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

by Max Monroe

“Yep. I’ll be fine.” Luckily, it wasn’t my first prolapsed cord experience.

  Carmen’s eyes met mine, and I could see the sheer terror of being a powerless mother in her gaze.

  “Carmen, you’re in good hands, okay? All you need to do is stay calm and keep taking those deep breaths like you have been. You’re doing great.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, and one lone tear started to drip from the corner of her eye.

  “Did you come to the hospital by yourself?” I asked as the bed made its way to the OR doors and OR staff members started to help us suit up before heading in. A mask was placed across my face and a scrub cap over my hair.

  She nodded as an OR nurse placed a surgical cap over her hair.

  “Is there anyone we can call to come to the hospital?”

  She shook her head, and a few more tears dripped down her cheeks. “My husband is at work and doesn’t have a cell phone.”

  “It’s okay, Carmen,” I reassured again as OR staff helped moved both Carmen and me onto the sterile and draped surgical table. “What’s your husband’s name?”

  “Miguel.”

  “And where does he work?”

  “A construcción company.”

  “Do you know which one?”

  “Phillips and Neiman.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and met the gaze of who I thought was the circulating nurse. “Can you do me a favor and call out to triage? Ask them to find the number to Phillips and Neiman construction company and see if they can get in touch with her husband.”

  “Sure thing,” she responded. “What’s her husband’s name?”

  “Miguel Dominguez.”

  “Did we get fetal heart tones?” Will asked as he moved toward the OR table.

  “Yes,” one nurse responded. “Tones were one hundred.”

  “Let’s get moving, then,” he announced and stood beside the patient. “Okay, Carmen,” Will said behind his surgical mask as he gripped her hand tightly. “We’re going to have you breathe in some medicine that will put you to sleep so we can perform the surgery quickly,” he instructed while the anesthesiologist placed the mask over her face. “Just take deep breaths. I promise everything is going to be okay.”

  As Carmen started to fade to sleep, Will prepared for surgery. His eyes met mine, and he nodded toward my hand that was still striving to keep the baby’s head off of the umbilical cord. “Can you hang in there for about thirty more seconds?”

  “Yep.” Honestly, looking into his confident, proud eyes, I felt like I could do anything.

  Once the patient was under anesthesia, Dr. Cummings got to work. He didn’t waste any time, making a clean cut and working at a quick yet smooth pace. I’d seen a lot of physicians perform C-sections, and I’d seen a lot of physicians perform C-sections under stressful situations, and it was apparent that Will was the Chief of Obstetrics for a reason.

  When it came to emergent situations, he stayed cool, calm, and collected. He never raised his voice at the staff, and that alone made a world of difference, keeping everyone else relaxed and focused as well.

  It took a lot to impress me when it came to the medical field, especially obstetrics.

  And I couldn’t deny that Will had impressed me.

  Moments later, healthy cries filled the room as Will held up a pint-sized baby girl. The waiting neonatal nurse took the baby from his hands, and I think everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief when the first minute Apgar was announced as nine.

  “You saved her life, you know,” Will said, and his eyes met mine. “You saved that little girl’s life.”

  I stared back at him.

  “You did good, Mel,” he added as he continued to finish the surgery. “You did really good.”

  There was a part of me that was happy, excited, and grateful that I was able to act quickly and do what needed to be done. And I definitely felt warm about Will’s recognition and trust in my ability.

  But there was another part of me that felt sad.

  Sad that Carmen had slipped through the cracks. Sad that she had gone nearly her entire pregnancy without any prenatal care. Sad that if she hadn’t come to the hospital when she did, she could have lost her baby.

  There was a big issue with the way the health care system worked.

  There shouldn’t be any woman out there, no matter her ethnicity or socioeconomic status, who didn’t have access to the health care she needed. Maybe if there had been a women’s free clinic within St. Luke’s, Carmen would have gotten the prenatal care she needed.

  It was something to think about.

  And it was definitely something a lot of women in the city would benefit from.

  And what better place than St. Luke’s?

  After all, it’d sure been doing a good job of giving me what I needed.

  I tried not to read the sparkling crystals as they winked up at me under the fluorescent lights. I mean, I was a goddamn professional. But professionalism only went so far.

  Especially when each crystal, placed precisely and with intent, played a part in spelling out the words “Date me, Dr. Obscene.”

  Dr. Obscene? Fucking seriously?

  “It’s what they call you,” the exposed woman offered without prompting. Obviously, my face wasn’t completely with the professional program.

  Shit. Maybe this is why I always lose at Thatch’s poker nights.

  I glanced up to Melody, hoping she’d save me, but she just shook her head. She had no idea what the fuck was going on either.

  At least I’m not alone.

  Wait… My eyes narrowed as Melody looked to the ground and smiled.

  Fuck. Maybe she did know what the hell was going on. She was just good at pretending like she didn’t. The more I scrutinized her expression, the more certain I was that she, unlike me, wasn’t surprised by the words adorning our current patient’s vagina.

  I tried to get her attention, but it didn’t work. She was a like a Jedi at avoidance, and I only had myself to blame—I’d given her all that practice right off the bat. She knew my weaknesses.

  She is your weakness, my mind whispered. Shut up, I told it.

  Not that it would have mattered if she’d looked up. What was I going to do? Mouth what the fuck is going on?

  No. As much merit as the idea held in theory, I didn’t think feigning invisibility—or at the very least, discretion—would work in practice. Mel had the right idea by ignoring everything.

  I tried my best to follow her lead.

  Grabbing Jamie Abrams’s chart from the counter, I pulled it in front of me and focused on the words as hard as I could. “So it says there that you came in today for a suspected urinary tract infection?”

  “Oh,” she mumbled. “I thought maybe I did, but all of the symptoms seem to have cleared up.”

  I looked over my shoulder at her urine sample on the counter and studied the test strip on top of the cup. All clear.

  “Well, you didn’t test like you have one either, so I think we can rule that out. But let’s talk about those symptoms a little more. Get to the bottom of what’s going on.”

  She was young, twenty-one according to her chart, and unverified symptoms of a urinary tract infection without an actual cause were concerning. So I wasn’t about to write this off as nothing, even though something smelled like fish.

  And no, it wasn’t bacterial vaginosis. She was just as fresh and clear as the crystals glued to her.

  “They really weren’t that bad.”

  I looked back down at her folder.

  “Your chart says it was urgent.”

  Her cheeks flushed bright red, but I had to hand it to her, she looked me directly in the eye and swallowed any and all shame. I didn’t think I would have had the balls at her age. And maybe, therein that very anatomy, lay the problem.

  “Okay, so I lied. I’m sorry, Dr. Cummings. I just wanted to meet you. I’ve been watching the show—”

  She must have noticed the corners of my mouth turn down bec
ause she switched tactics pretty quickly.

  “And I’ve heard you are an incredible doctor, but your waiting list for new patients goes out a while.”

  One of the crystals caught the light and subsequently my eye. Shit. Reaching forward, I pulled the paper blanket back down to cover all of her skin completely, being careful not to touch her or even come close in the process.

  “All right, Jamie. I appreciate your honesty here, so here’s how we’ll handle it. When you leave, go ahead and schedule your annual appointment for next year. I see that you’ve just had this year’s in your records.”

  She nodded sheepishly.

  “But I appreciate your enthusiasm about our practice.”

  I smiled and moved toward the door and a rather wide-eyed-with-amusement Melody when Jamie called me back.

  “Dr. Cummings?”

  “Yes?”

  “What about the date?”

  So close.

  I didn’t really understand why the guy on my show—unfortunately, me—was so appealing, but I was conscious enough to be sensitive to her feelings. I dropped my voice, trying to soften the rejection around the edges.

  “Sorry, Jamie. I have a strict rule against dating patients, and it seems you just signed on for the long run, right?”

  Her mouth opened and closed, gulping air like a fish out of water for a few seconds before a hint of a grin pulled her lips closed.

  The expert player has been played.

  She nodded. “See you in a year, Dr. Cummings.”

  “Looking forward to it, Jamie.”

  “Take your time getting dressed,” Melody told her as I headed for the door. “I’ll meet you at the front desk with your paperwork so you can schedule your appointment for next year.”

  Several minutes later, Melody found me studying the next patient’s chart in my office and called my attention with a soft knock.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” I offered, curling my fingers toward my body.

  She stepped inside and shut the door, locked the knob and took a seat in the chair in front of my desk. My eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

  “What’s up?”

  She tapped her ear like it was a secret code and pointed everywhere around herself in a circle.

  Ah. Prying ears everywhere.

  Hope mushroomed in my stomach as I conjured up all of the reasons she could want to keep this conversation private.

  Maybe she felt it too? Whatever this thing between us was.

  “So…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Looks like you’re a pretty hot commodity.”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes.

  “You’re great, so I get it.”

  She thinks you’re great. Ask her out. Just do it.

  I opened my mouth, but no words formed before she filled the space with some of her own.

  “Her vagina actually sparkled.”

  Oh. So we’re going to talk about the patient.

  “I honestly didn’t think you could make the female anatomy that attractive.”

  “Hey, the female anatomy doesn’t need that much help to be beautiful. Kind of like makeup. Less is sometimes more.”

  She laughed, carefree and easy, and I immediately craved more of it. Had to have it. Wondered how many organs I’d have to sell on the black market to get enough money to pay someone to break in to her apartment and make a video of her doing it on a loop.

  Okay, that’s creepy. Where the hell did that come from?

  “We men like to feel powerful and caveman-like. It might not be right, but the power feeds us. That kind of instruction, insinuation, really, that I should become more acquainted with her takes away all the power.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “Is this like asking for directions? Her vajazzle is like a map, and as a man, you’re just not down with that?”

  “Yes,” I laughed. “It’s exactly like that. Tremendous analogy.”

  “Shut up.”

  I winked, stupidly, and caught off guard, she turned her gaze away in a hurry. She gathered herself quickly and spoke again, though. “You’re going to have to work hard to salvage your reputation after this. Every day I’m here, your problems from the show seem to be a little more substantial. I don’t think I’d ever go to the trouble of faking a UTI to meet a man.”

  A big metaphorical arrow started flashing above her head with the words this is your opening written in neon above it. I couldn’t put my finger on the particulars of my attraction, what it was that seemed to draw me to her so strongly, but understanding or not, it was there all the same—in a way that I knew wouldn’t dissipate without any evidence to support the reasons it should. She fucking works for you, and things could get hella awkward apparently wasn’t good enough.

  “The problems are real, but maybe salvaging my reputation won’t be so bad.”

  She laughed mockingly. “Yeah, you’re right. It’ll probably be a piece of cake.”

  High on her renewed laughter, I went for it. “Maybe dating you would do the trick.”

  All sounds of laughter cut off as though I’d physically choked her. I might have even heard a set of imaginary tires squeal as they forced themselves to a stop on the pavement. “What?”

  Still, it wouldn’t do me all that much good to back out now, so I persevered. “Dating you. Maybe that would solve some of my problems. You’re well-liked. I’d be off the market for all of the crazy women. And I won’t even ask you to make an appointment or vajazzle yourself.”

  Her face settled into a mixture of pity and understanding. Her big eyes turned down at the corners, and half a dimple formed a hollow in her cheek. There was a smile there, but it was veiled in the sadness of a frown. The expression wasn’t my favorite, but she still looked beautiful.

  “This is a bad idea, Will. You can’t date me to rebuild your image.”

  I could give two flying fucks about my image. Just say yes.

  “Can I date you because I want to?”

  “Will.”

  “Come on,” I pleaded. “One date. What’s that going to hurt? Seriously, I can be really endearing. I know I haven’t done such a great job of showing that to you, but I swear I can.”

  And now you’re begging. Oh, Will, how far you’ve fallen.

  All traces of happiness fled her face, leaving only the pity to comfort the coming blow. “I’m sorry. It’s not just you. It’s me too. There’s so much unsettled. So much I don’t know about what I want and who I am. I just…”

  I shrugged. Disappointment took the form of a full-body throb, but I ignored it. She was obviously right. It wasn’t a good idea at all. I’d have to get out tonight. Find someone to fuck, balance out the obviously fucked-up hormones inside me, and move on.

  “You’re probably right. It might salvage my reputation, but think of the horrible things it’d do to yours.” A ghost of a grin lifted the corners of her lips. “Saaaave yourseeelf,” I cried, and her smile deepened just enough to be real.

  Silence stretched between us for what felt like years but was likely no more than a few seconds before she stood up.

  Hooking a thumb over her shoulder, she pointed to the exit. “Well, I should probably…”

  “Right. Yeah, okay. Next patient. I’ll see you out there.”

  “Okay,” she agreed before stepping through the door and shutting it gently behind her.

  Which was probably good. I needed a minute to get over myself and get back to business.

  I stood up and pulled my coat back on when an old tongue depressor caught my eye on top of my filing cabinet.

  I wasn’t sure if the talk about not knowing things about herself was just talk, a way to take some of the focus off of me and soften the blow, or if she really felt that way, but our conversation in the supply closet of the hospital blared throughout my mind in response.

  Tongue depressor affirmations.

  I grabbed a Sharpie from my drawer, and without even thin
king, the words flowed out of me and onto the thin piece of wood.

  Open wide! Everything you’re looking for is inside yourself.

  I startled when she knocked on the door, and I slammed a hand down on top of it to cover it.

  “Yeah?”

  It sounded like there was a frog in my throat. Her eyebrows pinched together, but she didn’t say anything. She probably just thought I was having a mental breakdown.

  “Your next patient is in exam room eight.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll be right there.”

  She studied me briefly before nodding and making a retreat down the hall.

  I watched her go until I was sure the coast was clear and then lifted my hand. The ink had bled a little into the wood, but all in all, the affirmation was still legible. I read it a couple of times.

  God, that’s corny.

  Opening the middle drawer of my desk, I picked up the tongue depressor and tossed it in.

  Maybe I’d give it to her someday, but I’d already put myself out there enough for one day. Humiliation really is the sort of thing to which you have to acclimate—one painful encounter at a time.

  Friday was my second favorite F word. And since my other favorite F word wasn’t appropriate to use in a work environment, I settled for repeating the one word that I could. Both of them brought me joy.

  “Friday. Friday,” I singsonged as I finished cleaning up exam room five. “Thank God it’s Friday.” I continued the tune as I skipped toward the nursing office to make sure there weren’t any outstanding voice mails from patients waiting to be called.

  “If you say Friday one more time, I will strangle you with this blood pressure cuff,” Marlene huffed in her designated chair in front of her designated computer. I scrunched my face behind her back.

  No, we didn’t all have our own chairs and desks and computers—just Marlene. She’d claimed hers, thirty-five years ago, according to her, and it was a certainty that unless you wanted to see the giant white light guiding you toward the pearly gates, you stayed the fuck away. The torn-up piece of masking tape haphazardly placed across each item even said that in black Sharpie. This is Marlene’s. Stay the fuck away.

  “Oh, c’mon, Mar,” I said with a grin. “Everyone loves Fridays. It’s like a universal religion. It melts people from all over the world into one big pot.”