Chapter Eighteen Nomi #2
Well, I’m done trying to dismantle my body’s faulty immune system with medication only for it to roar back and try to destroy me harder than ever.
I want to address the root causes of my disease, but every specialist I’ve ever seen is too busy to help me search for actual healing, to meet me and my body where we’re at and help us improve from there.
I get that there’s no conclusive answer to what causes Crohn’s, but there doesn’t need to be one, either, to try and find what works best for me.
If I have a colonoscopy, that’s choosing to submit to the medical establishment that’s alternately harmed me or ignored me, all while saddling my mother and me with intense medical debt.
And if Dr. Appa can’t understand that, Julian, who hails from the same prestigious hospital as so many of my former specialists, won’t, either.
“Is that all?” I lift my chin.
“And he says to quit being so stubborn,” Julian adds, a bit sheepishly. “Nomi, if you’re overdue for a screening, I’m happy to help you set it up.”
“No, thanks!” I thrust the insurance paperwork at Julian that I have to submit by five.
He pauses before taking it. “Fine. But I’m ordering bloodwork at the lab. You’ll need to stop by the lab for the blood draw, and Dr. Appa will review the results with you when they come back.”
“I don’t need any bloodwork.” I smile sweetly and shake the papers at him, pushing down the hurt and frustration rising inside. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course, Julian would be like this. Not listening. Substituting his judgment for my own about my body.
“Ah, but you do need me to sign off that I gave you your annual physical, and bloodwork is part of that.” He folds his arms.
I glare at him, long and hard, but he just gazes back placidly. He has the power right now and knows it.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes, and Julian takes the paperwork, signs, then hands it back. He eyes me thoughtfully.
“I’m only trying to help you, Nomi.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need your help.” The words come out too sharp, too brittle, and Julian flinches like I hit him.
I exhale deeply, willing myself to calm down. Bloodwork isn’t a big ask, and my knee-jerk anger isn’t entirely fair right now.
“I’m—sorry, Julian. Medical stuff is sensitive for me, but I shouldn’t have snapped at you—you’re doing me a favor, and I really appreciate you helping me out.
” I swallow, dropping my gaze from his intense one to the safety of the floor.
“It’s good to see you. I’ve… missed you.
At the coffee shop, I mean. It’s not the same without you. ”
A strangled sound emerges from his throat, and I look up in time to see a whoosh of hunger emanate from him that I feel on my skin like a hot breeze.
It’s not the cold hardening my nipples anymore—it’s the way Julian’s consuming the sight of me, his professional facade flickering in and out as he fights it.
The folder he’s holding slips from his hands, spilling its contents across the floor. He swallows roughly.
“Can I take you out Friday night, Nomi? Please?”
JULIAN
She doesn’t date? Nomi can stare up at me with those soft, brown eyes, her long, wavy hair sliding across her rock-hard nipples, and look at me with such open affection and rock-hard nipples, but she won’t date me?
I must’ve looked as crestfallen as I feel because she hastily added she’d be out of town, anyway, so it wouldn’t work even if she did date, but then reiterated how very fervently she does not.
It’s unbearable. I know she wants me, too.
I feel it in every touch of her smooth fingertips on my hand, my arm, and that day in Marco’s garage, my face.
The rapid fluttering of her pulse beneath my hands, her breath trembling as my palm slid down her back, amplified through the earpieces of my stethoscope.
The heat in her playful, bewitching smile.
But she won’t date me?
“Dr. D’Angelo? Is now a bad time, or—” Dr. Riveras frowns from my laptop screen, her face one of several currently frowning at me. A veritable grid of disappointment.
Great. It’s been two minutes, and I’m already bungling the three-month check-in with the probation committee. I exhale shortly. “My apologies. My last patient presented an intriguing set of—
Breasts? Say breasts.
Breasts.
Br—
“—symptoms. I’m a little preoccupied with them. The symptoms, that is. I’m all yours now, though.” I summon my most reasonable smile and banish the image of Nomi’s nipples from my mind.
Dr. Riveras assesses me. “Glad to hear you’re finding the role engaging, Dr. D’Angelo.”
“Very much so. In fact, while I regret the circumstances that led to my probation, I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity to acquire new skills afforded by a primary care physician’s role.”
“Could you speak more to that?” Dr. Washington, a kindly older doctor from the infectious diseases unit, asks.
“Certainly.” I adjust my frames. “I won’t lie to you; I found the switch in tempo from the ER to a small-town clinic jarring at first. This role requires a level of patience I didn’t have before, but I’ve made great strides.
I’ve also appreciated learning more about the day-to-day management of serious diseases, like Parkinson’s and type 2 diabetes, which will inform my treatment of patients with these conditions when they come in for emergencies. It’s rounding out my perspective, sir.”
Question by question, the committee’s faces transition from frowning to grudging interest. I have Nomi to thank for that.
There’s been more than one dig at my expense on this call, but rather than rising to take the bait, as well as the hand dangling it, I’ve breathed through it.
I half wonder whether they’ve been goading me on purpose, seeing if they could make me snap.
Pride swells in my chest. I’m not as easily manipulated as I used to be.
“This is very gratifying to hear, Dr. D’Angelo.” Dr. Riveras opens a folder. “Dr. Srinivasan’s preliminary reports on your progress have been interesting to read as well.”
Oh, no.
“He says you’ve experienced particular growth in your understanding of medicinal cannabis through collaboration with a local dispensary. Is that right?”
I swallow, unsure where this is going. “Well, yes. I’ve read a lot of literature on the subject and even shadowed a medicinal cannabis counselor with some of her clients, who are also patients of my clinic.”
“Very good,” Dr. Washington says. “We’re always glad when our doctors try to broaden their understanding of popular medical alternatives, but we do want to caution you, Julian. Don’t take this too far.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Do you want to return to Philly Gen after this probation is complete?”
“More than anything, sir.” A hint of desperation seeps into my words. Dr. Washington clears his throat, but it’s Dr. Riveras who answers.
“Then it’s best not to associate with any dispensaries. The Corrington family is still quite furious with you, and they’re very conservative on such topics. If they become aware of this association with cannabis, they’ll use it to block your reinstatement.”
Dr. Riveras taps the folder on her desk, then smiles briskly as if she didn’t just deliver a dire proclamation. “Keep up the good work, Julian. You may not believe this, but we’re rooting for you.”
The organizer has ended the meeting.
Well, fuck.
My phone buzzes from my desk. I pick it up.
THAT MEAN, LITTLE LESBIAN
Julian. It’s Eve.
JULIAN
Still looking into the purported “Big Flap.” Please refrain from sending additional pictures to support your theory.
THAT MEAN, LITTLE LESBIAN
They were just Georgia O’Keeffe paintings.
JULIAN
They were screenshots of Google Image Results.
THAT MEAN, LITTLE LESBIAN
Okay. Inspiration FOR Georgia O’Keeffe paintings then. Listen, this isn’t about vulvas.
JULIAN
I’m less interested now but go on.
THAT MEAN, LITTLE LESBIAN
We’re going down the Shore this weekend. Wanna come?
My breath stutters in my chest. Is this Nomi’s trip?
THAT MEAN, LITTLE LESBIAN
And yes, Nomi will be there.
JULIAN
ME? You’re inviting ME?
JULIAN
Is this a joke? This is a VERY mean joke if so, you mean, little lesbian.
THAT MEAN, LITTLE LESBIAN
Not a joke.
JULIAN
I’m in.
THAT MEAN, LITTLE LESBIAN
Ok. Don’t make me regret this, D’Asshole. I WILL be bringing the collar. JULIANHow… shocking.
THAT MEAN, LITTLE LESBIAN
JULIAN!!!