Dueling Drs: A Small Town Hospital Romance

“Too many things,” I muttered and stepped around him.

“Have you finished rounds yet?”

“Yes. I’ll finish my notes on Mr. Kilbride and send them all to you.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, blue eyes staring so closely I wondered if I had spaghetti sauce on my face or my shirt. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Did you need something?”

“No.”

Okay, then. “All right, I’ll get those notes to you soon.” Drew looked as if he wanted to say more, but he seemed to think better of it and shook his head.

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t exactly a smooth conversation, but it was the first encounter that didn’t produce an argument, a disagreement or our trademark bickering so I considered it a win.

Maybe things would improve.

That thought buoyed me as I settled into the lopsided chair behind my small metal desk and finished updating the file notes for Drew’s post-operative patients. It was a quick job that was more tedious than anything else, but despite his innovative surgeries, Drew preferred things old school and was slow to adopt using the tablets, so all files were digital. I felt like a surgical resident all over again, doing scut work and charting instead of spending time in the operating room.

As soon as I finished and sent off the notes, I decided to clear some of the clutter from my desk. The office was assigned to me and an orthopedics fellow, but that didn’t stop all the residents from using our desks as a holding cell for all manner of paperwork. Mostly it was charts they waited until the end of the night to complete, but there were medical journals mixed in as well as write-ups for future articles.

The one that caught my eye, also ignited my rage. Drew. Dr. Drew Wright had performed—for the first time—a noninvasive procedure that allowed a heart patient to recover at home after the first twenty-four hours. This surgery, this procedure was the exact reason why I was here. It was exactly what I should be learning from him, yet this was the first I’d heard of the surgery or the article he planned to write about it. He’d implanted a new device that allowed for digital monitoring as well as verbal reminders. And it seemed like this procedure could be adapted for pediatric patients.

And he totally cut me out.

I felt my skin grow warm with my fury, but I couldn’t stop the anger as it flowed from me. Drew might have said he wanted things to be different between us, but what he really wanted was for me to just accept his crap with a smile and not rock the boat. Well, screw that.

As soon as my shift was over, I skipped going to the main house and went straight to my own space. I needed time to cool down. Time to think. Time to make a few phone calls.

“Zola, how are things in the great northwest?” My mentor, Dr. Montclair, had a loud, boisterous voice and this thick Alabama accent put a smile on my face.

“Not great, that’s why I’m calling. Would it be possible to leave this fellowship and get another assignment?” I held my breath because there was no way to have this conversation without going into detail about why I was making this request.

Dr. Montclair sigh contemplatively, that didn’t bode well for whatever he had to say. “It won’t look good, Zola, I’m not going to lie to you about that. If you leave, it may affect your ability to get another fellowship.”

Dammit. “That’s what I was afraid you would say.”

“Is it so bad that it can’t be fixed?”

I smiled at his words because despite being a world class pediatric heart surgeon. Dr. Montclair was a born diplomat. “It’s not about fixing anything, it’s about the fact that I’m not learning what I came here to learn.” I told him about the research I found. “He didn’t even tell me about the surgery so I could observe it, as if he’s going out of his way not to teach me anything.”

“I understand and I’m sorry Dr. Wright is behaving this way, but this isn’t the first time you’ve faced adversity, Zola. My advice is to stick it out, if you can.”

If you can. That was the hard part, wasn’t it? I didn’t think I could, or if I could, it would mean two years of training wasted. Treading in place. “Thank you, Dr. Montclair. Give Caroline my love.”

“Will do. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” The call ended and I fell back against the sofa and stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Fuming. Crying. Plotting.

I wanted to leave. I had solid, legitimate reasons to leave JRMC, but I didn’t want to start my career with a reputation as a quitter. I couldn’t derail my career before it even really got off the ground. I wouldn’t.