Page 16 of Doctor Hot Mess

The double doors slam open,and a paramedic’s voice cuts through the air like a shot. “Fifty-six-year-old male, severe abdominal pain. Suspected obstruction. BP dropping.”

I’m already in motion, grabbing gloves and falling into step beside the gurney. The patient’s groans are guttural, and his face is pale and covered with sweat. I glance at the monitor clipped to the rail—a mess of numbers that only reinforce the urgency.

“What’s his history?” I ask, keeping pace as we weave through the crowded ER.

“Pain started three days ago,” the paramedic says, his grip tight on the gurney. “Been getting worse. No known allergies. Last ate yesterday morning.”

We maneuver the gurney into a bay, and I turn to the patient, crouching slightly to meet his eyes. “Mr. Conrad, I’m Harper. You’re in the ER, and we’re going to take care of you, alright?”

He nods weakly, wincing as another wave of pain ripples through him.

Behind me, I hear a familiar voice. “What have we got?”

I straighten instinctively because I know the voice intimately. Jonah. Of course. Because my luck is sucking lately, which means we are both on the floor today.

When I saw this week's schedule, I knew there was no avoiding him. Working at UAB means crossing paths eventually—especially when they throw me wherever I’m needed.

But knowing it and being ready for it are two very different things.

“Suspected bowel obstruction,” I say, keeping my tone even as I turn to him. He’s already pulling on gloves and adjusting his stethoscope. His face is unreadable. “Vitals are borderline, BP’s trending down.”

“Alright,” Jonah says, scanning the setup. “Harper, I want imaging ASAP. Let’s get IV fluids running and prep for an NG tube.”

“I’m on it,” I reply, pivoting to grab supplies.

He shifts his focus immediately, pointing to another nurse at the bedside. “Katie, I need vitals every two minutes until we stabilize. Let’s get him hooked up to a Foley and make sure labs are sent STAT.”

“Got it, Dr. Bellinger,” Katie says, moving quickly to follow his orders.

Jonah steps to the head of the bed, leaning in slightly to address the patient. His voice softens just enough to be reassuring but stays firm enough to command focus. “Mr. Conrad, we’re going to take care of you. Just keep breathing for me, alright? You've got the best nurses this side of the Mississippi getting you stable. Stay with me.”

The patient groans in response, his face pale and twisted with pain. Jonah’s expression doesn’t flicker. “Harper, where are we on that NG tube?”

“Almost ready,” I say, keeping my movements quick but deliberate.

The next few minutes are pure motion—lines running, shit going off everywhere, and Jonah issuing orders in that calm, measured tone he’s always had in the ER. It’s irritatingly impressive how he commands the room without raising his voice, but I don’t dwell on it.

Focus, Harper.

I drop the NG tube into place, careful to keep my movements steady as Mr. Conrad winces. “You’re doing great,” I murmur to him, glancing at his vitals. They’re holding, but barely.

Jonah steps up beside me, holding the ultrasound wand. “Let’s get a look,” he says, his voice low but steady.

I grab the gel and position myself to assist, keeping my attention on the screen instead of him. “Distension,” Jonah mutters, frowning. “Likely obstruction. We’re not waiting.”

“Want me to book the OR?” Katie asks, handing him a towel to clean off the wand.

“Now,” Jonah says, pulling off his gloves. “Harper, stay with him until the OR team gets here. Make sure he’s stable during the transfer. I'm going to scrub in.”

I nod, stepping back to make room as Jonah moves out of the bay. The chaos settles slightly, leaving only the steady hum of the monitor and the patient’s shallow breaths.

As the OR team arrives, I pass the handoff without a hitch, offering one last reassuring word to Mr. Conrad before stepping aside. Jonah’s already gone, and I head for the supply station to clean up, grateful for the distraction.

Being on intake means I see him for almost every emergency case—it’s unavoidable. At least today, he’s on surgery, which means we aren't on top of each other for the entire shift.

I'll take that as a win. No Jonah hovering over my shoulder for hours while I pretend he doesn’t get under my skin.

Two years. That’s how long I’ve been gone. It was enough time to see the country, rack up experience, and build my confidence outside the bubble of UAB. Outside the shadow of Jonah. At least, it should’ve been enough.

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