Chapter 08 - Cat
Cat
My heels click against the floor as I make my way to the office with a fresh cup of coffee in my hand.
It is one of those days when everyone seems to be acting extra stupid and getting hurt, which means the ER is flooded with patients.
The tension in the hallways is palpable.
The whole staff is suffering from frayed nerves, racing pulses, and irritation. Everyone is on edge.
I’ve been on for over fourteen hours straight.
My feet are screaming at me, and for the first time in my career, I eye the scrub nurses’ clogs with envy instead of disdain.
I should feel tired. Annoyed, even, that I still have all these notes to co-sign, but instead I find myself longing for that moment of solitude in my little corner of the hospital.
I press the door open with my hip, slide inside, and turn on the computer without ceremony.
My phone buzzes just as I log in. The vibration spreads through my hip.
I know I shouldn’t smile, this is the biggest mistake of my professional career, but I already am.
Before I can stop myself, I fish the phone out of my pocket and unlock it.
01:19 p.m. – Mary Mary
If you had to choose between sushi and French fries, which one would you pick and why?
I roll my eyes but chuckle softly regardless.
She has been sending me random questions like this for days.
At first, I didn’t see the purpose, but I answered them anyway.
I still don’t know why. That’s not who I am.
Before Mary, I hardly touched my phone at all. Now it’s practically glued to my hand.
I shake my head, and my gaze lands on the Co-Sign folder. Oh, right. This is absurd. I can’t keep getting distracted like this. I am a trauma surgeon, Dios! With a huff, I put my phone face down on my desk and click the first chart.
My eyes dart over the discharge summary.
A small liver laceration. The patient was stable, so I cleared him early in the morning.
The resident did an excellent job on the note.
It’s clean, to the point, important details included, no fluff.
I scroll and click Attest. If only they could all be like this.
But when I open the next one, I already know I am in for an even longer evening.
The chart was drafted by one of our first-year residents. A girl—woman? No, girl—who knows all the right terms but not how to put them to use. There is no clinical instinct there, and the chart is a direct reflection of that.
I stare at a description of a patient who fell from a ladder.
Two left rib fractures, ribs six and eight, and a small hemothorax.
Patient admitted for pain control and monitoring.
Respiratory status stable. No acute complications.
I blink and scroll back up. Where is the pain score?
When was the repeat exam? I frown and scroll back down.
My jaw twitches as soon as I reach the lab results.
Glucose 3.3 mmol/L at 03:13. My fingers instantly scroll back up.
The discharge was ordered at 04:32, but there is only one lab.
A result that clearly shows the patient was hypoglycemic.
But there is not a single note about it.
Not a repeat, not a comment, nothing that indicates protocol was followed.
When I click the medication records, I see two glucose tabs were distributed, but there isn’t a single follow-up.
Where is the repeat check? Why wasn’t this mentioned?
I lean back slowly and run a hand over my face.
My cheeks are hurting from the sudden tension, and I roll my head back to relax my neck.
How can the people who work in this hospital be so careless with their patients?
My mind drifts back to the triage nurse who practically dismissed Mary without so much as a glance. If I hadn’t been there… This is sloppy, and sloppy can endanger patients. It could have just as easily been Mary. I don’t need that kind of behavior among my staff. It is unacceptable.
“?Joder!” I curse through clenched teeth as I curl my fingers inward.
Everything in me itches to call the girl into my office to confront her about her carelessness.
What if no one had rechecked the patient’s glucose?
He could’ve walked out still hypoglycemic.
And that would be indefensible. Completely on us.
What if I hadn’t caught Mary’s twitching fingers in time?
She was two breaths away from unconsciousness.
“?Cono!” I say a little louder this time while the heat of anger flushes through my system. This is how good people get hurt.
I flex my fingers against the cold wood of the desk and take in a deep breath.
The resident is still on rotation. I can have her in here within minutes.
Respira, Katherina. I breathe in again. This incompetence is getting to me.
Just as I am about to reach for my keyboard, my phone buzzes again. I grab it without thinking.
01:32 p.m. – Mary Mary
Not a fan of either, then? What about steak? Please tell me we can at least go to a steakhouse?
A huffed laugh falls from my lips, and I startle myself with the sound. It only makes me laugh again. The tension in my neck finally releases a little, and my fingers fly over the screen.
01:33 p.m. – Katherina
French fries and steak. Match made in heaven. But nothing can beat a good Ropa Vieja with beans.
01:33 p.m. – Mary Mary
Oh? What’s that?
01:34 p.m. – Katherina
Strips of steak in tomato sauce. It’s to die for.
01:34 p.m. – Mary Mary
That does sound delicious. Any idea where I can get that around here?
01:35 p.m. – Katherina
There is a small restaurant at the Old Havana. Best Cuban cuisine in the area, other than my mother’s.
01:35 p.m. – Mary Mary
Hm… sounds like you should take me there, then.
My eyebrows shoot up, and my fingers pause for a moment. The thought of sitting at a table with her—talking, drinking wine, having a conversation—warms something in my chest. It’s a feeling I haven’t had in a long time. Not since college.
I swallow and am about to agree when I hear somebody clear their throat. My fingers fumble with the phone, which nearly crashes onto my desk, as my eyes shoot up. Carmen leans against the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. For fuck’s sake, this woman needs to start wearing a cowbell.
“Hermosa,” she says, her voice laced with that edge she gets right before she starts poking into my personal life.
“Nurse Rodrigues,” I reply dryly, keeping my voice as clipped as possible.
She rolls her eyes and steps inside, closing the door behind her.
“What ya doin’ Kitty Cat?”
“Co-signing some releases. Is there anything you need, Carmen?”
I hold her gaze, but a smirk creeps across her face. Then her eyes drop to the message on my phone, and the smirk widens into a full-blown grin.
“Are you texting la rubia?”
“Carmen…” I warn, my voice low and sharp.
She huffs and props herself up on the edge of my desk.
“Why are you fighting this so much, Cat? It’s so clear you like her. Give it a try.”
“I am the Head of—”
“Trauma, yeah, yeah. I know. Ethics, treatment, blah blah. Fuck it. We already went over this. You are not her physician anymore. She came to you, texted you, asked you out for coffee. That’s not coercion, Cat. That’s mutual interest.”
Her words slice through me like a knife as a sudden flash of guilt tries to pull me down. I shake it off and huff out an offended laugh.
“Why are you so invested in this?”
Carmen stares at me as if she can’t believe I just asked that question.
But it really doesn’t make sense to me. I know she wants me to be happy, just as I want that for her, but why does it have to be with Mary?
It would make so much more sense if she tried to protect me from breaking hospital policies, and told me it could be anyone but her.
“Have you looked in a mirror lately, querida?” Her voice comes out surprisingly soft, and her grin changes into something different altogether. Something fond.
I shake my head, and she places her hand over mine.
“You are glowing, Cat. Estás enamorada.” You are in love.
The words pulse through my system like a physical blow, and I reel back in my seat. My eyes widen as I pull my hand back and stare at her, nearly offended. Carmen instantly raises her hands and backs off.
“Hey, it’s okay, hermosa.”
“I’m not… not in love,” I pant, my pulse kicking up. “I barely know her.”
My best friend just smiles and nods, but there is something sad in her expression.
“Okay. All I am saying,” she offers gently, “is that if you were, it might be worth taking the chance. This might not come around again, Cat.”
That same constricting feeling I had in the café comes over me again, clawing at my throat. The thought of not seeing Mary again…
“Was that all?” I snap, my voice wavering slightly.
For a beat, Carmen’s eyes grow large, but then she slides off the desk and shakes her head.
“I actually needed you to sign off on this order.”
She hands me a piece of paper that I sign without even looking at it. The words are dancing before my eyes, so I just have to put my trust in her. And if there is anyone in this hospital I’d trust as much as myself, it is Carmen.
When she steps out of the office, she glances over her shoulder one last time.
Her mouth opens as if she wants to say something, but then snaps shut.
Good. As soon as the door closes behind her, I reach for my cellphone.
My fingers dart over the screen, typing that I can’t do this, that it’s not right, that it’s unethical. A storm welling up inside me.
But right before I press send, I can picture her blue eyes darting over the screen. The confusion at the rejection. The withdrawal as she reads the reasons I’ve listed. It is enough to make me delete the entire thing.
My fingers dart over the keys again, before I can stop myself or think it through. Some primal urge takes over, pushing everything aside.
01:49 p.m. – Katherina
Yes, I will take you there. Tomorrow at 8. I’ll text you the address.
My heart thuds against my ribs as I stare at my screen. Did I just ask her out on a date? A real date? Not grabbing coffee somewhere, but actual dinner? No… I said I would text her the address. That’s just two people hanging out. That’s all this is.
Dios mío, what is she doing to you?
Every time I plan to put a stop to this, she sucks me in further, making me take a step in the wrong direction. What kind of magic is this?
01:50 p.m. – Mary Mary
Really!?
I blink at my screen. That’s how.
01:50 p.m. – Katherina
Yes, really.
Carmen’s words echo in my mind. It might be worth taking the chance. What if she is right? What if this is my only chance?
No.
I’ve never believed in things like soulmates or destiny. Life is what you make of it. And dear lord, am I making a mess of it right now.