Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

3

“Jesse,” Dr. Rana greets with a smile Sunday morning, “how’s your week been?”

“Good,” I say, trying to tamp down my excitement. Dr. Parisa Rana is an emergency room physician at Indianapolis General, one of the largest Level I trauma centers in the state, and I get to shadow in her emergency department today. She’s also a good friend of my mom’s, which is how I managed to score such a coveted gig. I’ve known Parisa since I was in diapers, so here’s the proof that it pays to know people. “Thanks again for letting me do this, Dr. Rana. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, Jesse.” Her smile is warm, and I can tell she must have one hell of a bedside manner. I bet patients dig her. If I didn’t know her already, that smile would make me want to trust her with my life. “Have you been signed in?” She gestures to the nurses’ station, and I tap on my name badge.

“I have.”

Dr. Rana nods, then gives me a tour of the department. Labs and diagnostic imaging, trauma rooms, treatment rooms, pediatric care, acute care, waiting areas—she points and rattles them off with efficiency as we speed walk down the halls. Dr. Rana can’t be more than five foot two, but her legs move at lightning speed. Usually, at six-foot-four-inches tall, I have to actively take smaller steps when keeping pace with someone, so I don’t leave them in my dust, but not Dr. Rana. She takes six and one-half strides for every one of mine—she’s practically jogging—and she’s not even winded. It’s probably an unspoken prerequisite for being a successful ER doc. Swiftness and a calm sense of urgency.

“Vanessa says you’ve been volunteering over at Kindred,” Dr. Rana says, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Yes, ma’am. Kindred Spirit Hospital is where I’ve been volunteering since last year,” I say as we loop back toward where we started. “I was able to do some shadowing over there, too,” I add. Kindred is a smaller hospital, and its focus is long-term acute care, so I’ve been able to get a lot of great patient interaction. The cardiac care and recovery departments were my favorite. It’s mostly older people, and I fucking love old people.

We stop at the intake desk and Dr. Rana flips through the pages of a clipboard on the counter. “Wonderful,” she says, and I watch her scroll through something on the digital tablet she’s carrying. “Have you been able to shadow Vanessa at all?”

I lean on the counter and nod. My mom, Dr. Vanessa Hernandez, is a nationally renowned plastic surgeon. She specializes in reconstruction after trauma and is well-known in the plastic surgery world as being a complete badass.

“I have,” I say with a proud smile. “It’s pretty amazing to see her work.”

“She’s one of the best,” Dr. Rana agrees. “Are you still thinking you’re going to go that route? Reconstructive surgery?”

“I am. Probably craniofacial, but we’ll see.”

She hands me a clipboard and then grins. “Well, you’re in my house for the day, so let’s get to it.”

For the firsthalf of the morning, Dr. Rana sets me up with an ER nurse named Stefan to do triage. I watch as Stefan takes vitals and categorizes patients by severity of condition: immediately life-threatening, urgent but not life-threatening, and less urgent. He’s definitely one of the most informative and helpful people I’ve shadowed over the last year. (Except for my momma, of course.)

By lunch, I’ve seen lots of abdominal pains and chest pains, one tooth ache, some minor cuts and contusions, one gnarly skin infection, and a guy who shot his own foot with a nail gun. Twice. Thanks to that last one, I’ve had the staple gun scene from Home Alone 2: Lost in New York playing on repeat in my head. The one where Kevin booby traps the doorknob with a staple gun, and Marv ends up with industrial-sized staples in various parts of his body. Makes me laugh every damn time. Good stuff. I’m gonna have to make my friends watch it with me soon.

I feel like an ass for complaining. I shouldn’t wish emergency situations on anyone, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for a little more excitement. Maybe a car accident or a gunshot wound or a random stabbing or something. I mean, I don’t want anyone to die or have life-altering injuries, but shit like that comes through this hospital all the time. If it’s gonna happen, I wouldn’t mind being present for it. And I definitely wouldn’t mind being a little less...bored.

Things do pick up a little once I join Dr. Rana for the second half of the day. Namely when she has to suture up a pretty nasty laceration and relocate a shoulder joint. She does both without wincing, and I’m pretty sure I even saw a little spark of glee in her eyes when she popped that shoulder back into place.

Dr. Rana might be a bit of a freak.

I’m here for it.

“Alright,” she says around 4:30, after a quick scroll through her tablet. “You’re technically done for the day, but I’ve got a four-year-old with a potential broken arm, if you want to tag along. I know you said you’ve not had a lot of experience in Peds.”

“Yes, definitely,” I say. “Thank you.”

I’ve had almost no experience with pediatrics, and exactly zero with any patient under the age of sixteen. Most of the patients I’ve met at Kindred are at least late-thirties, and my favorites are all sixty plus. I like kids. I think. I like Ivy’s younger brother Jacob. He’s a cool kid. He’s twelve and can kick my ass in Mario Kart.

And once in high school, I helped a girl babysit twin boys.

Well.

By helped, I mean I showed up after she put the kids to bed and then I felt her up on the couch until the parents came home. Rounded third base and then slipped out the back door before midnight. Alison.

Or Abbey.

Ashley?

Whatever. Anyway, zero experience with pediatrics.

I follow Dr. Rana into the patient’s room and scan for a parent, but instead, I find a familiar tiny human sitting upright on the bed. He’s not wearing a pirate hat, and the cardboard sword is thankfully missing, but I’d recognize those freakishly large eyes anywhere.

“Cap’n Meatball, my man,” I blurt with a grin and step closer to the bed. “What’d ya do, kid? Go to battle with a sea monster?” Meatball gives me a small smile, and I notice dried tear tracks on his dirty face just as Dr. Rana clears her throat. Whoops. Almost made it the whole day without a fuck-up.

“Mr. Hernandez,” Dr. Rana chides, eyebrow arched. She looks more amused than offended.