Page 25 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

Once, I stayed at the hospital for three days straight during the height of an outbreak, and another time, because a massive fire had put so many people into the critical care ward, there was too much risk in us having people go back home.

Today, though, it’s for something different.

No bitterness in my chest this time around. I’m glad that the research team was approved, and I’m even more glad that it has given me an excuse to spend even more time with Amanda. We might not be able to talk anything but shop while we’re here, but that doesn’t matter.

We’re still spending time together. And when I’m with Amanda, it feels right.

Like whatever has been missing inside of me has finally been found, and I’ve gotten a chance to be myself again. Sometimes, I wonder if she feels the same way.

But I don’t have to wonder tonight.

Amanda wouldn’t have come in here with me if she didn’t understand exactly how I felt. Her breath is warm against my hand, curled up near the front of her face. I press a kiss to the mess of her knotted hair and rest my head heavily on the pillow.

She doesn’t try to thank me anymore.

No thanks until I’ve gotten the cure found and her brother on the road to recovery. Not a moment before that. She doesn’t need to, and I don’t want to hear it. But I can tell that she appreciates it. It’s the way that she looks at me while we’re studying. Not to mention the fact that she’s here with me, right now. You can’t get much better than that. You can’t get any clearer proof.

I ask her, voice low, “Did you set an alarm?”

Policy is that you’re only supposed to be in the sleep room for half an hour at a time. That way, there’s a place for the other people that you work with to come and lay down when they need to. And it ensures that no one spends their shift sleeping instead of working.

Amanda laughs, her voice tittering. “If someone wants to use the room, there’s a second bed for them. Besides, you sleep like a feather.” She’s right. “You’ll wake up if someone opens the door.”

It’s not Mercy General policy but it works well enough for the night. I don’t argue with her. I just nestle down, leaning my forehead up against her, and settle in for the night. It takes me no time at all to fall asleep. I’m sure that it doesn’t take Amanda much time, either.

Chapter twelve

Amanda

Bilehitsthebackof the toilet. I cling to the sides of it, sweat running down the back of my neck.

We’re so close to finding a cure for Harris’s sickness, but I’ve found myself trying to deal with another problem. I think that I’ve come down with something nasty. Rather than getting better, the sickness that plagues me has only gotten worse, and I’ve found myself almost desperately craving pickle juice.

That means I’m suffering from a serious need for potassium, right? I’m pretty sure that’s what it usually means. My other symptoms lineup with potassium deficiency too. And that’s a concern.

I've never been even a little deficient in essential minerals before. Why would it suddenly start now? Paired with the vomiting and the weird mood swings that I’ve been trying to deal with, I think that it’s time to go see an actual doctor.

I guess I've put my own health second, or even third, or fourth. I've been so focused on researching Margur's disease and being the best damn resident I can be.

Groaning, I press my sweaty forehead onto the toilet seat. “Shit.”

It takes a long few moments before I’m able to haul myself up onto my feet but a glance in the mirror has me wincing.

“I look awful.” My reflection doesn’t argue with me. Idolook awful.

Rinsing my mouth, I take a few extra moments to try and change that. I don’t want to look like I’m a walking plague bearer when I get back to work. The less people know I’m sick, the better.

People love to gossip in hospitals. I’m pretty sure that Cara gets all of her energy from gossiping, and not from actually eating or sleeping. She would go into withdrawal if there wasn’t some sort of a new story to listen to and spread.

And me being sick? That’s like, prime story material. I’ve come to learn that you have to be super clear aboutwhatCara can and can’t spread around.

As for this illness, I’m not even overly concerned by it. I work at a hospital, literally surrounded by sick people all the time. It’s not the first time, and it sure won’t be the last, that I’ve caught something from them.

I make arrangements to meet with a general physician that I’m friends with at the hospital. Dr. Barry Joyce is a smart man, with a kind tone and the thickest, widest bottle cap glasses I’ve ever seen in my life. He's the doctor who conducted my required physical exam before I was allowed on the floor as a resident. Dr. Joyce makes arrangements to stay after hours to give me a check-over so neither of us has to try and work it in around our already busy schedules.

“It’s been a while since you were in here,” says Dr. Joyce. “I’d like to say that I’m glad to see you again, but—”

“But I’m here because I’m sick?” Laughing, I sit down on the paper-covered table. “It’s good to see you too. I don’t come by as often as I should.”

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