Grumpy Doctor

“He is,” I said. “I sat in on a procedure, totally routine stent thing, and it was like watching Picasso paint.”

“Come on,” Greg said. “You’re joking.”

“I’m really not. Seriously, guys, that wasn’t my first surgery, but it was like a whole different level.”

“I guess there’s a reason he gets away with being a crabby asshole,” Omar said, stroking his chin. “If he’s really that good.”

“I hear he has a waitlist two months long,” Greg said.

“Three months,” John corrected. “And I checked. That’s true.”

“So are you learning anything?” Milo asked. “I mean, why the hell are you here with us?”

“He’s difficult,” I said, hedging. “But he’s going to teach me.”

John gave Milo a look. “Back off, all right?”

Milo shrugged like a sullen child and went back to eating. The other boys started talking about their attending, a man named Dr. Baker, who was perfectly nice and quite good at what he did—but there was no way he was anywhere near as talented as Piers.

I wondered if I was missing out on something. The four guys, they seemed close to each other. I figured getting thrown into this gauntlet of training probably bonded people together, and I missed that, and wouldn’t get it, not under Piers. No way in hell he’d bring anyone else on board. He was mad enough about having to deal with me already.

But still, it was nice to sit with a group and talk crap about the other people in the hospital, even if Milo was a dick, and they treated me like a little sister.

None of that mattered once I stepped into the operating room.

Sometimes, I dreamed about what it would be like. I pretended that I was a conductor with an entire orchestra hanging on my every movement, responding to the wave of my hands. My patients were that orchestra, and I could carry them through an operation with swift, exacting motions, exactly like Piers had done, perfect and pristine. No complications, no wasted motions, each one timed down to the millisecond.

Just a daydream though. I was far from actually operating on my own. First, Piers had to let me assist. Then he’d let me do something minor, not an entire procedure, but something small, and under strict supervision. Slowly though, I’d take on more and more, until—

Control. Complete control. My own operating room.

After lunch we headed back down to the operating suites to find Dr. Baker. He had something scheduled for the next few hours, although I wasn’t sure exactly what—gallbladder removal, I thought, but hadn’t been paying attention when he talked about it. As I lagged after the group of guys, and they played grab-ass with each other like frat idiots, I caught sight of someone lingering near the elevators.

He wore a dark nylon jacket and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. I was used to seeing civilians around the hospital—but he held a small notepad and a pen, and was scribbling something furiously. I stopped and frowned at him, trying to figure out what the guy was doing, and why he was near the surgical suites, when he looked up, and his eyes went wide.

I didn’t recognize him, but he clearly recognized me. I watched him turn away and step onto the waiting elevator. He was older, in his fifties, pale skin, average face. I wouldn’t have noticed him in a crowd if it weren’t for that notepad. The elevator doors shut, and he disappeared.

“You coming?” John lingered outside of the prep room. “Baker wants us scrubbed and in there. I think we might get to assist.”

“Coming,” I said, but couldn’t stop looking at the elevators.

Something about the guy, and something about the way he looked at me, had me totally spooked.

“Lori,” John said, and I shook my head, pulling myself away.

I joined them and did my best to forget about that man—but it nagged at me during the whole procedure.

Dr. Baker was good. He was businesslike and efficient, and went out of his way to explain what he was doing for our benefit. The guys all hung on his every word, and I did my best to pay attention, but I found myself thinking about Piers the whole time, and comparing the two men. Where Piers was economical and exacting, Dr. Baker could be a little loose, a little slow. He was a good teacher though, and when we were finished, I felt like I’d picked up on some things at least.

The guys laughed and joked with each other as we left and wandered into the hall. Dr. Baker hung back, speaking with the nurses and making notes. I slowed and stopped when I spotted Piers standing nearby, leaning up against a wall, chewing on the end of a pencil. He looked thoughtfully toward us, head tilted, and the guys went silent.