Chapter 36 - Cat
Cat
“Blunt force trauma to the head and abdomen. Her boyfriend got to her real bad,” Officer Lopez grunts as we push the gurney with the battered woman toward the trauma bay. Her face is covered in bruises, her eye is already swelling shut, and she has an actual boot-print-shaped bruise on her stomach.
“Do we have her history?” I ask as I check her airway.
Her airway is patent, and her breathing unobstructed.
“No, just that this is repeated assault. The whole apartment was covered in her blood,” Lopez answers, grinding her molars before she turns to Carmen. “You’ve gotta help her, Car. I’ve known Susie for years. We can’t let that bastard win.”
“We will take good care of her, Merce. You know that.”
She nods, still looking slightly uncomfortable, but steps back at the doors regardless. I lock eyes with my best friend, curious about why she knows the cop by her first name, but I save my questions for later, when we are alone. Right now, my focus is on the patient.
“Whitman, see if you can pull her chart. Be on the lookout for allergies and any prior conditions. If she has permanent injuries from previous assaults, I want to know.”
“On it,” the nurse confirms while she darts toward the nearest computer.
“Roberts, stats?”
“Pulse one-thirty-two, BP ninety over sixty.”
Fuck. I grab the penlight from my pocket and press Susie’s eyelid back. Her pupil instantly constricts the moment the light hits it, and something in my chest eases up just a little. The other pupil responds equally. Good. At least there are no immediate signs of herniation.
“Let’s see what’s going on. Nurse Rodrigues.”
The ultrasound probe is already in my hand before I finish speaking.
Carmen squeezes gel onto Susie’s abdomen, and the room suddenly goes quiet.
All eyes are on the grainy black-and-white screen while I slide the device across her stomach.
As soon as I reach the liver, I see the black fluid pooling around it.
?Joder! This woman isn’t out of the woods yet.
“FAST positive. Free fluid in Morrison’s pouch,” I grit out through my teeth. “Roberts?”
“Pressure’s responding to fluids. BP holding at one hundred over seventy.”
“Good. Prep CT.”
James’s head whips up.
“She is too unstable. Take her straight to the OR.”
He utters the words as a command, going against my assessment. My blood runs cold, and for a single heartbeat, I am uncertain what to do. But this is my case, my call. I know what I am doing. I slowly turn to him and take a deep, steadying breath before I speak.
“Her heart rate and BP are stable enough, giving us a window. She’s getting a CT. I want to know what I’m opening before I take her upstairs.”
“Her BP is on the low end. This is not the moment to gamble.”
Every single person in the room is quiet now, and I can feel their eyes on us.
On me. I don’t move a single muscle. I don’t lift my chin or square my shoulders.
I don’t even raise my voice. It’s not worth it.
I’ve prepared myself for his backlash. I saw this coming the moment he left the ethics meeting early.
And right now, I am grateful I trusted my gut.
“One day, when you are Head of Trauma, you can overrule surgeons in charge of a case. Until that time, I advise you to trust the instincts of your coworkers, Doctor Honda.”
I hold his gaze until he finally drops his, and it almost feels as if the room takes in a collective breath.
“My apologies, Doctor Durand.”
I drop my gaze to the patient and then nod once before I turn toward Whitman.
“The CT?”
“Ready and waiting, Doctor Durand.”
She gives me a small smile. The kind of smile only a proud mother can give. She tries to hide it, but I know she makes sure that I see it. I feel my own gaze soften in appreciation.
“Okay, let’s move.”
I drain the last of my coffee way too soon and sigh in frustration as I walk toward the break room.
Today just might be the longest day of my entire career, and only seven of the twelve hours have passed.
Honda’s little mutiny had a bigger impact on me than I care to admit.
Even after the CT showed a rupture and we had to do surgery to repair Susie’s spleen, I went over the conversation in my mind over and over again. Had I made the wrong call?
After reconsidering three or four times, Carmen had walked in and talked me through it. Two weeks ago, I would not have second-guessed my decision, and neither would James. Nothing had changed.
“You are still the same amazing surgeon, Cat. Don’t let that opportunistic pendejo rattle you.”
She was right. Of course she was right. My judgment isn’t altered in any way, shape, or form, no matter what people like him try to make me believe.
I simply fell in love with a woman who happened to walk into my ER.
Had I met her on the street two hours later, nobody would have batted an eye. But you didn’t. But I didn’t.
I push the door to the break room open when I hear sharp whispers.
It is unmistakable that I am walking into something that I’m not supposed to hear, so I freeze on the spot.
My stomach churns before I even catch the first words.
I don’t have to hear what they are saying to know who they are talking about.
“I mean, she’s always so full of herself, you know?”
“She’s a surgeon. What did you expect?”
“Ha, no, you are right. But I mean, does she ever let you question anything? I think that what Honda did was very brave.”
“What Honda did was rude and dangerous. What if complications had happened while she had to def—”
“Are you taking her side, really? She fucked a patient.”
My fingers slip, and the mug I was holding so tightly clatters to the floor and shatters into a dozen pieces.
I don’t stick around to clean it up but turn on my heel and march back to my office.
The two women at the nurses’ station dip their heads as I walk past them, refusing to look me in the eye.
Normally, I wouldn’t mind. I prefer a certain professional distance.
But right now, it feels like a knife is being pushed into my gut and twisted violently.
By the time I reach my office and close the door behind me, a cold sweat beads on my skin, and my chest is rising and falling rapidly with each breath I struggle to take.
I try to steady myself against the door, but my body decides this is the moment to turn against me as well.
My stomach cramps violently, and I reach the bin just in time to catch the wave of sickness that spews out of me.
Tears spring to my eyes as I retch again and again until I’m empty and drained.
Only then do I sink down beside my desk and drop my head into my hands.
When there is a soft knock on the door, I push myself up on shaky legs, smooth out my slacks, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
I glance at the bin, but there is nothing I can do about that now.
The knock sounds again, a little louder this time, and I reluctantly take my place behind the computer.
“Enter.”
“Hey, Cat, got a mo—”
Riley freezes in the doorway and stares at me with a puzzled look on her face. I give her the same look in return because why the hell is she in my office?
“Riley?”
“You threw up?”
I stare at her with a blank expression as she steps inside, takes one look at the trash bin, picks it up, and places it outside the door.
She closes the door behind her, walks to the window, opens it, and then grabs some wet wipes from her bag.
She hands two to me before sitting down on the chair in front of me.
I am still holding them in my grasp as I stare at her.
“What… are you doing here?”
“Oh,” she says softly, with a crease forming between her eyebrows. “Right. So. Your patient, Susie Jenkins? I was assigned to her case, and Carmen filled me in on what happened in the OR.” She pauses for a moment and then hesitantly puts her fingers on my arm. “Are you okay, Catherine?”
I shudder at the sound of my formal name, as if it pulls me back into a reality that is no longer my own. Riley instantly withdraws her hand even though she keeps her eyes steady on me.
“Cat? Are you okay?”
Her voice is soft and tender, almost like Mary’s when she soothes me, and at that thought, my eyes drift shut. Hot tears well behind my eyelids, threatening to spill, but I swallow them down hard as I shake my head. My breath trembles on the inhale and shudders when I answer her question.
“No. I don’t think I am.”
“Yeah, I thought so. When people suddenly turn against you professionally, it can still feel incredibly personal. Especially when your work matters as much as it does to you. Do you want to tell me what part is hurting you the most?”
When I open my eyes to look at her, the tears immediately spill over, blurring my vision. Dios, Katherina, you are a grown woman. Grown women don’t cry at work.
“This is who I am,” I say almost apologetically.
Riley doesn’t smile or nod. Instead, she just keeps quiet and looks at me with an open, nonjudgmental stare. The silence stretches thickly between us until it becomes unbearable.
“How did it all slip away from me, Riley?”
“Well… You’ve built a whole life around your profession, Cat.
You are used to feeling in control,” she offers tenderly while I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Maybe that’s why this feels so catastrophic.
You are not in control when it comes to her, and now you’re terrified people will reduce you to that one part of yourself. ”
I feel myself frown at those words. She isn’t wrong, but that isn’t all, either.
“And I am scared I’ll start to believe them.”
“That’s the heart of it, isn’t it?” she says more softly than I have heard her before.
“This situation has stripped away all your certainties, and now you feel exposed. But, Cat…” She waits until I look at her.
“That exposed woman is the same woman who walked into med school. The same woman who led her first surgery. The same woman who became the first Latina Head of Trauma in this hospital.”
She pauses and then squeezes my hand softly while rummaging through her bag again. She fishes out a bottle of water.
“I only drank a little of it. I hope that’s okay,” she says. “But you should really hydrate, and I doubt you want to go out there right now.” She gestures toward the door with her hand.
“Thank you.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
Friends. My heart feels warm when she says it, safe. Yes, she is my friend.
“Celeste struggled with it, too, you know?” she hums, a bit darker now. “The constant wondering if her judgment was tainted, if she was still making the right calls. Is that what you ask yourself as well?”
I nod, feeling that tug in my stomach again. It cramps uncomfortably, and I tighten my grip on the bottle of water.
“Just because you fell in love doesn’t mean your capabilities have changed. The only thing that did change is the politics around you. Not your skills, not your judgment, and certainly not who you are as a person.”
The moment she says it, the tight feeling in my chest eases up a little.
I draw in a deep breath, maybe my first full one of the day, and let the cool flow of oxygen rush through my body.
It’s true. I am still the same person I was a year ago.
If anything, my skills have sharpened because of new medical experiences.
They certainly did not weaken because I fell in love with Mary.
If people choose to second-guess me now, it is only because they sense I am in a vulnerable position.
If I really were a bad surgeon, they would have questioned me long before.
“Thank you, Riley,” I whisper, and I squeeze her hand.
She looks at me for another moment, studying my face before nodding in satisfaction.
“I am not sure how to move on from here yet,” I say, my voice still a bit rough around the edges, “but you are right. I am still the same surgeon with the same skills and experience.”
“I never liked hospital politics,” she replies dryly, and she rolls her eyes.
I let out a soft chuckle, the feeling almost foreign in my chest at this point, and she smiles brightly.
“Yeah,” I relent a little, “they can be really savage.”
“Yep.” Riley pushes herself up from the chair and walks to the door. She pauses for a moment and drags her eyes over me with a gentle smile tugging at her lips.
“But you are resilient, Doctor Durand. Don’t let them forget that.”
And with that, she disappears through the door, not allowing any room for me to fight her on it or to even question the statement. So instead, I find myself smiling while I finally come back into my own. And damn, if it doesn’t feel good.