Page 34 of Doc Showmance
This day should’ve been over an hour ago. The last two patients drained every ounce of give-a-shit left in me. I’d forgotten this part of regular practice. I liked talking with the people and understanding how their pet fits into their lives, but the amount of emotional capital expended in the course of one day going from one extreme to the other, from life to death, anger to happiness, or defeat to success sapped everything out of me.
Think positive.The surgical rabbit lived and seemed to be adapting to movement with a fixator on its leg. I helped a constipated tortoise and an egg-bound conure.
“Dr. Todd,” called out the cameraman who usually followed Amber around. I couldn’t remember his name—Martian, Martin, Markus…something like that. “Marianna said you and Dr. Hardin need to be in the conference room right now for an end-of-day powwow. It’s mandatory. You need to go get Dr. Hardin.”
“Why? Because you don’t want to?”
The guy scowled. “I’m not scared of her, if that’s what you’re saying. At least, not all the time. She’s…not adapting to the idea of being on camera more of the time. You seem to be one of the few people not afraid to stand up to her.”
“Fine.” I set off in search of Amber.
Figured I’d start with the shared doctors’ office. My breath paused in my throat as I stood outside the door, not wanting to light off another fight. I simply didn’t have the energy for a brawl with her. Amber had her back to the door, the only doctor in the office. She sat in front of her computer, not typing records or on the phone. Her hands covered her face, and she was slumped in her chair. But she wasn’t moving. Didn’t seem like she was crying. Just sitting there.
I couldn’t barge in on that kind of moment. Looked like the emotional rollercoaster of the day had shattered her as well.
A breathless vet assistant pushed past me into the room. “Dr. Hardin, there’s an emergency that needs surgery. Everyone’s gone in about twenty minutes and one of the doctors called out tonight so the only one on duty tonight is Dr. Allan. Problem is, she’s overwhelmed with four walk-ins and all the hospitalized cases.”
Dr. Allan was the intern. From what I observed today she brought a level of drama to everything, something so in contrast to Amber’s straightforward get-it-done attitude.
Amber stiffened in the chair. “What kind of surgery?”
The vet assistant was young, maybe twenty-one, and kept folding and unfolding a piece of paper. She cleared her throat. “Foreign body in the stomach of a Labrador retriever. There’s worry that it perforated.” That meant punctured through the stomach or intestinal wall. Leaky digestive juices could lead to serious intra-abdominal infection and inflammation.
“I’m supposed to leave, too, in a few. Isn’t Dr. Carmac here until eight?” Amber threw her head back and groaned. “Crap. She had that thing with her son today and left early, didn’t she? Is the dog stable enough to wait overnight and be cut in the morning, or is it critical?”
“It’s not doing well. The regular vet was suspicious of something in her stomach yesterday but treated it as an outpatient. The dog’s febrile and painful.”
Amber dropped her head and her shoulders slumped.
Never let a febrile, painful patient with a foreign body wait.
The words of our surgical mentor from school echoed inside my head.
“What should I tell Dr. Allan?” the girl asked while still messing with the piece of paper.
“I’ll stay.”
“Thanks.” The assistant scurried out.
I leaned into the room. “Before you do that, the producer wants a few minutes in the conference room right now.”
Amber blinked at me.
“Not my idea. Just the messenger.” Why the hell did I always feel so defensive around her? As if that eye blink had judged me in the wrong about something I didn’t know about. “You want me to stay and do the surgery? You can go home.”
I felt it the right thing to offer to do the surgery, but the thought of getting into a procedure I honestly wasn’t sure I could handle had my heart pumping hard. I’d try, though.
“I got it,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s get this over with. The sooner I find out what’s up and then cut this dog, the faster I’m out of here.”
I led to the conference room. The moment we both entered, the cameraman closed the door behind us with an ominous click.
Marianna sat at the head of the table, lips pursed and tapping her fingers on the table. Her assistant sat next to her typing on her phone. Our boss was absent, probably because this was the end of the day.
Amber fell into a chair. Everything about her glare and tense body language screamed insolence. “I’m not getting in the fucking confessional today. If that’s what this is about. I can’t. It’s extra time that I don’t have since I must do another surgery even though my shift is over.”
I, too, despised the little curtained-off area where we were expected to sit and talk about whatever of our day. I did it yesterday. Sounded like Amber didn’t play by the rules for the place. Maybe I’d take a page out of her playbook.
“You’re getting in there. But this is about the two of you. We’re going to need to move your relationship along a bit faster than anticipated.” She stopped rapping her nails against the table. Thank God. The noise made me grit my teeth. Long painted nails on a woman creeped me out. Reminded me of my mother, who’d had hers done religiously once a week by the same lady for decades. She, too, liked to drum them in irritation. When Mom did it, something bad was about to happen.
