Dr. OB (St. Luke's Docuseries Book 1)

by Max Monroe

I’ll give you one guess as to how it was, but if your answer isn’t “god-fucking-awful” or “way-way-worse,” you lose.

  “Good morning, Dr. Cummings,” Marlene, one of the most seasoned nurses on my staff, a “leftover” from the old practice, sang as soon as the door cleared my face enough to confirm my identity. “Nice of you to join us.”

  She was the one I’d been most worried about, a smartass old bag of insults through and through. She’d done it all, seen it all, and if she hadn’t, you’d better pretend she had for fear of her wrath.

  “Morning, Marlene,” I called back as casually as I could manage.

  She licked her lips, the evil in her eyes lighting in a way I’d only seen once before—in my brother-in-law’s cat. And believe me, Walter was the kind of cat you didn’t want to know, didn’t want to meet, hell, you didn’t even want to think his name.

  Shit.

  I guess the shit wasn’t going to wait to hit the fan until after I’d had my coffee. And I probably wouldn’t get to have it afterward either. I wasn’t sure I’d even feel like drinking it while covered in feces.

  Shit-stained and caffeine deprived. That’d probably make for an interesting day of seeing patients.

  But she didn’t say anything about the show as I made my way to the desk and nodded my hellos at the receptionist, Melissa, and Beth, one of the medical assistants who helped with the filing and check-in and check-out of patients when things got really busy.

  Instead, in a shocking twist, Marlene seemed interested in if I’d done anything fun during my time off and asked to see a picture of Julia. They hadn’t helped in the delivery of my sister’s baby any more than I had, but they had a skewed sense of extended family all the same. Any babies were their babies, no matter whose babies they actually were.

  “Here,” I said, putting my briefcase up on the counter to dig around in it. “This is a picture from Saturday.”

  “Oh! How cute!” Marlene mooned. “I used to play naked in the sprinkler all the time when I was little too.”

  I tried not to picture it—failed. Except, I wasn’t picturing Marlene as a toddler at all. Oh God.

  I forced my thoughts back to my niece. “Yeah. Truth is, you’ll be hard pressed to get a picture of Julie where she isn’t naked. Kline and Gigi haven’t been able to keep clothes on her for anything. Apparently, she even takes her diapers off during her naps.”

  Melissa and Beth were quieter than normal. In fact, I could usually barely get a word in edgewise for all their chatting, but they still smiled and peeked at the picture of Julia as if interested, so I let any wondering about why fall away.

  As soon as they handed the picture back, I made my way down the hall toward my office.

  Okay. That hadn’t gone so badly.

  My step got a little lighter, and for the first time in days, the pressure behind my eyes started to ease.

  Maybe work wouldn’t be so awful. The show was terrible, but maybe people really weren’t watching, or it didn’t look as bad to those who weren’t seeing themselves look like an idiot. I wasn’t completely sure, but I wasn’t going to do something stupid like look a gift horse in the mouth either.

  I didn’t want to hate my job. If you’d asked me what my specialty would be back at the beginning of medical school, I don’t know what I would have told you, but I do know it wouldn’t have had anything to do with vaginas that wasn’t recreational.

  Still, I felt like it fit, like I had something to contribute—like life wasn’t the kind of thing you could live on a plan for a reason.

  I felt like I had a way of understanding women, and, as much as I grumbled about her, I probably had my mother to thank for that. She was always open and honest about menstruation and sexuality in a way that made me comfortable enough to see the people behind the reproductive system.

  I cared about these women—my patients.

  And I didn’t want some trumped-up version of a documentary about me and everything I tried to achieve to ruin what I was actually trying to do—to negate the difference I was trying to make.

  “Shit,” I muttered to myself. I’d forgotten my mug up in the break room, which was just behind the front desk. I’d been so focused on escaping the impending shitstorm and predicting the consequences, I hadn’t thought to grab it on my way. And I needed coffee.

  Dropping my briefcase and the picture on top of my desk, I headed straight back down the hall toward the front.

  Melissa’s and Beth’s once-again exuberant voices caught my attention just as I moved to step through the door to the break room.

  “I know!” Beth agreed to something enthusiastically.

  For some insane reason, one I immediately wished I’d ignored, I stopped to listen to their conversation.

  “With how good of a flirt he is, I’m just glad he’s never tried it on me. I’d have my panties down and my legs open so fast—”

  Involuntarily, my body moved, back out the door and around the corner to the space just behind their chairs. I moved almost silently, and truthfully, I didn’t even really feel like I was in control of my own body. It was as if my gut instinct engaged at the barest hint that they were talking about me.

  “Oh my God. Speaking of opening your legs… Did you hear what he said about the vagina being a beacon of—”

  I cleared my throat in shock and recognition—now knowing they were talking about me—and Beth almost fell out of her chair trying to get Melissa’s attention and make her stop talking. “Shh!”

  Melissa’s face flushed and dropped to ease her focus on the carpet as she addressed me. “Oh. Hey, Dr. Cummings.”

  Fucking great. I guess the office wasn’t going to be a safe place after all.

  “Hi again, ladies. Just forgot my coffee cup. I hope you’re having a lovely day.” My teeth were gritted, but fuck me, it sure as hell wouldn’t help to curse them out. Mentally, sure, but not professionally. I had to work with these people day in and day out. As much as I’d have liked to be, I wasn’t made of money.

  They tittered a little, surprised not only by my presence but also the casual and kind way I addressed them, and the teasing, knowing smiles slipped from their faces and melted into embarrassment.

  “Um, you too, Dr. Cummings,” Melissa muttered. Beth, on the other hand, had once again gone mute.

  “I’ll be ready for the first patient in about ten minutes or so.”

  Melissa nodded.

  “Marlene,” I called, and she jumped from her spot in the corner. She hadn’t been avidly participating, at least not at that particular moment, but she’d been listening intently. She just hadn’t thought I’d be including her in this awkward little tête-à-tête.

  “Get the room ready, please.”

  “Of course, Dr. Cummings.”

  I nodded with a smile and turned to leave. Then, and only then, did I turn back, my voice soft and smooth like butter. “For the record…” They all jumped at the sound of my voice again. “I didn’t say the vagina was a beacon of anything. That was a forty-minute speech on fertility that they spliced together for a fifteen-second clip of nonsense. So let’s get back to work, okay?”

  Aggravated that I had to explain myself to people who’d been working with me for years, I stormed back to my office—stopping briefly to get my goddamn mug—slammed the switch for the coffeepot on and listened raptly as it started to brew. I needed to take my ten minutes, have my coffee, and get my shit together before I went out there and started seeing patients.

  The last thing they needed was a doctor whose head wasn’t in the game. My priority was their health. Period.

  I tucked the picture of Julia back into my briefcase and checked my phone one last time before setting it to silent and shutting it inside of my drawer.

  There was only one message, from Thatch no less, so I figured now wasn’t the time to read it. Not when I was trying to calm myself down.

  Thatcher Kelly was a goddamn incendiary device.

  I pulled off my suit coat a
nd hung it on the hook in the corner, and then I pulled out my chair to sit down and look through patient files. I liked to get a jump on the day by reminding myself of their history before they even darkened our door. Once the day was rolling, I’d barely have any time at all, and patient care was at least fifty percent knowledge.

  Each person needed and expected different things, and I tried my best to give it to them.

  It didn’t take me long to let go of my personal troubles and take on the burdens of my patients. Whether it was fertility issues, a cancer scare, or endometriosis, each of them had something they needed my help with. Something they came to me to make better, bearable, or even just offer some support.

  A knock on the doorframe of my office pulled my attention from the file I was studying and up to Marlene.

  I lifted my eyebrows in question.

  “Just brought your first patient back, Dr. Cummings.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  She jerked her chin and turned to leave, but I called her back. “Oh, and Marlene?”

  She stepped back into the door and listened. “I’m going to be expecting more from you going forward. You’ve been here long enough, and you’re experienced enough, to know that someone needs to hold down the fort, keep the rumor mill under control, and make sure that patients are the first priority. That someone should be you. It should be all of you, but you should know better than anyone.”

  She ground her jaw, but she didn’t talk back. Perhaps a first for Marlene. “Is that all?”

  I smiled, an attempt to smooth the water under our bridge, but when she turned without waiting for me to answer, I knew I’d probably be paying for that little speech for quite a while. I was technically the boss, but according to the Life and Times of Marlene Donahue, no one was her boss but herself.

  I sure hoped someone packed my life jacket.

  Three raps on the door to exam room one later, my first patient called out for me to come in.

  I stepped through the door and moved to the counter, where Marlene had already run a urinalysis that indicated, as designated by the birth control note on her file, the patient lying on my exam table with nothing more than a paper gown on was maintaining her preferred status of not pregnant.

  “Hello, Alyssa,” I greeted, opening her chart on the counter and scrolling through some of the particulars one last time before turning to face her.

  “Hi, Dr. Cummings.”

  “How are you today?”

  “Good, thanks.”

  “Any problems we need to talk about, or is everything pretty much business as usual?”

  “No problems.”

  It wasn’t surprising that her answers were curt and simplistic. I found that was how it usually was while they were undressed and vulnerable. Once the clothes went back on, most patients were much better at chatting.

  “Okay, good. We’ll just do your breast exam really quick, and then we’ll get the rest of it over with, okay?” I asked as I moved toward her.

  “Yep.”

  Pulling back her paper gown one side at a time, I applied gentle pressure, checking in a circle around the circumference of her areola and radiating out. No hard tissue or suspicious textures jumped out at me, so I closed that side of her gown and moved on to the other. All well there too, I pulled it closed and reassured her.

  “Everything seems good, Alyssa. Just make sure you keep doing monthly exams yourself, okay?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re young and healthy, but it is literally never too early to be proactive.”

  She smiled a little.

  “Okay. Let’s go ahead and do the pelvic exam then, and you can get back to regularly scheduled programming.”

  Her eyes widened a little, and then seemed to harden with determination. I tried not to recoil in fear.

  “Speaking of programming, I saw your show last night, Dr. Cummings.”

  Has anyone not seen this fucking show?

  I worked hard to smile, give a little nod of thanks, and keep my eyes from closing in despair. But inside, my humiliation was hot and gooey like melted chocolate.

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked casually, pulling a pair of gloves from the box and taking a seat on the stool before wheeling closer. She nodded, her eyes lighting up with something I didn’t like but couldn’t exactly decipher. Was it mocking? Distaste? Judgment?

  “Yeah. You were…”

  Oh Jesus, here it comes.

  “Different than I expected,” she finished. Her voice rasped with something I recognized distinctly, but couldn’t fucking believe without seeing it with my own eyes.

  I shifted to look her in the eye, around her gown-covered legs, and almost recoiled at what I saw.

  Lust, raw and uninvited, shone from every facet of her being.

  Well, fuck. From terse to flirtatious in the span of a moment. At least I’d known how to handle the first.

  “Oh, well, editing and TV and smoke and mirrors and all that,” I mumbled clumsily.

  She bit her lip and smiled, her head dipping closer to her shoulder.

  “Okay, so, yeah, let’s get the exam going, shall we?” I said, stumbling to move away from any remote possibility that the woman currently waiting to have her reproductive system examined by me was considering asking me to do something way too unsanitary for a medical facility.

  “Lie back, scoot all the way down, and put your feet in the stirrups, and we’ll get started.”

  She did as I instructed, opening her legs and pulling the blanket up to expose herself as she did.

  “Are you sexually active?”

  “Occasionally,” she said, sitting up to meet my eyes over the blanket and giving me a wink.

  I cleared my throat violently. That goddamn wink for the camera on the show. I knew it’d been a colossally bad idea. But I’d been over and over it in my head since then, and two nights ago, I’d finally remembered. The cameraman had asked me a question. Something completely unrelated to the exam, and what I assumed was an off-the-record type of moment. Obviously, I’d gotten the ass end of assuming.

  “Okay, then. Any pain or discomfort during?”

  “No. Not the bad kind anyway. I don’t mind a little bite—”

  Oh sweet Jesus.

  “Right, right.” I tried to force a laugh.

  Next question. Where do I go from here? Oh! Periods. Something considerably less sexy. Fantastic!

  “How about your menstrual cycle? Any concerns there?”

  I inserted the speculum carefully and swabbed the cervix quickly.

  “No, ah—” She winced at the invasion.

  “Sorry about that,” I consoled. No matter how awkward the appointment was for me thanks to her flirting, I had no doubts this part was more awkward for her. And it was my job to make it all right.

  “There. Done,” I said as I removed the speculum. “I’m just going to feel a little, make sure everything feels like it should—”

  “Knock, knock. Dr. Cummings?” I heard a female call from the other side of the door. “Marlene instructed me to go into this exam room,” she added, and I was so caught up in escaping the uncomfortable cloud filling the room, I didn’t think about how much calling out for her entry so enthusiastically might add to the discomfort.

  “Yes, God, please come in.”

  Awkward was nothing more than a memory when her body cleared the door and her enticingly hazel eyes met mine.

  A rubber band of intensity stretched between us as I took the soft tendril of uncontainable hair that draped over her forehead and down her cheek. I struggled to keep my eyes from exploring anything below the neck.

  She was new, I knew that much, and she gave the best physical first impression, to which I’d ever been fortunate enough to bear witness. But her eyes weren’t smiling in a way that said she was currently falling in love with me in this one perfect moment, and they didn’t say she thought I was making a good first impression.

  I finally—painfully—understood why when the v
agina currently wrapped around my fingers—not hers, as a reminder—contracted noticeably.

  Ah Jesus.

  I couldn’t claim to know everything about the female psyche, but I was absolutely certain halfway through a pelvic exam of a different woman wasn’t the most opportune time to win one over with small talk and half-assed compliments.

  Find out why she’s here, my mind instructed.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, doing my best to comply with the limited tools presented by my scattered thoughts.

  She looked to the patient, then my hand—still inside a different woman, by the way—and back to my face. “I’m, um, the new nurse.” She shook her head slightly before correcting, “Your new nurse.”

  Excited about the news that this wouldn’t just be a chance encounter, that I’d have the opportunity to actually get to know this woman, my actions once again outraced thinking it through.

  “Oh, wow,” I chirped—yes, fucking chirped. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  And then.

  Oh God. And then…I pulled my hand from its place—inside of another woman’s body—and held it out for her to shake.

  She was horrified.

  Both shes were, actually.

  “Um, hello?” the now agitated patient called from the table. I wasn’t sure if she was more upset that I was doing something abhorrently disgusting or that my attention was no longer focused on her, but either way, I couldn’t say I blamed her.

  My new nurse made big eyes before trying to play it off with a pat on my shoulder. Three pats, in fact, each more awkward than the previous. What she didn’t do, however, was shake my contaminated hand.

  For fuck’s sake, Will. Pull it together.

  Grabbing the glove at the collar, I ripped it off my hand so that it flipped inside out, and I tossed it in the garbage quickly. Moving to the sink and turning on the tap to wash my hands, I spoke rapidly, taking advantage of the fact that I didn’t have to look either one of them in the eye.

  “So everything seems good, Alyssa. It’ll take a couple of days to get the results back on the pap smear, but we’ll get in touch with you if anything comes back abnormal.”

  “Nurse, uh…?”