Page 28 of Alarm Fatigue

I am not entirely sure I can wait for lunch but am supposed to be here for the patients so I hear myself say, “Okay.”

His cousin, his cousin, oh my God, I have no idea what is happening or where I stand.

During the list review with Mark, I worry about why the physician assistant, Jane, was not here to review the cases with me. Does everyone know there is something between Mark and me? Is there something between us? This line of thinking immediately brings to mind being together at the party and I feel the surge of my blush on both sides of my face. Mark, kindly, does not say anything, because there is no way he does not notice. Unless he has lost his color vision since the last time I saw him.

Before my brain can completely run amok, I just interrupt Mark and ask, “Where is Jane?”

“She had to meet her fiancée for something so I let her go early.” He goes on with the sign out and I start to berate myself. After everything that I felt this week, do I really want to go back to taking a chance on getting hurt all over again? At the same time, have I ever been up front with Mark about what is going on in my head? No, I know that I have not said a single thing about how I feel.

Suddenly I remember I should be hearing about the twenty-three ;year-old whose insulin pump failed and is here with DKA, and not thinking about whatever is going on or not going on with Mark and me. Curse my mother’s Irish blood, my blush is probably from evident from my cheekbone to my clavicle.

Mark still does not say anything about the fact that I resemble a tomato at this point. He may be doing this out of compassion. Of course, he could just be embarrassed for me because I am a middle-aged woman with a crush whom he is going to let down easy over lunch. Then again…This is years of needing to kiss you. He did say that. But he was drunk. Wasn’t he?

I grab the list when I realize he has stopped talking and is just staring at me with a look of amusement in his eyes. I wish one of our extremely rare earthquakes would hit the DMV right now and a subsequent crack could open and swallow me into the earth’s core, or at least to the floor below us, and put me out of my misery. I run out of the office and commence to start rounds.

Thankfully the best of the best team is on tonight and the nurses all had the same patients the night before because I needed the help to focus. Since my brain is part clinician and part love-sick teenager, I am extra careful to repeat everything that is said to me in the formal closed loop communication strategy we learn in training in order to make sure no innocents are harmed by my apparent lack of self-control.

There are a dozen patients on my roster and I slowly evolve out of my distraction and get into a groove. Fortunately there are no admissions because the charting takes forever. I read everything twice because if I make a mistake tonight due to my preoccupation with my feelings, I know I will never forgive myself. Besides, I am supposed to be here to help people. Not trying to date my attending.

By the time I have finished everything I am thankful for the interruption to my brain—it is good to have some space between my thinking and my desires.

I am walking down to the lounge when I remember the rumor about Mark leaving for a new position overseas. Maybe he just wants to chat about that? It is literally the first time in nine years that I have noticed a man, in this way, that was not a character on the screen and if he tells me he is leaving I do not know what I will say or do. Actually I have an idea but it is making me blush again just thinking about it.

The problem with all these desires and feelings is how much build-up there is. I mean I have not been close with a man before the last few weeks since Eli died. I feel like every romance I have watched has built up a layer of expectation and eagerness that is beyond my control. Well, God help us both, I think, and walk into the lounge.

He is not here yet so I text him on his cell phone—and wait.

He texts back a thumbs up emoji. I lay out my lunch and notice my hands are shaking. Get a grip, Lazarus, he’s just a man.

A moment later, he walks in and smiles shyly. I am so desperate to know everything that is in his head and at the same time I am terrified I will say something wildly inappropriate.

“Hello.” A good start and it is all can I manage.

“Hello yourself, Rachel.”

He pulls a sandwich out of his lunch bag before he goes on.

“So, you came to my house.” I guess we are going to get right into it then.

“Yes. I thought I needed to talk to you.”

I close my eyes and take a breath. All at once I realize what I need to remember: I am not a 14-year-old girl with a crush. I am a grown woman, an accomplished one at that, and if I really want to be with this man in a romantic fashion, I need just to tell the truth. If he is on a different page, I may be embarrassed, but I will not actually die, despite my fears. But I clearly see in this moment, I cannot take all of this not talking anymore. It was the lack of communication that had me wrapped around the axle earlier this week. And so I take another breath and just go for it.

“Mark, I want you to know, I was not upset about what happened at the party. Just in case you were really drunk and do not totally remember—you kissed me and we kind of made out for a minute.” I take a breath before going on. “Please understand, I need you to know, I am not mad about you kissing me at all. Quite the opposite. I hope you are not disappointed but I am not as frum as you seem to think I am. Actually, if I had my way, well, let me say I really, really want to kiss you like that again. That leads me to the next thing which I have to tell you—I am not someone that can be casual. I am too serious for that—as a person, and with my beliefs. I am not saying you have to marry me or anything.”

At that statement it takes everything I have not to clap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from going further. This was exactly what I was afraid of doing—what am I saying talking about marriage OH MY GOD and this is why I never wanted to leave the house but, to hell with it. “And I am sorry if that is not what you want, something serious I mean but…”

He looks like he might interrupt and I raise up my hands and continue.

“This, telling you how I feel and being clear about it, is astronomically difficult for me and I will tell you why but please just let me get this out.”

With that, he nods for me to proceed.

“Look I am damaged. Not in a normal way—and probably on more levels that you may realize. It can be a bit much.”

He raises one brow at this but does not interrupt.

“And I can tell you all about it if you are interested, but I need to know what you are thinking. We made out and then you went away, and the thing with your cousin.” And with this statement I am no longer able to make eye contact and so I look down at my food. “I am embarrassed to say I assumed your cousin was…well that she was your girlfriend or something, and so now that I know she is not, I want to hear what you want from me.” At this I look back up at him. He starts to talk but then I interrupt, “and did you say you had wanted to kiss me for years, or did I hallucinate that?”

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