Page 3 of Love and Other Mental Health Concerns
Great first impression.
CHAPTER TWO
Nick
Here we go again.
Walking into North River Hospital feels like walking into any other small hospital I have visited over the past 10 years as a healthcare consultant. I have done my research, well-prepared to take on this project I was assigned by our coordinators about a month ago. When opportunities for work in Minnesota are available, I always hesitate. I grew up in the state and being that close to family is a risk that I don’t necessarily want to take.
In this small town, about an hour south of the Twin Cities, this hospital has been trying to meet the needs of its community for nearly fifty years. North River Hospital, like most small health organizations, has a lot of positive attributes, but the financial future is uncertain. The health center offers an emergency department, a birth center, a small surgery unit, and an in-patient rehab floor. Attached to the hospital is also a primary care clinic, including some pediatric services. The two-story building sprawls on a well-maintained campus a few miles from the center of North River. It boasts a coffee-colored stucco façade, and stone pillars support large overhangs protecting patient entrances. Although this hospital has seen some decades, there have clearly been some superficial updates over the years, and overall, it could be described as multigenerational.
Internally, I review my goals and plan for my speech as I pull my pick-up truck into a parking space near the emergency department entrance. I know Keith will try to catch me to chat before the introductory meeting, and sneaking in through the ED should avoid that inconvenience. North River is to be like any other assignment, even if my energy is feeling a little off. Ten years of moving place to place every few months and navigating the failures of the country’s healthcare system has started to take a toll.
I specialize in these small systems, often in rural areas, looking for ways to stay solvent in communities that are in desperate need to keep what little medical care they have within a reasonable driving distance. Mostly, I have loved this work, and I am great at it. I like connecting with people and opening their eyes to the possibilities within their care centers. I like the puzzle of healthcare finance, and helping these executives make the right decisions for their employees and business.
The lifestyle hasn’t been too shabby either. My living expenses in each city are covered by my employer or the hospital, depending on the contract. I get to stay in decent rentals or hotels, avoiding the burdens and costs of home ownership, and there are few, if any, people in my life that I need to answer to. The understanding that my career keeps me on the road has allowed a certain freedom from people’s expectations of me. No one is surprised or disappointed when I can’t attend a party, won’t be home for a holiday, or can’t commit past a second date. The job description says it all for me.
During my past few contracts, however, something has started shifting inside of me. The unfamiliar living arrangements feel less shiny. Too quiet, too sterile. I’ve lost interest in pursuing some random hook-ups to occupy my time, which…has been shocking. To say I have had fun in that department would be an understatement. I’m lacking somethingthough, and have only recently admitted it to myself, not having the balls to explore it yet.
As planned, I sneak in through the emergency department, flashing the employee badge that was mailed to my hotel, strolling past the receptionist who is distracted by some dating show on her phone. The view down the hallway is clear, meaning everyone else is already taking their seats inside; perfect window of time to get in without notice while people grab coffee. I don’t make eye contact and slink, as much as my broad frame allows, into a front row seat just as Keith gets up to speak. Perfect timing, schmoozing with Keith is expertly avoided.
Or Keith’s awkward cousin? Wait, this is not the man I had video conferences with…or is it? The man I spoke with previously wore ill-fitted suits and golf shirts. It never looked like he put much thought into combing his hair…let alone highlight it.
Much like a car accident, I can’t look away from the confusing display of dated masculinity. It is unclear which insecurity was triggered since my last video call with this guy, but the effort being made to look like an asshole from 2001 is making me sad and giddy simultaneously. Selfishly, I know that I will have never looked better addressing a crowd, considering this is the act I get to follow.
He Introduces me, and It’s like hearing my name flips my consultant switch to “on” and my brain goes into charming, smiling, and non-threatening mode. I can feel the vibe in the room turn skeptical as people glare at me. To them, I’m the jerk who just flew in to threaten their livelihood and pull apart what little resources they have to care for their patients. They aren’t totally wrong, but they will learn that I have the hospital and the community’s best interest at heart. I’m tasked with proving this about myself every time, and I will.
I always do.
I give my quick speech, offering reassurance and teamwork through the process; all true. I give eye contact to the room and project my energy that can both calm and lead. I am good at this; I show them the confident and steadfast presence that this group will need to withstand the next few months of changes and carry their hospital through the years to come. Basically, I do my job, and I make sure to smile while doing it.
As I come to a close and head toward my seat, a blur of chocolate curls and long legs crashes in the back of the room. Coffee is flying, and before I can think, I am sprinting that direction. Sprawled on the floor, in quite a vulnerable position, is the most gorgeous mess. A woman is covered in the contents of her leather bag, black leggings and a deep purple sweater now soaked with at least one person’s coffee. I get to her side to help her up and as her curls float back around her head and her face turns to me, I am struck by eyes so green that all the breath in my body has apparently found elsewhere to be. This close to her, I can appreciate her freckled and flushed cheeks, her features soft and round.
“Well, shit.” She manages to squeak out as she pushes herself up, which only makes me more curious. I start helping collect her papers, snacks, and office supplies that have flung from her bag upon impact. “Oh god, please, I got it, you don’t have to…”
“I know, but I insist. Hi, I’m Nick.”
“Yes, Nick, thanks. Just heard everything about you. Can I have my tampons back?” She’s holding out her hand and struggling to make eye contact with me, while I am so distracted by her that I didn’t realize I am now cradling her feminine products in my hand. Surrounded by a room full of strangers I am trying to impress.
“Oh yeah, yes. Here.” I’m the color of Kool-aid. “And you are?”
“Marcy Murphy. I’m the social worker here.” Her cheeks match mine, which is making me feel only slightly less embarrassed.
“Marcy, right, I think we have a meeting this week.”
“Great, can’t wait. I’ve really have to run. Got all tripped up while trying to get out of here, so if you will just excuse me…” She pushes past me, and I get a whiff of her shampoo, all vanilla, coconut and appetizing.
“Of course, look forward to meeting you…well we have met now I suppose. So, yeah, look forward to working with you is of course what I meant to say.” Damn it, Nick, get it together.
“Yeah, whatever, thanks!” She gives me the slightest smile as she turns to walk away, still somewhat juggling her belongings. I don’t know what just happened, but I can’t stop watching her as she disappears out the conference room door.
“Marcy! I have another announcement!” She doesn’t respond to Keith’s call. Attention is now back on him, at the podium. “I just have one more thing to mention before the meeting ends, so if you can let Marcy know that on Monday there will be a hotdog cart outside for lunch, that would be appreciated.” The rest of the staff quietly murmur and socialize as they leave the meeting, many staff now heading out for the day.
I am still standing in the back of the room, feeling like I was just part of a hit-and-run. It’s just another woman I happen to find attractive, nothing new, and nothing I can’t handle. I try and reassure myself, but the way my feet feel glued to this floor right now has me feeling less sure.
CHAPTER THREE
Marcy
