presents to the ER because a rival gang member got to him first, and instead of being able to go home after a thirteen-hour shift, I have to scrub back in for another two-hour case, only for him to wake up spewing threats if we don’t push more pain medication after saving his miserable life.
Not to mention the times we’re charged with caring for both the drunk driver and the victims they hit. It always leaves me reeling, questioning humanity, when the victims don’t make it while the driver walks out on their own two feet.
Marcy’s excited voice pulls me back to these precious moments I’m stealing with her, and she catches me up on the drama of the show.
I do my best to take everything in and ask all kinds of silly questions to keep her totally distracted when the nurses come in to clean her port site.
Marcy giggles and talks through the whole ordeal.
She only winces once, and I can’t help myself.
I reach over and grab her hand to let her squeeze my fingers when the pain hits.
My minutes up here always go by too quickly and, like always, I vow to come back again as soon as I can.
As I’m making my way to the charting room to finish dictating notes, I hear the intercom announce the arrival of the Life Flight helicopter.
The team accepting the incoming patients works across multiple specialties on different floors, so the intercom is the easiest way to alert everyone at once to get them into position.
Hearing the announcement, my mind wanders back to last week when Logan and I met for dinner, and I wonder if he’s flying today. Seems like enough time has passed that I can shoot him another text without making it weird.
Chase
Hey man. You free tonight? I should be done around six if you want to grab dinner or something.
I don’t expect to hear from him right away, but his answer is almost immediate.
Logan
*picture message*
I don’t know, man, my schedule is pretty stacked right now.
I snort. The picture he sent was of his legs in sweatpants on a ratty old couch.
Chase
Yeah, I’ll take that as a yes. You up for hitting the climbing wall downtown?
Logan
I’ve never been rock climbing.
Chase
You don’t need any prior experience. It’s totally safe. I’ll belay you. You’ll be in a harness tied to me by a rope.
Logan
Sounds kinky.
Chase
Can be. Sometimes I get hard when I do well on a difficult pitch.
Logan
Too much information, Matthews.
Chase
Well, buckle up, Buttercup. Oversharing is my love language.
Logan
I’m afraid I’m not going to survive you.
Chase
Nah, before long you’ll be wondering how you ever survived WITHOUT me.
Logan
If you say so.
Chase
There’s a Thai place next door we can swing by afterward. Text me your address. I’ll pick you up.
Logan shoots me his address and follows it up with:
Logan
So this IS a date.
I laugh and type back quickly.
Chase
Just so you know, I don’t put out on the first date.
Logan
I’ll be sure to wear my good boxers next time then.
Chase
See you at 6:30
The winking emoji returns, but it feels right this time, and I refocus my attention on my dictation; my mood has drastically improved since making plans with Logan.
I know I should catch up on chart reviews tonight.
I know I need to review anatomy for the OR tomorrow.
I know I should call Kendra, but none of those things fill my tank.
Grabbing a drink with Logan was the most fun I’ve had in a while, and ever since that night, I’ve been eager to do it again. Socialization and relaxing have definitely been missing from my life for far too long.
Since I’m rounding today, I’m responsible for the patients already on the floor, which means I’m not needed on the roof to help receive the patient being brought in on the chopper, even though I think watching the landing is cool as fuck…
it’s arguably slightly less cool since I know Logan is at his place and not the one bringing the patient in.
My upbeat attitude carries me through the rest of my day of mandatory tasks, and even though it’s already getting dark when I leave the hospital, I’m still energized.
I’m in such a good mood that when Kendra calls, I answer with a smile—even though she can’t see it.
“Hey, sweetheart! How’s your day going?” I ask as I make my way toward my car.
“Fine, I guess,” she mumbles. “We had to send back a bunch of PR merchandise because they read the freaking color code wrong. Like, what’s the point in even including the color code if you’re just going to pick one at random?” she complains.
Still, my mood hangs on.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Were you able to get it fixed?” I ask, knowing it’s important to her.
“Yeah, I mean it was no big deal, just annoying, you know? It’d be like you ordering one medication and your patient taking something totally different.”
Yep, exactly the same thing, I think to myself.
“Anyway, I wanted to talk about Christmas.”
“Um, yeah, hang on one second. I’m going to switch the speaker in my car,” I tell her, unlocking my Wrangler and dumping all my shit inside before climbing into the driver’s seat.
My Bluetooth switches over, and Kendra is in the middle of a sentence, telling me she did not hang on.
“…so it just really isn’t going to work out for me to take time off, but you could come down here.”
I catch enough to know what she’s talking about.
“Ken, it’s too close to the holidays to switch now. I volunteered to take Christmas since a few of my colleagues have kids and need to be home. I’m stuck here.”
“So, we just won’t see each other for the holidays?” she pouts.
“Not this year, but maybe we can find some time after the start of the new year?” I suggest.
“Chase, you know that’s my busiest time of the year.”
I feel my mood plummeting with each passing second of this call.
“Okay, well, we’ll figure it out.” Changing the subject, I smile as I recount a memory. “Do you remember that time in undergrad when we skipped class to go skiing and had no clue that a snowstorm was moving in?”
“Of course. I thought we were going to die getting there,” she says.
“You spent the whole drive with your head in my lap, which was terribly unsafe, but you didn’t want to look out the window,” I reminisce.
“Seems like a lifetime ago,” she says sadly.
“I guess it was,” I admit.
“Tell me about your day,” she says, obviously not keen on trying to connect over memories since we haven’t really made any new ones recently.
I can’t stand this question. At the end of my long day, the last thing I want to do is relive it over the phone.
Maybe if she were here, we could decompress over a glass of wine while we made dinner together or something, but a phone call where she’s already checked out?
No thanks. Not to mention, I hear her nails clicking keys on her keyboard in the background, telling me she’s already tuning me out.
“Um, I’m actually going out with an old friend tonight, so I need to run, but I’ll fill you in later, okay?”
She stops typing.
“What old friend do you have in Boston?” she asks, tone full of hostility.
“He’s not from here. I met him when I went out to visit Hanlon a few years ago,” I explain.
“Oh, so you miraculously have time to hang out with people now, but we can’t even have a ten-minute phone conversation?”
I grind my molars.
“I have a high-stress job, Ken. I deserve a night out every now and then, and him and me hanging out has nothing to do with this phone conversation. I know you’re still at work, which means I’m only getting half your attention anyway. So, let’s just catch up another time, okay?”
“Sure,” she says, blowing out a sigh. “I just miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” I say, hating the way I have to force it.
Once I’m home, I shower in record time, throw on some tight boxer briefs so I don’t give anyone below me a show, shorts with sweatpants over top, and a white tank top.
It’s best to wear shit that isn’t too baggy, but allows you to move.
I send a text to Logan with those instructions, remembering at the last minute that he said he’s never done this before, and then I put his address in my phone and head his way.