Page 18 of Lily In The Valley
I arched a brow, finally glancing over at him. He was cute, in a baby-deer-in-headlights sort of way. Tall, unsure, definitely a future problem for some med schoolgirl or nurse with boundary issues.
“Her name is Janae, and she’s not a kid. She’s sixteen,” I corrected. “And her pain plan should’ve been updated by now. You check the latest labs?”
He blinked. “I…uh, was just about to.”
“Don’t about to. Do. Sickle cell pain is real. Treat it like it’s yours.”
He nodded, nostrils flaring, and I moved past him toward Janae’s room. Inside, I found her curled up in bed, face tense. I looked over my shoulder at the resident, letting him see the disappointment and frustration laced on my face. I could’ve drop-kicked him right there.
“Hey, beautiful,” I soothed, approaching her with care. “Rough morning?”
She nodded without speaking.
I scanned her chart quickly, then knelt to eye level with her. “I’m going to make sure we adjust your meds, okay? You don’t need to be in this much pain.”
Her eyes welled. “It feels like they think I’m lying.”
“They don’t think that,” I said, placing a hand over hers. “But I do know what it feels like to not be heard. That won’t happen here. Not on my watch.”
That was what I loved about my work—the precision, the connection, the power of being the person who could make someone feel seen in the middle of their worst moments.
After checking in with Janae and putting in her new pain meds orders, I stepped into the hallway just as my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out quickly, my heart skipping. Today was the day. I’d find out if I’d matched with one of my top picks.
Subject Line: Match Announcements–Fellowship Match System
I exhaled through my nose, lips pressed tight. I’d been checking my email all morning waiting for this. Now that it was here, I hesitated to open it. Fear took hold of my chest, even though the rational part of my brain said that a match was better than no match.
One of my attending physicians, Dr. Hightower, spotted me as I turned the corner. “Dr. Reid, just the person I wanted to see. You gave that presentation on pediatric blood disorders last month, right?”
“Guilty,” I said, slipping my phone back into my pocket.
“Well, the board loved it. They’re considering creating a teaching module from it for new interns. You’ve got a knack for making complex content…digestible.”
I smiled effortlessly. “That’s what happens when you grow up with a father for a doctor and Black mama who didn’t let you half-step.”
“I know that’s right.” She laughed. “You ever thought about staying here long-term?”
I appreciated the compliment, I did, but it didn’t stick. That wasn’t my goal. I was made for more. Of course, I could stay here and breeze on by. That would be easy. I wanted to specialize. I wanted to break ground.
“I appreciate that,” I said. “But I’ve got my eyes on pediatric hematology-oncology. Somewhere I can make a bigger impact.”
Dr. Hightower smiled softly. “Can’t fault that. Just don’t forget, the places that know you best are the ones you can grow in.”
I filed that away as something old people said when they wanted to tell you what to do without telling you what to do. Something my grandmother did before she died.
The rest of my shift passed with familiarity–charting, rounding, checking labs, making quick calls to consults. My name carried weight around here, and I knew how to wield it to get results. Make people feel safe. There wasn’t a patient or parent on the floor who didn’t trust me to give them the truth with a smile.
Even in my whirlwind of competence, I couldn’t ignore the email burning a hole in my pocket. The decision lit a flicker of restlessness in my usually even-tempered heart. I knew choosing only the top, most competitive fellowships in the country wouldn’t be easy. I wanted to know what it felt like to want again. To struggle a little. To stretch. I didn’t expect it to be this nerve-wracking. What if all I’d done all the research, all the accolades, all the sleepless nights wasn’t enough?
Sitting in the resident's locker room, I kicked off my sneakers. My feet were screaming, but my brain was still going full speed. I set my phone on the bench next to me. I gave myself a pep talk before my finger hovered over the email icon. I opened Instagram instead, skimming through my DMs, ignoring a half-hearted, “U up?” from a guy I used to hook up with. I rolled my eyes, moving on to the texts I’d left unread. Eyes emojis from my friends. Encouraging words from my mother, Aunt Viv, and Khalil.
My phone rang halfway through. Mama.
I debated letting it go to voicemail, but something tugged at me. I wiped my hands on a towel and answered.
“Hey, Mama.”
“My Kelly Belly.” I could feel her motherly hug through the phone. “You sound tired, my baby.”
