Page 8 of Doctor Second Chance

“Fancy seeing you here on a Saturday, Dr. D. I hope we didn’t interrupt a hot date,” says Carly Gunner, a sassy, no-nonsense ER nurse. She has been on my case since I broke her good friend’s heart when I started back here at UAB. We’ve known each other since my residency days here, and she has no time for what she calls my “playboy ways.”

I’m not really a playboy. I just have zero interest in commitment. I’m upfront and honest about it whenever I meet a woman. I’m all about enjoying the company of the opposite sex, but I keep it casual and unattached.

“If only I were so lucky.”

“That’s your problem. You have too much luck.” With that, she is off.

This removal is a precarious procedure, but after looking at the patient’s images, I feel confident I can safely get it done. And hopefully, she will never jump on a fucking trampoline again. But if she does, please God, make sure it isn’t feet away from a fence.

They are preparing her for emergency surgery. It will take at least another thirty minutes to get the room ready and to get her set. I walk out into the main area to get a coffee before I scrub in and to get myself and my mind right for what will likely be a four-hour ordeal.

That's when I see her. My eyes lock onto a woman before my brain registers who she is.

She has a bloodied hand pressed against her chest. I can see fear and shock blend into those achingly familiar eyes, punching me in the gut with a force that takes the wind right out of my chest.

I'd know that heart-shaped face anywhere, those full lips I used to devour during our long nights together in college when only our love and passion seemed to be the most essential thing in the world.

Elle.

My Elle. Jesus, how has it been ten years?

I still remember the fight like it was yesterday: the shouting, the accusations, the finality of it all. We were in my apartment, boxes already half-packed with my stuff, ready for the next chapter of my life—med school.

Elle stood there, tears in her eyes, holding that damn job offer in her hand like it was a lifeline. And maybe it was.

She had this incredible opportunity to work for a marine biology company that would also put her through school to get her doctorate. It was her dream, just like becoming a neurosurgeon was mine.

We both knew what was at stake. I had acceptances from the University of Florida, UAB, and MUSC—all top med schools in the Southeast. If I chose Florida, we could stay together, she could take the job, and we could build our future in Gainesville.

But I had my eyes on UAB. It was the best fit for me, the best chance at getting the top Neuro fellowship. And I thought she would understand and follow me anywhere if she loved me.

But she didn’t see it that way. "You’re asking me to give up everything I’ve worked for, Shep," she said, voice cracking. "If you cared about us, you’d stay here, go to med school here. We could make it work."

"I’ve worked my whole life for this," I shot back. "You should be willing to move if you care about me. About us. Don’t put all of this on me,” I yelled at her.

The argument spiraled from there, each word sharper than the last. She accused me of being selfish and of not caring about her dreams. I accused her of not supporting mine.

It was ugly and messy, and in the end, she stormed out. We broke up that night, and I chose UAB. I left Gainesville without looking back. In my mind, I was following my path, my calling. But to her, I was abandoning her, breaking her heart.

Ten years. It’s been ten years since that night, and we haven’t spoken a word since I walked out... Except by text to ask her when I could get my stuff out of her apartment. I threw myself into my career, built my reputation as a top neurosurgeon resident, and became department head.

I’ve had a few quasi-relationships in that time, but nothing serious. The most significant was with Opie’s mother, and even that ended before it really began. We co-parent, but there was never any real love there. Just two people trying to do right by their kid they didn’t plan but love unconditionally.

Elle doesn't see me, but I can't stop watching her. The nurse pushes her through the double doors into the elevators. My heart is literally beating out of my chest. I’ve got to know why she's here.

Her clothes are pretty bloody, so I’m wondering if she is one of the victims from the car pile-up.

What is she doing in Birmingham? I realize I haven’t breathed in the several seconds since spotting her. How can this woman from another lifetime have this effect on me?

Fortunately, she doesn't notice me. I am a voyeur, watching from afar as she gets further away from me. As creepy as it may seem, I can’t pull my eyes away.

Memories bombard me as I head to the nurses’ station to find an open computer. This is an ethically gray area. Should I be looking into the charts of someone at the hospital if she isn’t my patient just because I have access? It is questionable but not a clear-cut abuse of privileges.

I walk over to the computer to pull up her name. Buster Hankel, a good friend from our college days and now a fellow general surgeon here, calls out to me, “How was that date last week? I told you not to mess with that girl!”

“Oh, dude, you know how it goes. Once you said that, you know I had to explore for myself. It’s like telling a kid not to look in the box.”

“I know how you work, Dr. Love. You're gonna have to clean up your act one of these days.”

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