32. Becca
Miller
Thank you for the flowers.
You’re welcome. I saw them and thought of you, so I had to send you a bouquet. How’s the rotation going?
Um… it’s rough. I thought I’d love obstetrics, delivering babies and all that. But I don’t think it’s for me.
Too much vagina?
I was at a delivery today and there was so much blood. I almost passed out.
Are doctors allowed to do that?
It’s generally frowned upon to pass out when you’re supposed to be the one catching the baby. The doctors who pass out at blood tend to choose outpatient specialties. And psychiatry.
Makes sense.
What are your thoughts on your specialty now?
No idea, honestly. I start pediatrics next week. I figure I’m good with kids, so maybe that?
You’re great with kids, Becs.
This month will be better. Kids are fun, and I like being around them.
I smile at the artwork on the wall as I walk into the children’s wing. I hadn’t realized until yesterday that I’d be starting on the inpatient service, but I’m not going to let it get me down. Kids are kids, right?
I knock on the door of the workroom, where several people in scrubs are tapping away at computers. One of them turns around at the knock.
“Hi. I’m Rebecca Patel, the new med student?” I cringe at the question in my voice.
Ironically, I’m less anxious on clinical rotations than I ever was during our pre-clinical blocks. I’m not sure if it’s because this is what I went to med school for—taking care of patients and helping people—or if it’s just that having a defined role to play within a team eases my social anxiety.
Either way, it’s easier, and I’m doing a much better job. Despite hating OB and almost passing out in the OR once, I earned Honors on the rotation.
The woman stands from her chair and holds her hand out to me, pushing her thick-rimmed glasses up on her nose with her other hand. “Welcome! I’m Grace Langley, the senior resident on the team.”
I shake her hand with a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”
She motions to a chair next to hers. “Sit. Now, what rotations have you done so far?”
Everyone else is on their third rotation, while I’m just on my second. I spent the first block redoing my pharmacology class. “Just OB.”
“Oh, perfect!” Grace doesn’t question it. “You saw the babies being born, and now you get to see what happens when they grow up. Let’s start you with one patient to follow. How about Matthew? He’s the sweetest little guy.”
She pulls his chart up on the computer in front of me and leaves me to read through his history. Matthew Powell, age three. Trisomy 21—Down Syndrome. And he has leukemia.
My stomach bottoms out when I read that line in his chart. How is it fair that little kids get cancer?
I scroll through more of the notes. He’s here getting chemotherapy. I re-learned enough of the medicines in my pharmacology studying that I recognize the names of most of the drugs he’s getting.
The notes in the computer don’t seem to do him justice. I can’t picture him by the words on the screen.
“Is it okay if I go meet him?” I ask Grace as she taps away at her keyboard.
“Absolutely. We’ll start rounds at nine, so just be back here by then.”
I check my watch. It’s 8:40. I follow room numbers until I find Matthew’s room—215—and knock on the door.
* * *
I manage to hold in my tears until I get to my car. This is not how I pictured this rotation going. Not at all.
Matthew is the sweetest little kid. It absolutely gutted me to see him bald from the chemotherapy, hooked up to an IV.
And the rest of the patients weren’t much better. Every child there was sick, in pain, unhappy. This isn’t what childhood should be like.
I hold on to my steering wheel while I let the tears course down my face. It’s not like I didn’t know this is how it was going to be. I’ve seen just about every medical TV show out there. What I didn’t realize was how hard it would hit me. How hard it would be to let it go when I walk out of the hospital.
And the one person I want to talk to about this is Miller. I know he’d be there for me, let me talk it out and be nothing but supportive.
But I don’t want that to be all our relationship is—me dumping on him. I want to be able to be there for him, too.
I pull myself together for the short drive home and wipe my tears on my sleeve. I’ll text Miller about dinner once I figure out what I’m going to make. Even if I can’t unleash all my sorrows on him, it’ll make me feel better to talk to him.
* * *
Macaroni and cheese. Again. It’s cheap and it’s quick, so it’s a staple around here. I stir the noodles in the pot, feeling proud of myself for the step up from the microwave instant stuff. It’s the little things, right?
I squeeze the pre-made sauce onto the cooked noodles. Maybe one of these days I’ll graduate to the real thing, making the sauce with butter and milk, but if you ask me, this kind is better. I carry my bowl to the table along with a glass of wine.
My phone vibrates just as I set it on the table next to me. I flinch at the sound. My parents called to check in on the first day of my last rotation, and they’re creatures of habit.
I’ve been dreading their call, because they like details. They want to know what types of patients I saw, what interesting diseases, all of that. And I can’t get Matthew and his sweet face out of my head.
I take a sip of wine for strength and turn the phone over to see a text. Not from my parents, but from Miller.
Miller
How was day one? Everything you hoped for?
Not exactly.
The sound of an incoming FaceTime call startles me, nearly making me drop my spoon. I’m not ready to talk to Miller, to explain why I’m a total wreck, so I let it ring until the call disconnects.
But as soon as I shove another bite of pasta into my mouth, the phone rings again with another video call.
I swallow my mouthful and swipe to answer it. He’s not going to give up. But instead of dread, the realization makes me feel… safe, somehow. Cared for.
Miller’s face fills the screen of my phone. “Hey. Tell me about it,” he says, his forehead wrinkled with concern.
I shrug, scooping more mac and cheese onto my spoon. “It’s… it just wasn’t what I was expecting. Some of the kids are so sick. It’s hard to watch. I didn’t think it would hit me this hard, and then the fact that I’m taking it tough makes it worse. Like, how can I think about how hard it is for me, when they’re the ones with the illness? I just want to make them all better.” My voice catches at the end. I take a sip of wine to cover it up.
Miller doesn’t miss a thing. “Want to talk about it? Maybe telling me about your day will make it better.” His blue eyes shine on the screen as he gives me that easy grin. My heart melts the tiniest bit, the way it always does when I talk to Miller.
I don’t regret leaving camp early, because it gave me this shot at moving forward in my career. But if I could go back and do everything over again, I would. Because I regret pushing him away for so long.
I take a deep breath. “I can’t tell you all the details, obviously. But I have a patient I’m taking care of, a little guy who’s only three. And he’s just been dealt such a shitty hand in life already.” How do I explain this without stepping over the line of doctor-patient confidentiality? “He… well, he’s like Maya. And Jordan.”
Miller nods, understanding completely without my having to spell it out.
My voice cracks. “And he has cancer. It’s just… it’s so unfair. Why do things like that happen to sweet kids? How can I watch him go through that and still be me at the end of it? And what does it say about me that all I can think about is how it’s affecting me? God, I’m such a bitch.” The words pour out along with a fresh set of tears.
Miller waits until I take a breath and gather myself. “Um. It says you’re human, babe.”
I shake my head, wiping my cheek with the back of one hand. “Doctors aren’t supposed to be human. Remember?”
He laughs, the sound a refreshing change from the pity in most people’s voices when they’re talking to someone who’s crying in front of them. “Oh, Becs. You know that isn’t true. And feeling like this shows you’re a great doctor. If you saw kids sick and in pain and didn’t feel anything, that’s when I’d be worried.”
I manage a small smile and sniffle. “Thanks. And I appreciate your support. I just… it’s hard to understand. And I know I can’t tell you too much more.”
“I know,” he says, then hesitates. “I… okay, I don’t tell a lot of people this, but I feel like it might help you to know this.”
My brow furrows. “Okay?”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “So, you know Jordan has Down Syndrome, obviously. But I don’t usually talk about when he was sick.”
I lift the glass of wine to my lips, focused on the image of Miller on the screen in front of me.
“When Jordan was two and a half, he got diagnosed with leukemia. You didn’t say it, but I’m imagining that’s what your little guy has, too. Kids with Down Syndrome are at higher risk for it.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, knowing I can’t go into details about my patient.
“I was nine and it was tough, obviously, having a brother who was sick and going through all that. My dad left not too long after, and now I wonder if that’s what broke their marriage. But my point is…” He looks at something off camera, then back at me. “Jordan made it through. He’s healthy and happy and honestly, so many of the kids with that particular illness are. They get to grow up, thanks to people like you.”
The tears are flowing freely now. I wipe the back of my hand across my cheek.
Miller waits for me to catch my breath. “One of my most vivid memories from back then was the day Jordan got diagnosed. The doctor came in and was explaining everything, and then she said the word cancer, and everything just… stopped. And my mom cried, of course, but so did the doctor who was telling us. She cared. And maybe she went home and cried in her macaroni and wine, too. I don’t know. But she was an amazing doctor. She cared, and she fixed my brother.”
“Miller,” I say, my voice cracking. A tear squeezes from the corner of my eye and makes its way down my cheek.
He gives me a crooked grin across the video call. “So, if you hate pediatrics in the hospital, that’s fine. You’ll find something you love. But don’t beat yourself up for caring.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I manage. “Why do you always say the right thing?”
“Years of practice, babe.” He looks serious all of a sudden. “You know, you asked me why I like to screw around and don’t take anything seriously?”
I nod. “Yeah. I hated it at first.”
“It started back then. Everyone just looked at us with… pity, I guess. Like it was hard for them to be around us. It made them sad. So, I was goofy and told jokes to make them not sad. And it stuck.”
I feel tears welling up again. “Mill—”
He cuts me off. “Oh no, you don’t. No look of pity. Need I remind you of the boxers up the flagpole? All those times the goat ate my shirts?”
I giggle through my tears.
“We all grow up, Becs. Jordan got better and grew up. He’s doing amazing now. And I am, too. And so are you, even if you don’t know it yet.” Miller pushes his hair back from his face. “You should come up and meet Jordan. See what happens when people like you do what you do.”
I furrow my brows in confusion. “Up where?”
“Up to my mom’s house. She doesn’t live too far away from you. Maybe we can make something happen. When do you get time off?”