Page 89 of Dr. Intern

Each OR has a machine attached to the wall for instances like this, where we need to get additional scans during surgery. Time is precious, so it keeps things flowing rather than having to wait for the portable machines.

“Uh,” the OR nurse stutters from the corner of the room.

“What?” Walker snaps, his head swiveling to face her like a possessed demon.

The nurse looks terrified to continue, as if she knows what she’s going to say will only make the situation worse. “The, uh, C-arm is broken in this room. We can’t rescan.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Walker isn’t mad at her, he’s mad at the situation. While it’s unfortunate that we have to wait, I can’t help but see the silver lining in the delay. The extra time will give me the opportunity to break scrub and grab some sugar. My hands are on the verge of trembling, and I’m beginning to feel a touch lightheaded.

“I’ll call for the portable team STAT,” she offers, fumbling at the desk for the phone.

A few moments later, she hangs up and I ask, “How long did they say it would be?”

“They’ll be here soon.”

“Sure they will,” Walker scoffs dramatically. “They love to take their sweet-ass time.”

The anesthesiologist looks uncomfortable, like she’s going to get yelled at for this change. I think Walker realizes because he says, “Get Dr. Baker on the phone. I’ll explain to him why his precious case is being pushed.”

“You sure you don’t just want to close up and go back in another day?” I offer.

“Fuck no,” he replies, looking at me like I have two heads. “You do realize this shit costs money, don’t you? Even if we fixed the first fracture, they would need another surgery.”

That’s another thing I appreciate about Walker—his perspective. Most surgeons would say fuck it, resolve the original issue, and then go back in another day. But Walker understands that each time a patient goes under, there’s a ridiculous number of medical bills that will follow, so he does his best to finish each job efficiently and effectively. He doesn’t come from money, and though he never really shares about his childhood, I suspect his worldviews have a lot to do with what he experienced growing up.

“Got it,” I state. “Mind if I break scrub for a few while we wait for the scan?”

“Fuck yeah, I mind. Get over here and look at this original image with me. I want you to tell me what you would do if there’s a tibial fracture, too. X-Ray won’t take long.”

I sigh, trying to clear the brain fog that’s creeping in. Handing the retractor to the surgical tech, I step away from the sterile field and take Walker through my plan.

By the time the radiology team comes through and finishes the imaging, it feels like it’s been ages, and I’m doing my best to hold my shit together. Based on the results of the scan, we’ve got at least a solid hour of work before we’re done. Walker likes to have his residents do his dirty work and close. Normally that would be appreciated, but I need to get the fuck out of here.

“You okay, Buffington?” Walker asks a while later, looking up as he hands the drill to the scrub tech. We just finished plating the tibia, and I’m praying my body holds out just a little longer, because we’ve still got to close. “You’re looking a little pale.”

Before I can reply, my vision blurs. Walker fades out of view completely, and I feel my body falling forward.

Fuck diabetes.

Chapter 36

Claire

Ever since I was young, Christmas has always been my favorite day of the year. Not only because of the presents, which I will wholeheartedly admit that I love, but because of the traditions that my dad started for us before he passed away. Traditions like building snowmen, making eggnog, and going to the afternoon showing of a movie in the theater. Some of my very best memories with my family fall on the twenty-fifth day of December.

But this year, I can’t even get out of bed.

Grief is a tricky thing because it sneaks up on you. One day you’re decorating a Christmas tree, not the least bit sad, and the next day you’re practically catatonic. There’s no way to anticipate what will trigger you, and there’s no way to stop that trigger from snowballing into a complete day ruiner.

Beau and Parker are working today, so I was supposed to go over to my brother’s house this morning and open stockings with Caroline and Cassidy. Instead, I woke up at six in the morning, texted them that I wasn’t feeling well, and went back to sleep. The last thing I want to do is stifle their joy with my misery.

I like to think that I’ve handled my mom’s death well. I went through the stages of grief like a normal person. I was mad. I was desperate. And I was depressed. But truthfully, for the past few months, I haven’t felt any of those things, because all I’ve felt is happy. I hate to admit it, but all of the books and videos were right—my life has moved on.And I genuinely haven’t felt guilty about my progress until today. Because why should I be happy when my mom isn’t here to experience that happiness with me?

As the third episode of Great British Bake Off Holiday Special comes on, Frosty stirs in my arms. He’s gotten huge, and it’s been nice to have him as a companion while I work through this online class for nursing school. I know Beau initially brought the kitten home as a temporary bridge between us, but now I can’t imagine my life without the big furball.

Frosty jumps down from the bed and paws at the closed door. With a groan, I slide out of my blanket enclosure to pad across the floor and let him out of my room. My eyes catch on my reflection in the glass window, making me cringe. The bags under my eyes are trench-like, and my hair resembles a rat’s nest on top of my head.

---