Heart of a Wolf

Nothing for me to do but stare at my desk, the stack of sticky notes, and my now-empty pen holder.

“Where are my pens?” I asked, picking up the cup so I had something to do.

Jeremy leaned against my desk. “No heavy work means no dictation or writing in charts.”

Okay, now he really was babying me.

Once I put the pen holder back where I found it, I sat down in my chair and closed my eyes. “Is there anything I’m allowed to do today, or am I supposed to just sit here twiddling my thumbs while you run up and down the hall like a maniac?”

“The clinic.”

“You think a bunch of people with a case of the sniffles is better for me than working on broken bones?”

“Less time on your feet means you’ll have more time to rest.”

He had me there. Surgery could take hours at best or more than a full workload on some of the more difficult ones. With the clinic, I’d have patients rolling in and out. If I needed a

break (which I wouldn’t), I could easily step out and ask someone to take over for me.

It was definitely an easier way to get back into the swing of things, but my hands itched at the thought of fixing a major break. The long surgeries were always my favorite. Once I reached my flow state, I could work for hours without even realizing it.

Having a new heart shouldn’t change that, right?

“Anyway,” Jerry said, pulling me from my thoughts, “I need to get back. I have something in about ten minutes, but I’ll be out of surgery in three hours or so. Grab one of the nurses if you need help. I mean it, Jo. No funny business.”

“I’ll be in the clinic,” I said with a sigh. “How hard could it be?”

Man, my nose must’ve been on the fritz because the clinic didn’t smell any better. It actually had that sick flu smell. You know the one when you’ve been in bed with a fever for far too long? That smell hung in the air, turning my stomach the longer I looked at patients.

As far as the patients were concerned, most of them had a cold, a UTI, or something not nearly as sinister as the flu, but there was no mistaking the smell. As the morning wore on, the smell got even worse. It wasn’t until I was on my last patient before lunch when I realized a strange ticking in my ears. It sounded almost identical to that of a heartbeat, but that wasn’t possible without a stethoscope.

Maybe Val was right. Maybe I should’ve stayed home for another more week. I was so used to the clean smells at home and the quiet that everything in the clinic was magnified. It wasn’t just the sounds and smells, either. I could taste things stronger than I ever could before. The bleach solution we used to wipe down the reception desks and counters hung in the back of my throat, making me cough.

And when I finally took a moment to grab a cup of tea, it’s flavor was too strong as well.

Frowning, I glanced at my paper cup, then checked the back of the tea box. Green tea. It was the same kind I always had on my break. I didn’t add any sugar or milk, so there was no reason for it to taste so overwhelming.

I didn’t steep it that long, did I? I hon

estly wasn’t sure, and after taking one more sip just to be sure, I dumped the contents of my cup down the drain. It wouldn’t have been the first time I let a tea bag sit for too long, though I couldn’t remember it tasting as bad as this.

Which was a real shame too. Especially when I tried to return to the clinic. My stomach rolled and nausea climbed up the back of my throat. Whatever folks had come down with, I couldn’t stand being around it for very long. So once I found someone to relieve me and called Val to check in, I went to find Jerry.

He took one look at me and urged me into an empty exam room. His brows creased with concern, and when he suggested he take my temperature, I almost laughed.

“I’m serious, Jo. You’re pale and your skin’s clammy to the touch. You don’t feel that?”

Feel what? Aside from the disgusting smells in the hospital, I felt perfectly fine. “You’re overreacting,” I told him, clenching my teeth when he blocked the exit to the room.

“Seriously? Can you guys stop treating me like I’m a child?”

My words came out in a growl, the edge in my voice surprising even me.

“Go home,” Jerry said, matching my tone the best he could. “You’re unwell and aren’t fit to see patients today.”

“The hell I’m not.” When I went to leave the room again, he stepped in front of me, jutting out his chin as he did.

“Go home,” he said again, emphasizing his words. “You won’t let me take your temperature, but I can see you have a fever. You aren’t ready to be here. Not yet. You also just snapped at me, and you never snap at me.”