Chapter 3
CHALK TALK
In mortal dating culture, the standard is the ‘relationship,’ in which two people know and respect each other, presumably in a romantic fashion.
There are also ‘situation’ ships, where neither side knows what they want, and they circle each other’s feelings like harpies, picking away at self-esteem inversely to any level of commitment, until each gives up on dating altogether, picked clean of any remains of hope.
And in hospital snark culture, there are ‘frequent flyers,’ patients who have narrowly missed meeting me due to the excellence of the hospital staff.
And why do they repeat the same situation time and time again?
It’s the opposite of the man who can’t decide whether or not he actually likes you. It’s the patient who loves coming back.
Otherwise, you’ll learn the true definition of insanity like Percy: the humiliationship frequent flyer!
THANATOS
Sent at 10 P.M.
You have been added to a new group chat with: IL-1, Hyacinth, Aristotle, Leviathan, Esther, Calypso, Jade, Adson, and Unknown number
Group chat renamed to: Underlings
Kane
Study this.
7 AM tomorrow. Don’t be late.
Attachment: 15-page document, titled ACLS Handbook
Being official is a big deal.
And whatever Hyacinth told the silent area worked, because suddenly, we were more popular than penicillin in a crisp 1940s hospital bay.
I forgot how pathogenic gossip is in the world of medicine. Step one foot out of line, and you’ll brush up against a medical student on one side, and a resident, attending, and program director on the other.
I enter the hospital just one day after my ‘date,’ and my feet feel like they’re single-handedly spreading the new contagion, spraying scandalous microbes everywhere.
One of the student nurses ambushes me in the hall to ask if I’m really dating him (I confirm, and she squeals and runs away).
Kane’s current student, the M3 Adson, levels a disapproving glare at me as he passes, utter disdain spilled all over his face.
The midwives quit speaking when I walk past their break room, raucous whispers silenced. My favorite one, an older woman with straight, black hair named Florence, gives me a knowing wink.
Ginny even asks me if there’s anything I want to talk about today. I couldn’t tell if it’s in an Am I bombing as a med student? way, or I am concerned about your pursuit of demons way, and when I said so, she burst out laughing and said I must be fine. Which means all the residents know, too.
Even my attending seems to look at me differently before rounds, like she’s trying to decide if she approves. Or if she’s scared for me.
She probably wouldn’t approve. And dating a resident, especially a superior, is a reckless move.
Not like that’s stopping me.
So in 24 hours, I’ve infiltrated the social circles of nurses, nurse practitioners, medical students, residents, and attendings, all within the course of one public date.
Yay for small towns that are medicine, I guess. We’re nothing if not ruthlessly efficient.
And new blood packs every corner of the hospital today, unfamiliar faces crowding me in as I scurry through the halls like a scrappy part-time circus entertainer.
It’s like half of Rinky Dink got transferred to work here, and the only thing they universally agree on is that they can’t believe who I’m dating.
So when my night shift ends and the circus tent draws to a close, I’m wearily sauntering down to the dim halls of the basement, hunting for the library for our morning didactics.
I rub my eyes mournfully. Leave it to Cornfield to make me attend my mandatory lecture after a full 14-hour night shift.
This is what I wanted, I remind my aching body, tumbling down the stairs. This is what premeds kill for, I convince myself, shuffling on sore feet through the murky and windowless halls.
Every hospital is different, but at our old school institution, medical students sit at the front, then interns, then residents, and chiefs sit at the back.
It’s so we can experience the timeless tradition of a first-row, first-class interrogation, with our lecturer close enough to burn his disappointment into our corneas.
I’ve barely braced myself to enter the lecture room when Kane’s kid sister, Jade, grumbles out, “Your breakfast is over there.”
My feet still.
A lavender matcha from MoonMonies and a strawberry croissant sit smack dab in the front row, middle center.
I didn’t ask him to do that.
My heart thrums despite myself, steps feeling oddly light as I approach.
David was in the same hospital with me for months, and he never once got me a snack without asking for repayment.
There’s a thud to my far right, and Jade’s teal cowboy boots plunk up on the table, leaning back so that her dark hair splays all over the seat back.
“You never buy me breakfast,” she says to the resident scribbling on the chalkboard.
He turns around, white coat billowing over the floor, and my stomach lurches.
No, it’s not a resident.
It’s their father.
Dr. Goodyear.
He looks like a ghastly version of Kane, austere cheekbones jutting from his thin frame like scythes, icy-pale eyes leveled on his daughter.
After a taut, dismissive second, Jade clunks her boots back down, and her pallid father returns to the blackboard, grumbling something too low to hear.
Oh my God.
Kane told his father to get me food. How serious did he say our relationship was?
I creep to my seat, senses on high alert.
Dr. Goodyear is rumored to be vicious with pimping, and I can feel the last embers of my energy burning out.1
Most attendings ignore us completely. Medical students exist as nothing more than a nuisance, never anticipated, always burdensome. I’m startled when they remember I exist.
But Dr. Goodyear isn’t like that. Thanks to Jade, he’s the only one who knows us all by name.
Fucking terrifying.
I think I prefer to be their shadow, not their obligation.
“It’s from Kane,” Dr. Goodyear says. I freeze in my seat, but he keeps talking, presumably to me, as he returns to his scribbles. “He would deliver it himself, but he’s running late.”
Hyacinth wiggles her eyebrows at me suggestively.
I’m still on edge, realizing that if I want to look like I’m dating Kane, I need to impress his father. Especially if he’s getting me food on Kane’s behalf.
And I should become better friends with his little sister, whose green eyes glint with envy at my treat.
She’s only a year behind me, education-wise, and I can’t imagine it’s easy seeing your brother spoil a new girlfriend while barely talking to you.
A cough breaks the silence, and I scurry into my seat before I can make eye contact with its source. Hyacinth guards my left, and I slide the croissant to Esther instead, who’s seated to my right. “You’re the one eating for three.”
She grins and takes it. “Thanks.” She pats her belly, which holds twins, and is growing more swollen by the day. “The babies say thanks, too.”
She’s in remarkably good spirits for being a first-trimester, first-time mom still stuck on rotations.
A sudden ache of jealousy pulses through me. Sometimes I wish I were her, feeling the cozy bump of a baby against my heart and the sentimental weight of a ring against my finger, instead of a hollow promise of an M.D. above all else.
But if anyone deserves happiness, it’s Esther. After all, she’s the one who let me rant for months about David texting me post-breakup, then grabbed the phone out of my hands to block him herself.
Hence, why unknown number is always in my group chats.
“Okay, students,” Dr. Goodyear begins, “I hope you’ve been reading, because starting today, medical students may assist with codes in the ER.”
“What?” Ari gasps at the same time Levi says, “Nice!”
“We—to the surprise of no one—are understaffed,” Dr. Goodyear continues. “Even the transfers from Rinky Dink aren’t a suitable solution for the volume we’re about to receive. And if the interns are out, it’s on all of you,” he threatens.
Trepidation sparks through the air, especially from the emergency medicine hopeful Levi, who’s leaning forward in his seat, caffeinated and twitching like he can’t wait to run around an ER soon.
Messy brown hair, Andes hiking jacket on, mismatched scrubs stolen from two different hospitals—yeah, he’s definitely going into emergency medicine.
Dr. Goodyear abandons his scribbles—which I recognize are now EKGs—and walks over to the projector, lining up the screen. He opens a blank presentation. “First, what’s the first thing you should do in the event of cardiac arrest?”
Levi’s hand shoots up. “Check for a pulse!”
“Wrong,” he says. “Who else?”
Levi visibly deflates while Ari (who is wearing a twin Andes jacket, but has matching Pears on) answers, “Check the scene for safety!”
“Exactly.” Dr. Goodyear clicks through his presentation. “Even in the hospital, you need to assess the situation first. If there are family members in the way, it could be a mess, and you need the scene to be clear first for the team to come in and help.”
“In what situations do you proceed with CPR?” he continues.
Ari and Levi both raise their hands.
With the barely repressed glower Levi shoots at her, I note we may have two emergency medicine hopefuls this year.
Fascinating.
“Ari?” Dr. Goodyear prompts.
“No breathing or gasping, pulse not felt within ten seconds,” she says.
“Good. By the way,” he says dryly, looking at me, Hyacinth, Luke, Jade, and Esther. “If you plan on honoring your current rotation, you’d better take part.”
Ah, shit.
As much as I’d like to just coast through the rest of M4, these are the last grades that appear on my transcript before I apply. If I don’t honor, my chances of matching plummet.
“At what rhythm do you start CPR in an adult?” he asks, and then narrows in on his target. “Jade?”
“Fifteen compressions to two breaths,” she says.
We collectively cringe, disapproval flashing across Dr. Goodyear’s face.
“Esther?”
“Thirty compressions to two breaths,” she answers.
“Jade, when do we do fifteen compressions to two breaths?” he asks.