Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Helen
“No thanks. I don’t want it,” I say for the third time, ducking my head to avoid the black eyeliner in Lindsey’s hand.
“Come on, Dr. Chu,” Lindsey practically whines, “just a couple of whiskers. I can draw them on you super-fast. You’d make a great cat.”
She lunges at me again, and I twist away. “I told you. I don’t want to dress up or put on make-up for Halloween.”
I look around, still amazed by the transformation of our Emergency Department.
Apparently, Lindsey and a couple of the other nurses got approval from the higher-ups to decorate for Halloween.
Starting a few days ago, they’d gone to work, putting up glowing jack-o’-lanterns and gauzy spiderwebs with bowls of candy corn everywhere.
Skeletons dangle from the ceiling, swaying in the breeze of the air conditioner.
A respiratory tech walks by wearing a pointy witch’s hat. The phlebotomist has a pair of plastic vampire teeth and is running around telling people, “I want to draw your blood” in a fake Transylvanian accent before laughing hysterically.
Dr. G let Lindsey draw a fake mustache on his upper lip, but when she turned her attention to me, demanding I be a cat, I put my foot down.
“No way,” I say as firmly as possible, eyeing the waterproof eyeliner she’s brandishing. That stuff won’t come off for days.
“Have a little fun, Dr. Chu. Puh-lease?” Lindsey folds her hands together in an exaggerated plea.
I grip my clipboard tighter. I don’t like this. I don’t like it when people push me. My heart beats harder than it should for something so stupid. I know she’s just teasing, but it feels like I’m being cornered, which sparks a low, buzzing panic deep in my chest.
Flustered and overstimulated, I snap, “Look, I’m a five-foot-tall, biracial Asian woman with a high-pitched voice. Do you know how hard it is to get patients, or anyone, really, to take me seriously?”
Lindsey takes a step back, as her teasing grin collapses into something uncertain.
“Well,” I demand, throwing my hands up, “do you? Add in cat whiskers and no one will listen to me.”
“I—I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she stutters, stepping back again, putting more distance between us.
A second too late, I register the way her shoulders hunch. The way her hand slips the eyeliner back into her pocket. How she won’t meet my gaze.
Ugh.
A stab of guilt. Lindsey’s been nothing but kind to me since she arrived a few months ago. She’s the only nurse who actually talks to me outside of patient discussions. She tries with me in a way most people don’t, and I just snapped at her.
Heat creeps up my neck.
Fix it. Fix it. Fix it.
Lindsey stares at the floor. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “I just thought it might be fun.”
Without waiting for me to respond, she tucks her hands into her scrub pockets and hurries down the hall, away from me.
I should say something. Call her back. Apologize. My mouth opens, then closes. My hand reaches out only to fall back by my side, useless.
I stand there, alone.
“Helen…Helen…”
Dr. Reynolds is saying my name, repeating it since I’m distracted by what just happened with Lindsey.
“Oh!” Startled, I turn to my boss and the head of the Emergency Department. “Sorry, did you need me?”
She gives a curt nod. “In my office. Are you free now?”
I glance at the round clock high on the wall with its black ticking hands telling me it’s one a.m. “Yeah, I was just about to take my lunch break.” It always seems weird to call it lunch when it’s so late at night, but since it’s in the middle of our shift that’s how most of us refer to it.
“Good. Let’s talk.” She spins and heads to her office, which is right around the corner.
I follow with a stirring of unease in my belly.
What could she want?
Dr. Reynolds usually likes me, and why wouldn’t she?
I have the lowest complication rate of any ER doctor in the hospital.
I never complain about my schedule, never show up late, never slack off.
I don’t gossip, I don’t waste time in break rooms, and I don’t miss deadlines.
Plus, I always agree to cover extra shifts, not because I need the money, although I appreciate the extra cash.
No, I take the extra shifts because I like to stay busy.
Because it proves I’m someone the department can count on.
Extra work can’t be why she’s calling me into her office, though. That could be easily handled by email.
I follow her inside, and she waves me to a chair in front of her imposing solid oak desk.
Dr. Reynolds sits, her black-rimmed glasses low on her nose, salt-and-pepper hair tucked neatly behind her ears.
She’s always loud, always commanding. Sometimes I want to cover my ears with my hands when her voice booms across the department.
Which is why my dread turns to full-fledged terror when she softens her voice and asks, quietly, “Do you know why I called you in here?”
I shake my head, my knee jiggling so badly I slap a hand on it and press down, hoping to still the movement. I’ve been so tense recently, worried about my mom. I’m not sure I can handle more bad news.
She heaves a sigh like she’s dissatisfied with my answer. “Do you remember a patient by the name of Theodore Wright? A drowning from a few weeks ago?”
Teddy.
I can feel my eyes widen. Not trusting my voice, I nod silently.
She folds her hands together on the table and leans forward. “What, exactly, is your relationship with this patient?”
Oh no.
My stomach drops. The room shrinks and becomes smaller, the air too thick.
I’m in so much trouble.
I swallow, my throat clicking. “He’s the brother of my friend.”
Dr. Reynolds already knows that, of course.
“And your relationship with him?” she prompts.
“We’re n—not in a relationship.” A nervous laugh erupts from my mouth, high-pitched enough that bats probably hear it. “I’ve met him twice. The last time was at his sister’s wedding.”
Her lips thin into a straight line. “A staff member has accused you of having a romantic relationship with this patient. They said that you recognized him but treated him as his physician anyway.”
Goddamnit, Larry. You asshole.
The world freezes. My chest stills.
“Umm,” I hedge, my mind whirring through a million different responses. In the end, I go with the truth. I’ve never been good at lying. It hurts my rule-following heart.
Heat rushes up my neck and over my cheeks.
I can’t believe I’m about to tell my boss I had a one-night stand.
Shame washes over me, turning my cheeks red.
I suck in a deep breath and admit, “I d—did have a romantic interaction with him once, just one time, but it was a year ago. I haven’t talked to him since. ”
Please don’t fire me. This hospital is my entire life.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Dr. Reynolds scowls and taps her pencil on the desk with an annoyed flicking motion. “I have to say, Helen, I’m disappointed in you.”
My stomach twists painfully.
Anything, I can take anything, except disappointed. Insults. Yelling. Throwing things. Just not disappointed.
My shoulders sink toward the floor as I mumble, “I’m sorry. I honestly feel like my treatment of Ted—Mr. Wright was the same that I would give to any other patient.”
Except for that IV. I keep the thought to myself.
“It doesn’t matter. You could have single-handedly saved that man’s life, and it wouldn’t change anything. They fact is that you broke the rules—”
I resist the urge to cry. I love rules.
“—and now you have to face the consequences.”
My heart seizes. Unable to stand the sight of her frown, I drop my gaze to the floor. “Sorry,” I say again, knowing it won’t make a difference but unable to stop the word from coming out of my mouth. I twist my hands together in my lap and wait for my judgment.
In a monotone, like this is something she deals with every day, she says, “There will be an internal review of the case and of your performance, both in the past and as it relates to this particular patient.”
My chest spasms, and I bring up my hand to rub the ache.
Okay, a review. I ran that code by the book. They can’t find me guilty. Can they?
“When will the review be?” I ask, finally looking up and not liking what I see. Dr. Reynolds is busy writing something down in a file.
Is that my permanent record? Is that even a thing? Or just something they use to scare kids back in school?
I’m sweating now, actual droplets of sweat trickling down my back.
“The Physician Conduct and Discipline Committee meet once a month.”
Relief floods through me. I won’t have to wait.
She continued, “Because of the holidays, they take some time off so the next meeting will be December twentieth.”
I jerk back in my chair. That long? That’s two months away.
It’s fine, I try to reassure myself. This will give me more time to prepare. I think about all the research I can do: cases similar to mine with good outcomes, expert witnesses to explain how my judgment wasn’t clouded, affidavits from members on the critical response team.
I straighten my shoulders. “I’ll be happy to meet with the committee anytime,” I tell her. “I look forward to presenting my side of the story.”
My phone rings with a call from the social worker taking care of the patient in 26b.
“Excuse me,” I tell Dr. Reynolds, “I’ve been waiting on this call.
Is there anything else? I should probably get back out there.
” I hook my thumb toward the door and the Emergency Room beyond it.
I’m sure patients are piling up in the waiting room.
Usually, I allow myself ten minutes for lunch, eaten alone at my desk, but we’ve already been in here longer than that.
She’s writing in my file again. The scratching sound of her pen on the paper makes my skin crawl. Without looking up, Dr. Reynolds says, “You’re not going back out to the department.”
I quirk my head to the side. “Sorry? I don’t understand. My shift ends at four a.m.”
She looks up, her piercing gray eyes meeting my brown ones. “Your shift is over. You’re suspended.”
“Suspended?” I repeat like a parrot. The word feels foreign, like I’m saying it with someone else’s mouth. “You—you can’t be serious.” I lean forward, hands gripping my knees. “Dr. Reynolds, please. You know me. You know I would never—”
“Your hospital privileges are on hold until the committee reviews your case.” She looks over the top of her glasses, peering down her nose at me. “No more work, starting right now. Pack up your things. You’re done.”
Done.