4. Miley
I ’m not okay, and I hate being not okay at work. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, so I rush to my usual hiding spot–a dark hallway by the lab and the pharmacy on the first floor that is always empty.
So now it’s my crying hallway. I’ve been here so long this morning, and with no end in sight, I may as well fill out a change of address form at this point. As I sit cross-legged, head in my hands, I think back to this morning when I went to see how Annabel was doing.
“Good morning, Dr. Chen,” she had said groggily, her heavy accent accentuated by sleep.
“How are you feeling?” I inquired, moving closer to her bedside. Eyeing all the medications on her IV pole, I noticed antibiotics, IV fluids, and potassium–nothing too concerning.
I had no need to see Annabel this morning. She woke up from anesthesia with no difficulty except for some nausea, which is common. Anesthesia residents rarely round on post-ops unless there is some specific reason, but I had my own motives for wanting to see her that were not purely medical. Her story has stirred feelings in me I often keep pushed down, stored away in a box in a back corner of my mind.
I can barely feel the cold vinyl tiles under my butt, even though my scrub bottoms are thin and well worn. Instead, I can just feel the stifling claustrophobia I felt when I saw Annabel open her eyes. They were bright, clear, and so blue, but full of emotion.
Her words drift through my mind. “I really wanted this baby,” she said with a sigh. “I should say, we really wanted this baby.” Her gaze darts to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. She has a sad smile on her lips. “We haven’t been trying for long, mostly because we weren't ready for the longest time. Our financial situation wasn’t ideal, but we thought finally, the stars had aligned. It was time. And then, when it happened relatively quickly, we felt like we were being rewarded for our patience. We were using this trip to celebrate.”
I had averted my eyes then, willing away the tears threatening to fall. At that point, Annabel reached out her hand to hold mine. I don’t know who was comforting who, but at that moment, we needed each other, and that little physical touch was so therapeutic. I’m not usually good with physical affection, but her soft hand comforted me more than she’ll ever know.
I looked into her eyes and froze. I didn’t know what to say to her. “I—” I started, not knowing where I was headed.
So she continued, saving me from myself. “I also want to say how thankful I am to be in New York when this happened.” She straightened, sitting up but still clutching my hand. “The laws in Texas keep changing, and I don’t know what the current status is, but I can’t imagine my life saving surgery yesterday being considered criminal on my part, or the part of the team taking care of me. When you sprang into action in the emergency room, I knew something was terribly wrong and I was so scared.” She gave my hand a squeeze, a wordless thank you.
This part of the conversation was easier for me. “I was just doing my job,” I told her. I gently released my hand from hers and began a physical exam. I checked her legs for swelling, which is always a good window into the overall health of a person. Then, as I gently palpated her abdomen and looked at her surgical scars, I said, “I’m also glad you’re here. Healthcare is never criminal in any form.”
I didn’t know her politics, so I didn’t want to engage in the topic too much.
Annabel filled in my blanks. “I know what you must be thinking. I’m from Texas, but I’ll have you know we’re from Austin, which is very progressive.” She winked at me.
“No matter what your beliefs are, everyone deserves safe healthcare.” I tried to finish the conversation before it veered into potentially controversial, and personally traumatic, topics.
“Spoken like a true doctor. All of you have been so good to us. Thank y’all for being so caring,” Annabel said, turning her gaze to the door as her husband strolled in.
Her “y’all” put a smile on my face as I also turned to her husband. I gave him a quick update of her condition this morning, making sure they know I was there on a limited basis, just following up on her recovery from anesthesia. They didn’t need to know all the drugs were short acting and any ill effects from anesthesia were long gone yesterday. They didn’t need to know the real reason for my visit.
Nutritional services arrived with her breakfast, and I had taken it as my cue to leave. But somehow, the minute I slipped out of the room, my emotions escaped the small box they were supposed to be locked in in the back corner of my mind. The tears started to fall, so I had to get away.
And that’s how I find myself here, sitting on the floor with my back against the wall in a quiet, lonely space. I shift positions, bringing my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. I bury my face in my arms, letting the tears flow freely as I think about my past, my mistakes, my regrets. I consider what could have been, what my life might look like now. I routinely push these thoughts away, but right now, I let them free.
I don’t have to be in the OR for another hour and I finished my morning rounds. No one needs me right now, and I need this moment for myself.
I could find Dylan, but I’m sure as Chief Resident, she’s busy. I am so proud of my friend. She deserves the world. Dylan was my rock in college when I had no one to turn to, when turning to my family wasn’t an option.
I’m a stronger person because of my past—at least that’s what I tell myself—but sometimes a good cry is so cathartic.
“Miley?” I was so far inside my own head that I didn’t hear footsteps approaching. But I am jarred back to reality at the sound of my name.
I lift my head toward the shadow looming over me and wipe my face as best as I can. The man before me is exceedingly tall and I have to crane my neck from my location on the floor to see who it is. I instantly recognize the hazel eyes surveying my tear-stained face.
Rohit.
“I didn’t know anyone knew about this hallway,” I mutter, wiping a stray tear from the corner of my eye. “Sorry to have disturbed you,” I say, not really knowing what I’m even apologizing for.
Rohit runs his hand down his face and smooths down his beard. He lightly bounces from one foot to another and turns his head away.
“No, I’m sorry. I heard crying and came to investigate,” he says, bringing his eyes back to mine. “I was actually on my way to the pharmacy to pick up some meds…” His voice trails off. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please proceed.” He gestures awkwardly at me, offers a half-hearted smile, and walks away.
I exhale a quiet laugh.