by Imani King
“Easy for you to say,” I replied, “You’re not the one who has to present this case in front of the who’s-who of this hospital.”
I straightened my dark pink shirt and buttoned my blazer. I’d opted for a black skirt suit instead of dress pants and, with my curly hair pulled up in a tight bun, I hoped my overall ensemble implied competence and respectability.
“I’ve done it before,” Lori reminded me.
I nodded, taking a deep breath. I knew I shouldn’t take my anxiety out on Lori. She’d been nothing but helpful to me during the entire process and had even procured a babysitter to be here, supporting me on her day off. I knew that as a working mother, Lori relished what little time she had with her daughter — and yet she had sacrificed that time for me today.
“You’re right,” I said, turning from the mirror to face her. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Not a problem,” she reassured me. “Now go kick some ass!”
We found seats in the back of the conference room and I flipped through the file one more time as I waited for my turn to present. I didn’t really need to review my notes; I was very well versed in the fine details of the case by now. I had interviewed every doctor, nurse, and technician that had been in the room during the procedure. I knew everything that had happened as well as how each person had responded and why. I had this. I was going to be fine.
“Dr. Carter,” someone finally called. Lori, who was sitting next to me, nudged my arm.
“Michelle,” she whispered. “That’s you.”
I blanched. I don’t know why, but I somehow managed to space out. Filling a little silly, I nodded and stood, straightening my outfit as I headed to the podium. The room was filled with doctors, administration, and the board of trustees. All I had to do was present the details of the case; they would discuss whether there had been any errors, as well as ways in which the system could be improved in the future. And then it’ll be all over.
“Begin whenever you’re ready,” encouraged an older gentleman with grey hair.
“Sixty-three year old male,” I began, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. “Suffered a myocardial infarction on July twenty-seventh. After his initial testing, the decision was reached that the best course of action would be a coronary artery bypass. Patient was scheduled for surgery two days later. During the operation, the patient fell into cardiac arrest. The surgical and anesthesia team, led by Dr. Elliott Taylor, did their best and followed all protocols, but the patient could not be resuscitated.”
“Thank you, Dr. Carter,” the man leading the proceedings replied once I’d finished. “Does anyone have any questions for Dr. Carter?”
A few people asked about how members of the anesthesia team had performed, and there was a request for further clarification on the time of the surgery and the time of death. But, for the most part, the group discussed the case amongst themselves, examining ways in which the response time could have been shortened and what the best protocol when a patient codes on the operating table was. Eventually, the discussion quieted down as the group came to a consensus about how to handle such an event in the future.
“If there are no further questions,” said the moderator, “I will excuse Dr. Carter.”
I turned to go but was stopped almost immediately.
“Actually,” came a deep voice from the back corner of the conference room, “I have a few questions.” There was a very slight hint of an accent in that voice that I couldn’t yet quite pinpoint.
I tried to find the source. A man I hadn’t noticed before was leaning forward in his chair, looking straight at me. He was decidedly younger than most of his colleagues — probably in his early thirties at the oldest. His dark hair looked somewhat wavy and unruly, hinting at irreverence, yet his square jaw was stern and intimidating on his pale face. His hard grey eyes were examining me critically and I couldn’t help but feel nervous all over again. Just when I thought I was done with this case.
His thin lips were turned down in a slight frown, giving him an overly severe appearance. Still, the expression did nothing to stop me from thinking that in other circumstances — and with another expression on his face — I might have found him extremely attractive. Right now, however, his critical gaze was only making me extremely uncomfortable.
“What role did you play in this Dr. …” he flipped through the file in front of him until he came across what I was assuming was the list of today’s presenters, “Carter?”
“I was holding the retractors for the first part of the surgery. After the patient coded, I moved aside to allow Dr. Halpert to assist in the resuscitation.”
“And you’re an intern, correct? This is your first year?” He was still glaring at me, as if I had been personally responsible for what had gone wrong. The way he said the word “intern” (een-tern) would’ve made me giggle under any other circumstances, but right now, he was just making me anxious.
“Yes, sir,” I stammered.
“So you’ve only been here a month? At the time of the surgery?”
I swallowed. It really did sound like he was trying to place some of the blame of the surgery on my being in the room.
“Yes, sir,” I faltered, trying not to reveal how nervous I was.
I have nothing to be nervous about, I reminded myself. Nothing to hide.
“And how many surgeries had you participated in before this case.”
“None,” I admitted.
“None?” He bore into me with his steely grey eyes, making me shift uncomfortably in my spot. “How is that possible, if you’d been an intern for about a month. What had you been doing prior to this?”
Do not smile at the way he says “intern.” Do not smile.
“I’m actually an Emergency Room intern,” I confessed, cringing at the way it sounded like an admission of guilt.
“An Emergency Room intern?” The man didn’t look truly surprised by this information. I had a sneaky suspicion that he’d already known this and had been leading the discussion here all along.
“Yes. There had been an outbreak of the flu throughout the surgical department, and they were short staffed. I volunteered to fill in.”
“So,” the man said, leaning back in his chair and speaking to the entire room. “An intern, with approximately a month’s worth of experience in the Emergency Room, was part of this patient’s surgical team? And no one else seems to think that is a blatant error in patient care?”
The man was glaring around the room now, and I didn’t feel compelled to smile at his tiny accent anymore. Other doctors were looking down or away. I couldn’t help but wonder why this man, decidedly younger than everyone else, seemed to intimidate everyone around him.
“The case file is clear as to the cause of death,” said one woman. “Dr. Carter’s actions in no way contributed to the death.”
“Perhaps,” the stern-looking man replied. “But having someone more experienced in the room could have shortened the response time and aided in the stemming of the cardiac arrest and the resuscitation of this patient.”
It felt as if the bottom fell out of my stomach. This jerk was actually suggesting the death was my fault—at least in a roundabout way. I looked around the room to see the nodding of heads.
“You’re right,” acknowledged the moderator. “Perhaps the way in which interns are shared among departments and utilized in surgery should be discussed. But you’re free to go, Dr. Carter. Thank you for your presentation.”
There was a murmur of thanks throughout the room, but I was barely able to acknowledge them. What little confidence I’d regained since the incident in the operating room was long gone. Utterly humiliated, I reached for my purse next to Lori before heading out the door. There was no way I could stay for the rest of the conference.
CHAPTER 4
“Do you have a shift today?” Lori asked, jogging to catch up with me at the elevator.
“No,” I replied, staring ahead. It was all I could do to keep from coll
apsing in a pile of tears. “I actually came in on one of my rare days off for this.”
“Then this calls for a drink. Let’s head over to the bar next door.”
“Don’t you have to get back to your daughter?” I asked, trying not to get my hopes up but really not wanting to be alone at the moment.
“Not right now,” Lori said with a smile. “She’s with her father for another couple of hours, so I have time for a few drinks.”
“Okay,” I replied, relief flooding my body. I really did need some alcohol.
The restaurant across the street wasn’t fancy, but it was a regular hangout for off-duty hospital staff. The last thing I wanted was to see anyone I knew, so I put my head down as I made my way towards the bar. We had barely claimed a few stools before Lori was ordering cocktails.
“And keep them coming,” she said, waving her hand in my direction. “This one has had a rough afternoon.”
I nodded as I took off my blazer and headed into the restroom. In front of the mirror, I pulled my hair out of the tight bun, shaking it down and running my fingers along the roots, until it sprung back in wiry curls. I looked sort of like Diana Ross, and it made me smile. Always loved that woman. I then unbuttoned a few of the top buttons on my blouse, so that I no longer looked like I was about to present at a conference.
I pinched my cheeks until some color had returned to my sullen face and reapplied gloss to my full pouty lips. When my eyes no longer looked like they were fighting to hold back tears, I headed back to the bar. Thankfully, there was a pomegranate martini sitting on the counter, ready for me, and I took a minute to simply enjoy the drink.
“How’re you doing?” she prompted after a few moments of silence.
“Better now,” I said, as I finished my first cocktail in record time.
“You know,” Lori began after I was handed my second martini. “That presentation wasn’t bad.”
“Wasn’t bad?” I scoffed. “I was practically blamed for the death myself.”
“You were not,” Lori replied. “They just agreed that the use of sharing interns between departments needs to be discussed more. That isn’t a regular practice at most larger hospitals, you know? It’s only because Miami General is so super busy that it happens at all. But it’s one of the reasons that internships at Miami General are so competitive—people want the experience of working between departments.”
I knew that, of course, although it wasn’t the primary reason for my choosing this residency program over all the others I could have settled on when I graduated from med school. The large hospital on the coast of Florida was well known across the country fro its breadth of experience and cutting edge research. It was privately owned and boasted the best medical equipment and the latest in technology. The owners also made it a point to only hire the top notch medical staff, which made it a world class facility. The residents that graduated from Miami General program had their pick of jobs a whole year before finishing their respective programs. The Emergency Department, in particular, boasted several attending doctors who were famous in my field. Plus, this was the busiest Level One trauma hospital in Miami, which meant all the toughest ER cases would end up in my department. It was an easy decision for me to make, going with Miami General for my residency over some well known university-based hospitals up north.
I had also chosen Miami General because it was far away from Chicago—from Scott. I didn’t say all this to Lori, however. I simply downed my second martini and motioned for another. For once, I was thankful that I didn’t have a car. I could drink as much as I wanted to tonight.
“And everyone knows that Lex Makarov is a total asshole,” Lori continued.
“Lex who?” I asked, barely paying attention as I watched the attractive bartender shake my drink. It had been a long time since I’d been with a man—not since Scott. Maybe I needed to get out more, go on a few dates. Not that I had time at the moment.
“Alexey Makarov,” Lori said, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Or Lex, as people refer to him. The guy who was practically interrogating you. He’s like that with everyone. He wasn’t blaming you or anything. I’ve seen him be that condescending to doctors twice your age and with double the experience. It might be a Russian thing—the guy isn’t afraid of anyone. ”
“That guy was a douche,” I agreed. “What’s his deal anyway? He doesn’t seem that much older than us. What does he do?”
“He’s not even a doctor,” Lori assured me. “He’s just some billionaire who owns half of the town… including the hospital. Well, technically, the board of directors owns the hospital. But he’s the major shareholder and the CEO.”
I choked on my drink and started coughing.
“He owns the hospital?” I asked. “I was just practically accused of malpractice by the CEO of the hospital. Great. He’s going to fire me, for sure.”
“Relax,” Lori told me, sipping her second martini as I began my fourth. “He is not directly involved in hiring or firing interns. We are recruited by the senior staff doctors. They are also the only ones who could let us go, if they so chose.”
“Yeah, but I bet he can pressure someone else into doing it,” I replied.
“Not going to happen. Just relax. No one was saying it was your fault. Even if they decided that having an inexperienced intern in the room prevented the patient from getting the swiftest care possible, that’s not on you. That’s on the doctor who approved your presence. Again, you did nothing wrong.”
I tried to believe what she was saying. But this really had been the worst month of my life and I was no longer sure what to believe. Not only was I in a brand new environment, without the support of friends and family that had always been there for me in the past, but I was also doubting my ability to be a good doctor for the first time, the one thing I had never doubted before.
“Not my fault,” I said out loud, trying to agree with Lori’s statement.
The image of steel grey eyes and the judgmental frown of Lex Makarov came to the forefront of my mind. God, that guy had been an asshole. He’d had no right to call me out like that, in front of everyone. M&M conferences were not about placing blame. They were about trying to figure out how to make things run smoother. It appeared as if he’d already known I was a brand new Emergency Room intern. He could have simply stated that he wanted to talk about the inter-departmental use of interns. He didn’t have to interrogate me in front of everyone.
“Lex Makarov,” I said in a mock voice. “God, that guy was a complete and total ass. And he’s not even a doctor. I’m sure he has no idea how a hospital even works.”
“Is that so?” came a deep, gravelly voice from behind me.
Startled, I spun on my stool and came face to face with the same harsh grey eyes I’d been thinking about for the last hour. I blinked to make sure I wasn’t dreaming as I was currently on my forth martini and things were starting to seem a little hazy. This entire day had been something out of a nightmare, but, unfortunately, I seemed to be awake at present. Lex Makarov really was standing right in front of me and had, apparently, heard every word I’d just said about him.
“And that’s my cue to leave,” said Lori, reaching into her purse for a twenty-dollar bill to leave on the bar. “Sorry, Michelle, I really need to go pick up Gabby from her father’s house.”
Lori flashed me an apologetic look over her shoulder before scampering out the door.
“Traitor,” I mumbled under my breath, though I didn’t actually blame her. I would flee as well, if I could. Unfortunately, my way out was blocked by the imposing form that was, at present, standing a little too close to me for comfort.
Lex didn’t respond to Lori’s departure. He was still staring at me with those intense grey eyes, obviously waiting for a response. I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. My brain was running slightly behind at the moment, and I was a little too inebriated to lie. And, in truth, I wasn’t sorry. Anything I might have to say to Makarov right now would
only incriminate me further, so I wisely kept my mouth shut.
“So you think that because I don’t have a medical degree, I don’t know what I’m talking about?” he prompted, when I didn’t reply. I tensed, expecting him to yell, or inform me that he was going to recommend that I be terminated immediately. Instead, to my surprise, he grinned.
The smile completely changed his entire countenance. His pale grey eyes softened and twinkled in the low light of the bar, and his jaw no longer seemed as stern and imposing. Instead, he seemed cocky… almost playful.
I sucked in a shaky breath. That look reminded me of Scott, who’d always seemed to sport an insolent grin on his face. That was one of the things I found most attractive about him, and I couldn’t help but feel the same way about the man in front of me now. Especially with that damn sexy accent.
If I was unsure of my unexpected attraction to Makarov earlier, there was absolutely no question of it now. A wave of lust washed over me at the sight of his cheeky bright eyes. I hated myself for it, yet I couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel to run my hands through his wavy hair, messing it up as I used it to pull him forward into a dirty kiss.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, realizing that I needed to leave immediately if I didn’t want to do something that I’d regret. “I really need to go as well.”
Without waiting for a check, I placed two twenties on the bar and pressed past Makarov. My breath hitched at the touch of his chest against my palm as I pushed him back. His pecs definitely felt more toned and muscular that I had been expecting. Hmm, get a hold of yourself, Michelle. This guy is an asshole.
“Goodbye, Dr. Carter,” he called after me. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you very soon.”
God, I hope not, I thought as I practically ran for the door.
CHAPTER 5
Either Lex Makarov was omniscient when he ran into me at the bar, or he had already been planning on summoning me to his office, because the next day I was notified that the pompous CEO of the hospital wanted to see me.
