Page 8 of Paging Doctor Grump

The best way to protect myself from Brookes is to have very little to do with him, even if the universe does keep shoving us together.

“Go do rounds,” I say, grabbing a tablet from the stand and shoving it at him. “Make sure everyone is stable and try to keep them that way.”

“And here I thought the attending was my boss.” Brookes chuckles and punches his pin into the tablet. “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to stop scowling at me. I’m not that bad.”

“I am your boss,” Dr. Reynolds says as he appears beside us. “When Jessie tells you to do something, I want you to do it. Now go.”

The smile drops from Brookes’ face as he nods and takes off down one of the hallways. I grab a tablet of my own, prepared to go do my own rounds before the shift ends.

“How’s he been doing today?” Dr. Reynolds asks, stopping me before I can take off.

There’s a part of me that wants to be petty and tell him that Brookes is an ass, but I can’t do that. Though I may not like the man, I’m not about to make his life with the attendings even harder than it already will be.

“He’s good with the patients. Everyone seems to like him so far. Quick with the finer details of the files too. Not much escapes his memory.”

Dr. Reynolds nods. “Good. See to it that things go smoothly for the rest of the shift. Shouldn’t be too much longer. He’ll be working the same schedule as you for the next few days until I’m confident enough to leave him on his own.”

“Will do.”

No sooner have the words left my mouth than alarms starts ringing.

“Code blue. Room two-fifteen. Code blue. Room two-fifteen.”

Shit.

Room two-fifteen is down the hall where Brookes is. I run in that direction, hoping that it isn’t one of the rooms he has for rounds. I’m hoping that another doctor is in there and I’m not about to walk into a disaster.

Sure enough, I race into the room and come to a halt when I see Brookes leaning over the middle-aged man on the bed.

“We’re going to need to intubate,” Brookes says, looking at the nurses gathering supplies.

He presses his thumb to the side of the patient’s cricoid cartilage and his index finger to the other side. I watch in horror as he presses down, forcing the cartilage against the vertebral column and closing off the patient’s esophagus.

“Get out of the way!” I race in and put my hands on his chest, pushing him back. “I’ve got this.”

The nurse hands me the oxygen mask as I position the patient’s head. Another nurse puts an IV in his arm, administering the pain medication.

“Alright,” I say, glancing around at the team as they hand me a laryngoscope. “Let’s get this done.”

I work quickly, inserting the laryngoscope and working it down his larynx and to his trachea. My hands are steady as I inflate the little balloon around the endotracheal tube, keeping it in place and ensuring that the patient is getting air to his lungs.

As I remove the laryngoscope, my pulse is pounding. Anger flows through me but I don’t have time to focus on what Brookes did. I will address it with him as soon as the patient is stable and I can leave the room.

What the hell is he doing using an outdated technique like applying cricoid pressure?

I secure the tube in place before the nurse squeezes air through a bag and into the tube. As soon as I hear breathing sounds, I take a step back. My shoulders sag as the nurses start to clean the room. Dr. Reynolds steps inside and looks at me.

“Good work, Doctor,” he says, nodding to me. “I’ll take it from here. You’ve reached the end of your shift.”

“Thank you,” I say, looking around the room to see Brookes standing in a corner.

His arms are crossed but his eyes are wide, like he can’t believe what he just saw. When he looks at me, he seems disturbed by what just happened, but he doesn’t say anything. Hell, I don’t know if he’s even registering anything that’s going on around us.

Before I can approach him, he spins on his heel and takes off out of the room. I follow after him, not sure what I’m going to say to him when I catch up.

I follow him down the hall, trying to hold on to my temper as I watch him disappear into an on-call room. As the door is shutting, I stick my foot in the crack to hold it open.

Brookes looks up as I enter the room, his hands in his pockets. I close the door and cross my arms, trying to figure out where to start.

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