Page 32 of Doc Showmance
“Because you like doing shit like that to me. I’ll do this for the patient, not you. I need your assurance you can handle its anesthesia?”
“I just said I could.”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms. “When is this supposed to happen? I’ve got a few hospitalized cases to sort out right now.”
“This afternoon. As soon as possible after lunch.”
She adjusted the paper bag with her lunch. “We done here? You think this was enough for the cameras for today? Or are they going to be hot on our asses in surgery?”
I glanced at the cameraman. “I’m sure they wouldn’t miss our scintillating conversation during surgery.”
“Shit.” She rolled her eyes, then leaned in and whispered, “God, you’re tense. Go get laid or drunk or something after work. Maybe a good workout to get some endorphins going would help?”
I watched her walk off, hair swaying behind her back in a long ponytail that went to mid back.
“Did she say what I think she said, man?” the cameraman asked.
Perfect. My face scorched, which had to be answer enough.
Great advice. Get laid. Only problem was the only girl I had permission to get against a wall irritated the hell out of me. And now I was envisioning her and me against a wall.
And I still didn’t know if she had a boyfriend.
12
Amber
Scrubbed in and gowned up with the monitoring machine beeping out a heart rate faster than I’m used to hearing on a dog or cat, the tightness running down my spine had nothing to do with me never doing surgery on a rabbit. It had everything to do with why the rabbit’s heart rate suddenly slowed to half its rate. I wasn’t used to relying on another doctor or anyone else for my patient’s anesthesia. I didn’t want to be forced to rely on Ian for this.
“Everything okay over there?” Hard to hide the tension and distrust in my tone. I only had a little bit more work on the leg before I finished.
“We’re good.” Ian said something to his tech so low I couldn’t overhear. She scurried off, returning within minutes with three syringes and the crash box, which was a red fishing tackle box filled with drugs and things needed for a coding patient.
“Dr. Todd, do we have a problem?” I asked tightly.
“Nope.” He pushed a drug into the patient’s catheter. His tech moved in a jolty, jittery way that suggested high anxiety.
Ian leaned in and told the tech, “You’re doing a great job.”
The rabbit’s heart rate chirps dropped lower. His tech started bagging the bunny to help it breathe. It wasn’t dramatic like you’d see in a human emergency situation. There was this teeny tiny less than hand-sized bag attached to the endotracheal tube that she filled and pushed to breathe for the patient like you might do to deflate a balloon.
“Dr. Todd…Ian, what the hell’s going on and why do you need the crash box?” I glanced up with the drill in hand to place what I hoped was the last pin before applying the fixator apparatus.
“Dr. Hardin,” he said in a calm, eerie tone that sent chills down my spine. “We need to work on you trusting me if we’re going to get through things like this.”
“What?” I asked. My left eye started twitching, and it wasn’t intentional.
“You need to work on trust.”
I blinked. “I heard you. I want to know what you mean by that.”
“Do your part. I’ll do mine. Now be quiet and finish, or this will never work.”
The son of a bitch.Calm down. He’s stressed. I’m stressed. Be better.
But I couldn’t. “Did I ever say anything between us would work?”
“All I’m saying is this isn’t going to go well unless you trust me. Even you know that.”
