Page 94 of Dr. Intern

“Already in. Feel free to discharge away.”

He snags a cookie from the counter, narrowly avoiding Morgan’s wrath as he pops it into his mouth.

As Morgan opens her computer screen, Beau turns to me. “You staying for a bit longer?” he asks. His tone is casual, but his eyes convey a deeper question.

I glance at Morgan, who’s now fully engrossed in her patient’s chart, and then back at Beau.

“Um, yeah I think I’ve overstayed my welcome in the ER,” I respond casually. “I should probably head to find Cass and Caroline.”

“I’ll, uh, walk you out,” Beau offers.

“Thanks for hanging with me, Morg. I’ll see you on New Years?”

Her green eyes peer up from her screen, first at me and then at Beau.

“You two,” she hisses, her eyes quickly flickering between us in warning, “need to get your shit together before anyone else catches onto what I just saw.”

Chapter 38

Beau

The past few days have been hell. On top of a hectic schedule, I’ve been grappling with the embarrassing fallout from my incident in the operating room. According to Walker, I fell face-first into the patient, ricocheted off the arm board, and landed on the floor with a thud like a tree hit by lightning. Thankfully, the patient wasn’t harmed, and the only thing broken was my ego.

Waking up to a nurse rapidly pushing dextrose into my veins was a sobering experience. My blood sugar had fallen to a whopping forty-one. If it had dropped any lower without intervention, I’d probably still be comatose and in the ICU.

Walker refrained from bombarding me with questions at the time, though I could sense his concern. He insisted I take time off until I felt better, but I stubbornly returned to work the next day, unwilling to admit that the episode was more than just a one-off accident. But after a few suspicious looks and pointed comments, I finally came clean to him about the situation today.

He admitted his surprise, though, in hindsight, my frequent Skittles consumption suddenly made a lot more sense to him. He even offered to adjust my schedule, but I was quick to dismiss the idea. I’m perfectly capable of doing the job like anyone else, and I refuse to let this incident define me or my abilities as a surgeon. That’s the kind of special treatment I was trying to avoid, which is why I chose not to disclose diabetes in my residency physical in the first place. I didn’t want to be seen as the weakest link.

What most people don’t realize about surgeons, particularly surgeons in orthopedics, is that we are some of the most prideful assholes to ever exist. We study for years, working our dicks off to finish school and graduate at the top of our class. Then, we fight tooth and nail to get into one of the most competitive specialties in the country, and once we’re in, we have to keep battling ourselves for the next half-decade, just to prove that we’re worthy.

Weakness isn’t an option, which is really fucking challenging when your body betrays you.

What’s difficult about diabetes, and any other chronic illness that isn’t outwardly visible, is that they’re riddled with silent struggles. To the outside world, we don’t appear any different. There’s no indication of the constant effort we put into managing these uninvited, life-altering conditions. These conditions that take from us, statistically shorten our lifespans and offer nothing in return. It’s a war that we didn’t volunteer for, yet we’re forced to fight for the rest of our lives.

Most of the time I just pretend that it’s not there. I learned how to adapt diabetes into my routine, to the point where I almost forget about it. But sometimes it’s just so damn frustrating because all I want is to be impenetrable. To be the guy that everyone thinks I am—the guy I’ve worked so hard to portray. And it kills me that I can’t.

Walker, understanding the gravity of the situation, agreed to keep this between us. At this point, coming clean about my omission on the health exam would only do more harm than good. While I know now that nobody sees the information other than human resources, and that disclosing my diagnosis doesn’t impact my ability to practice, it still could be a massive black mark on my record if I retroactively change the details. Hospitals are driven by policy, and regardless of your intention, they tend to look unfavorably upon someone who blatantly ignores the rules.

After Walker and I had a lengthy chat this afternoon about lessons, we both feel like I’ve learned mine. He’s protective of his team and I’m incredibly grateful for that. But that doesn’t mean that it’s been easy coming to work each day, wondering if I’m the subject of rumors and hushed whispers—the idiot ortho bro who passed out during surgery. Like I said, pride is a tough thing to overcome.

The only thing getting me out of my head since the incident has been Claire. Her enthusiasm took root in my heart the moment I met her, reminding me of everything beautiful in life. She tended to my withering soul, bringing me back from the brink of complete automation. Every time I look at her, I’m instantly reoriented to what truly matters.

“Do you think she’ll say anything?” Claire asks, drawing me out of my thoughts as I close the door to the call room behind us. Her eyes are wide with panic as I press her against the wooden door, clicking the lock on the handle. I’m glad I found her in the ER with Morgan instead of anyone else. It’s getting almost painful to stifle myself around her, and while she’s adamant that she’ll tell her brother soon, my control is waning.

“I don’t give a fuck if she does at this point,” I reply, dipping my head to graze my teeth along her neck. She smells like cinnamon and oats, exactly like the cookie that I put in my mouth moments ago. All I want to do is taste her.

“Beau,” she sighs as I kiss the spot I just marked. “I’m serious.”

Her tone makes me pause. I draw back to meet her gaze, gently brushing a stray hair from her face. “She won’t say anything, Claire.”

“How do you know?” she presses.

“Trust me, I just know.” I place a soft kiss along her furrowed brow. She relaxes under my lips as I add, “Morgan is a lot of things, a pain in my ass being high up on the list, but she’s not a snitch.”

Claire’s icy eyes find mine, melting into a cool blue. “Nice scrub cap,” she teases, running her fingers along the edge of the fabric. “From someone special, huh?”

I smile down at her, glad her mood is improving. “Someone super special and super hot,“ I grunt, leaning in to kiss her neck again. “Those fucking scrubs have me in a vice.”

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