Chapter 28 Jon
JON
Jon: Great match, Beautiful!
I keep my thumb hovering over the heart emoji. Would it be too much to include that? I ignore my urges and send the words only. I don’t expect a response from her for a while. She let me know she doesn’t get a chance to look at her phone for at least a couple hours after her matches.
Tonight’s match was crazy. Margeaux told me it was going to be a surprise ending and was it ever! I wasn’t expecting Jazz to be put under some kind of glamour spell and join forces with the Glam Squad—major plot twist.
It was painful to watch Margeaux lose and take so many big hits.
She assured me so many times that everything is choreographed and practiced to look real.
She’s such an amazing actress. There won’t be a rematch for a couple of weeks.
I guess there will be a big showcase, in front of a bigger crowd.
Margeaux made a comment about getting me a ticket. I’d love to see her perform live.
That’s got to be a good sign that she’s thinking a little farther into the future, and that I’m in her thoughts.
I look around my apartment and try to picture Margeaux living here with me.
Maybe not full-time, but when she’s not training.
I see her walking around in tight underwear, her long legs on full display.
An image of us sharing breakfast over my kitchen counter comes to mind next.
Pancakes. No, waffles. With whipped cream and strawberries.
Then my thoughts drift to a naughtier place and all I can think about is licking whipped cream off every inch of Margeaux’s naked body.
Jon: Next time I come visit, make sure your fridge is stocked with whipped cream
Margeaux loves when I talk dirty with her. And I love that she loves this side of me. It’s becoming easier and more frequent that that four-letter word makes its way into my vocabulary when I talk about Margeaux.
We haven’t even declared ourselves exclusive, or ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ yet. I know what I feel for her, and I know she has strong feelings for me. A woman like Margeaux wouldn’t waste her time and energy with a guy unless he meant something to her. Right?
I fidget with my phone, ready to send my beautiful woman another message that lets her know how proud of her I am. How amazing she looked tonight. How I’m her biggest fan. Before I can send any of these messages my phone rings with a call from Dr. Nash.
“Dr. Nash? Good evening,” I say. It’s not uncommon for her to call me at night if there’s an update about a patient, or a new case being assigned to me.
“Dr. Jacob. Meet me at the hospital ASAP.”
I race to get my shoes on. “What’s wrong?”
“It- it’s Sammy. He was just rushed into the ER. He had a seizure. I’m on my way to the hospital, too. See you there.” She hangs up before I can ask any questions.
The hospital is fast paced when I arrive.
The ER is controlled chaos. ER doctors and nurses are cut from a different cloth.
These are the type of medical providers that I liken to adrenaline junkies.
They focus on multiple patients at once, make critical decisions, and have to have impressive bedside manners.
I don’t have the mental agility for emergency medicine.
I considered surgery. I have good hands, I’m systematic, and great at focusing on one patient at a time.
However, once I declared pediatrics as my specialty, I couldn’t bear the idea of cutting open children.
I know it’s part of saving their lives, but I don’t want to look at my patients as skin and organs.
I don’t want their family members to see me as the doctor who is dissecting and prodding around in their child’s body.
Patient care is what I want to do. And I’m hating myself for not being able to detach from my work. I hate that I chose a career path that forces me to empathize with my patients and their families. I hate that I’m not enough to save someone…again.
“He can wake up, right?” Wendy sobs as she holds Sammy’s small, limp hand. “People wake up from comas all the time. Miracles happen.” She’s begging for me or Dr. Nash to tell her what she wants to hear.
“Wendy…” Dr. Nash begins.
“Don’t!” Wendy shrieks. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up on Sammy! You both have said from the beginning that he’s a fighter. He’s strong!”
I clear my throat to speak. “Wendy, even if we could find a donor heart for Sammy. At this point, his body is too weak. He wouldn’t survive the surgery.
The machines are helping him breathe right now.
” I force myself to swallow and choke back the pain in my voice.
That doesn’t stop my eyes from showing the agony I’m feeling on the inside for this woman, for her beautiful son, who didn’t deserve the hand he was dealt.
Focus on the facts. I remind myself. Staying objective is a way to stay composed in these types of situations. I can feel Dr. Nash staying quiet, telling me to take the lead on this discussion. To show my ability to handle these situations.
“Please, Jon. Don’t say it…” Wendy is milliseconds away from crumbling. My next words are going to be the final swing of the axe that brings her down, that shatters the world she believes in, that changes her forever.
It’s the right thing to do, Jon. My mother’s words echo in the back of my mind, and I taste bile from the memory of her voice.
Her words that turned me into a passive observer.
I may not have been able to do anything to change the outcome of what happened back then, but I promised I wouldn’t sit and watch another innocent child die.
I take a breath and reach for Wendy’s hands. She clutches my wrists, her own hands trembling and clammy. “Please…” she repeats. Her blue eyes, that are just like Sammy’s look into mine for answers, for solutions.
“Medically, there isn’t more that we can do—”
“No!” Wendy cuts me off and tries to rip her hands from my hold.
“But!” I interrupt. She pauses and waits, holding her breath.
I feel Dr. Nash behind me, leaning closer and possibly giving me a look that says, what are you about to do, Jon?
“But, he’s not alone right now, Wendy. He has you.
He has me. He has Dr. Nash. You can keep fighting for him. Keep living for him.”
“You won’t leave him?” she asks, waiting for a promise.
“I’m never leaving him, Wendy.” I take a seat next to Sammy and hold his small hand.
Wendy moves to the other side of the bed, lays beside her little boy, careful not to pull any of the tubes or breathing apparatus out, and holds him, stroking her hand through his blonde hair.
“He’s so beautiful,” she cries against the side of his face.
“He is,” I agree. Looking at Sammy in the hospital bed, he’s not much smaller than Jacob was.
“You won’t forget him? I know that’s asking a lot…”
“I could never forget him, Wendy.”
She nods.
The three of us sit with Sammy until the sun comes up. None of us sleep. We sit in a shared, morose quiet. Only the beeping of his respirator and heart monitor denote that time is still moving.
We sit with Wendy when she signs the paperwork allowing Sammy to be taken off the life support machines. We hold her as she holds Sammy as his last breath leaves his body.
I place my hand over his small chest, knowing I won’t feel his tiny heart beating anymore.
“You fought hard, Champ.”
I skulk around the hospital in a weird daze.
Wendy had arrangements to make and she wanted space.
Dr. Nash waited another hour before reminding me that we have other patients.
She’s not trying to be cold; I know she cared about Sammy.
She doesn’t want me to wallow. And she’s right.
We have other living patients. We can’t deprive them of care because we just lost Sammy.
I compartmentalize the best that I can. This is one of the parts I hate about this job.
It’s never over. Maybe other doctors are better at separating themselves from their patients, but I carry all of mine with me.
Sammy…Sammy is already weighing more heavily.
I meant what I promised to Wendy. I’ll never forget him.
I get to my office and collapse on the couch.
“I heard about your patient. I’m sorry,” Lance says from his desk. He removes his glasses and dusts them off with a cleaning cloth. “How’s his mom doing?”
I puff out a breath. “She’s a wreck, man. Completely shattered.” I feel my own emotions shaking up inside me, trying to bubble to the surface. I’m not ready to let them out. Not here.
“You gonna be okay?” Lance is one of the few people who understands what I’m feeling. He understands the sacrifices and struggles that come with this career path.
“Not for a while. But, yea. Eventually,” I say, keeping my eyes loosely focused on the tiled flooring.
Lance stands up, adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose and shrugs on his white coat. “Hey, you can always switch to derm,” he jokes. It’s an inside joke we tell each other. We’ve been saying it since our intern year.
Dermatology is a specialty with its own challenges, but the risk of loss of life is much lower, and the competitiveness isn’t as high.
Whenever one of us was having a rough day, the other would say things like, if it’s too much for you, just switch to derm.
It’d be our way of reminding ourselves we chose this specialty for a reason.
The hard days are part of the job, and hopefully, we learn something to make the number of bad days fewer and fewer.
I feel a corner of my mouth twitch with a small effort of a smile and look up at Lance. “Not happening, my friend. You’re stuck with me.”
He smiles back, reaching for the door handle. “Glad to have you by my side, bro.”
He opens the door, and he blocks the small figure of a person on the other side, with their fist raised, ready to knock on the door. “Oh. Hey, Lance. Is he here?”
I don’t have to see around Lance’s broad form to know who he’s talking to. Her voice immediately puts me on edge.
Lance murmurs about seeing me later, but I’m too overwhelmed to do anything but nod as he leaves to make his rounds.
“I was hoping to find you here,” Nicolette says, as she lets herself into my office. “Guess you’ve been too busy to return my calls and texts,” she scoffs, playing with the end of her ponytail.
“We broke up, Nicolette. There’s no reason for me to return your calls or messages,” I huff, not having the mental energy for her right now.
“We didn’t break up. You were having a bad day, and I’ve been giving you space.”
She plops on the couch beside me, her hand conveniently finding my knee.
“I heard about Sammy, babe. I’m so sorry,” she says softly.
I let my head fall into my hands, hearing his name right now, in this moment, it’s crushing me. I’m not ready to deal with anything.
“Yea,” I mumble, keeping my head down.
She brushes her fingers into my hair, smoothing it back, and fixing my hair into the side part that she likes so much.
“I can’t imagine how much pressure you’ve been under, babe. I was being selfish. I rescinded the application for that condo. It wasn’t the right time. You were right. We don’t need to rush into buying a place together. Let’s just reset. Start fresh.”
My eyes are burning from holding back my tears.
I want to fall apart. I want to let go of all the pain and frustration.
I want to talk about Sammy, and how he reminded so much of Jacob.
How the world is cruel, and unfair, but I still believe I can help people.
Is that selfish of me? Margeaux would tell me the truth.
Margeaux would make me feel comfortable, and safe.
Nicolette is the opposite of that. I used to think Nicolette was the safest, most reasonable choice I could make in a partner. She’s anything but.
Staying with Nicolette would mean putting myself into a box. Hiding who I really am. Saying things to please people and keep the status quo. That would feel good for a short while, but then I’d look back on my life and feel disgusted with myself. I’d be filled with regrets. No regrets.
“You need to leave,” I say and stand up, moving to the other side of this small office.
“Excuse me?” Nicolette asks, crossing her arms over chest, and leaning back further into the couch.
“This is my office. You’re not part of the pediatric cardiology medical team. You need to leave,” I repeat myself, being firmer with my tone.
“Jon. I know you’re upset. Let me help you. I’m here for you.” She gets up and motions towards me. I step back towards the corner.
“No! You’re here for you! Everything you do is for yourself, Nicolette. And I let myself stay oblivious and na?ve because I thought I wanted what you did. But I don’t. I want nothing that you want. I want nothing that has anything to do with you.”
“This is about that tattooed bimbo, isn’t it?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes with a goldish-brown eye shadow.
“No. She isn’t part of this. And she’s not a bimbo. She’s amazing. Now, for the last time, get the fuck out of my office, and my life. We’re done, Nicolette.”
Fortunately, the door is open enough for staff to hear what’s going on from the hallway.
People stop their conversations to get a peek at the commotion going on inside my office.
The public embarrassment is enough to make Nicolette’s eyes water and cheeks turn a deep shade of red.
I refuse to fall for her wounded bird act.
I’m embarrassed too. Embarrassed that I let myself become entangled with her for a year.
“Don’t come crawling back to me when that tattooed freak dumps your boring ass, Jon!” she shrieks on her way out of my office.
I’ll let her have the last word, because her words don’t matter to me anymore.
Goodbye, Nicolette.