Jacked

by Tina Reber

  Sarah released me; the added weight of her pregnant belly giving her some discomfort as she straightened. “We just had a ped trauma. Horrible, horrible abuse case. Poor baby. Made me sick to think of it.”

  “Abuse?” Sherry questioned. “Is that what was going on? I had heard something but I wasn’t sure. I can’t believe they cut back on overnight pediatric trauma coverage. As if we don’t have enough to do.”

  “He was my patient,” I muttered, wishing we would never see cases like that ever again. “Makes you lose faith in humanity.” I studied Sarah’s jutting stomach. “Just confirms why I never want kids.”

  A collective “What?” rose from the table.

  Sherry stared at me in utter disbelief. “You don’t want kids?”

  Sarah appeared wounded. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing this?”

  I was beginning to worry I’d sprouted a second head or something. “After seeing the condition that little boy was in, it just proves that… never mind.” I held my tongue, knowing I was sitting at a table with three fierce mothers, all of who were ready to pounce.

  I held up a hand. “Before you all start on me, it’s a personal choice. Some women want them. I don’t. I just don’t think motherhood is for me, that’s all.” I scanned their faces, knowing they would fight me tooth and nail on my declaration but none of them, none of them knew the horrors I’d seen or the blackest depths a woman’s soul could reach when under such pressure. No, my decisions were final and that was that.

  Within a nanosecond, all three of them started to argue their points. “Listen, it’s my choice. I don’t want children.”

  “Does Adam know this?” Jen asked.

  I shook my head, wanting to find a safe place to hide. Memories of being alone, of being terrified while trying to give a baby CPR, seized me. “It’s not something we’ve discussed yet. We’ve only known each other a month or so. It’s too soon for that.”

  “No it isn’t,” Sarah interjected. “You should know where he stands on wanting a family. You have to know if his wants and yours align now before you…”

  “Was it even mine?” Adam’s words from his confrontation with his ex ghosted through, smothering out their verbal debate. “I’m glad you went to that butcher,” he had said.

  His voice had been pained, filled with hurt when he’d said it.

  My heart sank; the pending loss of losing Adam overwhelmed me like a thousand knives to the heart, draining the last fragments of my soul through its gaping wound.

  He’d want children.

  Of course he would.

  A son to run around the house in a cowboy hat and play gun, trying to be just like his daddy. Or a daughter—a little girl with ringlets in her hair that would light his face in a magical way no woman ever could.

  “…feeling that life inside you… baby kicking…”

  Skipping pictures, like fragments of a torn movie, showed me in dizzying fast forward exactly how his life should be.

  The woman he smiled for, the woman he embraced in his arms and kissed at the end of the day wasn’t me.

  The smiling children running through the grass to tackle hug their father weren’t mine. They wouldn’t be. Couldn’t be.

  The babbling gush of happy laughter erupting around them were sounds I’d never hear. They were meant for someone else to cherish.

  Someone else to covet.

  He would leave me.

  Of course he would.

  It may not be today or tomorrow even, but eventually he would.

  It would be ugly and brutal and lethal to my heart.

  The chest pains were agonizing.

  I’d committed myself, my future, to be barren. I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t be enough for him. How could I ever be enough? Why would any man want that?

  “…didn’t mean to upset you. Erin? Honey? It’s okay. It’s your choice.”

  The streak of black hair came into clearer focus.

  Jen.

  My pager chimed, vibrating my pocket for good measure. I remembered to breathe.

  I smeared away the traitorous tear and focused on the pager. “I have to go.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Jen again.

  I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s been…,” I took a deep, steadying breath, “it’s been an emotional day. I’ll see you later?”

  I crammed my uneaten sandwich and the rest of my lunch back into my bag, tossing it in the trash.

  White walls. Tiled floors. Smells of pungent fluids. I was losing my mind.

  I wiped my face again, swapping heartache for self-assuredness.

  I didn’t need the staff asking me questions or doubting my leadership.

  Doctors were made of tougher stuff than that. It didn’t take long before I’d be put to the test again.

  I PULLED THE curtain behind me, cutting off the prying eyes of other patients. “Start chest compressions.”

  The patient we had in room nine, a twenty-seven-year-old female who’d been in and out of consciousness with a BP and pulse that had been steadily skyrocketing, had just coded.

  Sherry had her knee on the bed, pressing with all her might. This was the moment it all came to a head; my own pulse racing with every passing minute.

  We didn’t have time to wait for the results from the lab; this girl was slipping through our fingers rapidly and precious seconds counted. I called out all the necessary protocols I knew of to treat her. I was grateful I took the time to question her two friends who were out in the waiting room. They confirmed my initial diagnosis. Still, nothing made you feel as vulnerable as when you were playing God.

  Watching her body jolt when we shocked her, giving her the last bits of hope we could offer before surrendering to the hands of fate, made me hold my own breath.

  “Check for pulse,” I instructed, remembering that I was also responsible to pass the torch of knowledge along to the two residents assisting me. Good, bad, or otherwise, it was not only my job to cheat Death, but to teach others how to do it, too.

  Relief washed over me hearing we established a rhythm, becoming almost euphoric in its wake. There was no other high quite like this; it’s the kind you want to celebrate with cake and fireworks and a huge-ass banner that announces loudly, “Fuck you, Death.”

  Sherry gave me a fist pump, followed by a quick celebratory hip-check. “This was a caffeine OD?”

  I nodded. “No more Jager-bombs for her. The future bride out in the waiting room almost had to find another bridesmaid.”

  Twenty minutes later, I was reviewing party-girl’s latest ECG when one of our nurses announced we had multiple patients en route. “Three males with multiple gunshot wounds. ETA is ten minutes.”

  So much for enjoying a victory.

  “Doctor Novak?”

  I spun, seeing one of our pediatric on-calls hailing me. I wondered if he was looking for my boss Sam since the two of them were best buddies. I’d never played golf, so I couldn’t understand their passion. “You need me, Doctor Weinstein?”

  He gave me a quick chin nod. “Hang on. I want to talk to you.”

  I braced, ignoring the wrinkle that creased his receding hairline, preparing to be chewed out for something. It was status quo around here; there was always someone your senior lurking behind a curtain to correct you. My mind quickly sifted through my caseload while I waited for his verbal berating on how he isn’t happy.

  His partial smile was disarming.

  “I just wanted to say you did a good job with the ped patient, Micah Brown. Doctor Tomic said your keen eye saved us precious time getting the patient into the O.R.”

  His verbal pat on the back felt amazing. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You ever consider taking a shot at pediatric trauma full-time? You’re really great with kids.”

  Me? Kids? Hell no. Had the boy been located another ten miles in the opposite direction, he would have been treated by a dedicated ped trauma team at Children’s. “I’m actually going for my tox fellow.�
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  “Tox?” he echoed, surprised. “I heard that. Why? No, wait. Not for me to judge. Explains how you knew about the drug interactions.” He checked his pager. “Probably saved his life.”

  “We did. He coded on arrival.”

  His smile was thoughtful. “Then you saved his life twice. Would be a shame to lose someone of your caliber to another department. But if the lab is where you would be happier, then I wish you luck. Some doctors just aren’t cut out for emergency med.”

  His underhanded comment stung. “I love working here. I’ve made the cut for five years now.”

  Doctor Weinstein shrugged. “Then why leave? This is where you make a difference, not down in the basement in a lab.” His name echoed over the central paging system. “I hope you reconsider, Doctor.”

  He left me holding my future with a pat on the shoulder and a wry grin.

  My pager was going crazy. I rushed down the hallway to ready for my next patient.

  We all stood in teams, getting briefed, planning our responses to the preliminary assessments given by the ambulance crews. One patient was already non-responsive; the paramedics were conducting CPR en route, although we were probably looking at a DOA.

  As soon as my patient arrived, male, nineteen years old, we sprung into action, all of us knowing what role we played in this young man’s survival. The EMTs briefed us as we transferred him.

  I brushed his shoulder, trying to calm him down so we could do our jobs. “Jamal, can you hear me? My name is Doctor Novak and you’re at University Hospital. I need you to hold still, all right? We’re going to take good care of you.”

  My surgical resident, Nate Cooperman, helped roll Jamal to his side. “No exit wound,” Nate announced.

  I slid my hand up Jamal’s back. “It’s in the midline. I can feel it. Can we get a chest tube?”

  I was doing my job as the team leader, keeping everyone calm and on task when our patient grabbed my shirt, pulling with more strength than I thought he would have considering his present state with two bullet holes in his body.

  He started to speak; his words garbled and incoherent at first. Fighting with a hulking teenager was not on my agenda. Hands and arms mixed in, trying to free me. Jamal pulled me right to his face, his eyes wild with primal fight or flight survival instinct.

  “Cah, cuh, Carter…,” he stuttered in between moans of pain, begging me with his eyes to listen.

  “Carter?” I said and Jamal nodded.

  “Muh…” He shook his head, wincing in pain. “Man… Mancuso…,”

  “Carter Mancuso,” I repeated, fighting the arms and hands that were trying to break me free. “Let me go,” I ordered over my shoulder.

  Jamal’s nods were short and quick jerks. His other arm waved weakly in the air. That’s when I noticed he had his hand shaped like a gun.

  My eyes flew back to Jamal. “Carter Mancuso shot you?”

  Jamal nodded and then visibly relaxed, relieved.

  “Jamal, we’re going to put a tube in your chest because your lung is collapsed, okay? I know it hurts but you have to try and stay still for me. You’re going to feel a little pinch and burn, but that’s the numbing medicine going in.”

  Within nine minutes, we had him stabilized, prepped, and ready for surgery.

  IT DIDN’T SINK in at first, the name my patient had conveyed to me. We’d been so busy that non-essential details like names didn’t register. Vitals, CT scans, central lines, and knowing which came first dominated. It wasn’t until I briefed the detective assigned to the case that it dawned on me why that name sounded so familiar. I called Adam right afterward.

  “Erin, got a minute?”

  No, I didn’t, but there was Randy Mason, ex-asshole boyfriend, standing three feet away, shoulders hunched with the expectant look of a ten-year-old boy who wants something.

  Shit.

  It had been almost two weeks since his girlfriend Mandy messed with my head, telling me I’d lost my opportunity for the fellowship, and in that time I strategically ignored and avoided him. There was nothing Randy could say that would make a difference, and it was easier to hate him than feel defeated.

  I stopped in front of him, not even bothering to ask what he wanted. He had six seconds, and that was being generous.

  “Look, I know you’re pissed at me.” He scratched his head and glanced around. A med student brushed my back as he rushed past. Two nurses hurried in the opposite direction. “Can we go somewhere private to talk?”

  I held my ground. “Say what you need to say.”

  Randy scowled at me and snagged my elbow, towing me along reluctantly. We stopped outside of a utility closet tucked beside a large steel rack of starched, white linens. I pulled my arm out of his grasp. “What?”

  “Listen for a second, all right? Jees. I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t like being this close to him, nor did I like being cornered. I opted for appeasement to speed this along. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. Mandy had no right to say that stuff to you. We, uh, actually got into a huge fight about it and, well,” he tugged his hair, “we split up.”

  I wanted to feel happy about that but the truth was that I didn’t feel anything at all. It was rather liberating, and quite surprising. I actually didn’t care one bit. Huh! Randy actually looked quite pathetic. “Sorry to hear that.”

  He leaned one hand up on the wall, creating a barrier with his body. My hand brushed over the cold metal rack pressing into my shoulder. I was trapped.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and, well, I miss you.”

  “Oh, God.” I needed to run—fast. Or throw up. Or throw up and then run.

  He leaned closer; so close that I could smell that familiar cologne he wore. That scent once made me stupid. Now it just made me sick. I folded my arms across my chest, creating a barrier between us, thankful for the pungent smell of bleached linens behind me. Did he actually think I’d jump back in his arms and be grateful for leftover scraps? “You’re kidding, right? You’ve got some nerve—”

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  My head snapped up at the deep rumble, seeing a wall of black uniform and Adam glaring like he wanted to tear Randy’s head off. A tinge of panic flooded my nerves, hoping Adam wouldn’t think he caught me doing something wrong. The second Randy eased up from the wall I made my break for it, shouldering him out of my way.

  Adam pulled me into his side, tucked me under his left arm, and faced off with Randy.

  That was the moment it all hit me.

  Randy meant nothing to me. The feelings of loss that once consumed me were gone. It was as if they never affected me to begin with. There was no gaping hole in my heart. There was no harbored resentment or even a hint of longing. He was nothing more than a stepping stone, a piece of history to be filed and forgotten.

  And I was falling in love with Adam.

  Adam’s body was rigid and tensed, like a panther poised to strike.

  He switched between gazing down at me with concern and glaring warnings at Randy. “You okay?”

  Correct that. Not falling. I’d already fallen into that scary phase of relationship newness, where being unsure, petrified, and humming with renewed excitement wrapped itself around blind hope.

  I nodded, putting an inch of breathing space between us, though Adam didn’t let me separate that far. I was at work after all. I needed to keep public displays of affection to a respectable limit, though my body was craving every ounce of his attention.

  Adam didn’t give a shit. He leaned down, cupped my face, and kissed me anyway. Even though he had never met Randy before, he made sure whoever he was got the message. I felt woozy.

  “He’s still standing there. You going to introduce me?” Adam muttered privately.

  I wished Randy would just disappear into thin air but much to my chagrin, he was still behind me, appearing quite nonplussed, I might add.

  Whatever.

  I waved a hand between them, tryi
ng not to make the side-by-side comparison, although my loyalties and attraction to Adam were unquestionable. “Adam, this is Doctor Randy Mason. Randy, Detective Adam Trent.”

  Adam reached to shake Randy’s hand. His smile turned very predatory. “I ever see you caging my woman in like that again, I won’t be this nice. We clear?”

  “Your woman?” Randy’s forced smile fell into a deep scowl. He yanked his hand back and shook out his fingers. “Relax. We were just talking.”

  Adam was much more astute than that. “Then please, continue.”

  Randy cut his eyes to me. “I think we were done. For now.”

  Adam’s fingers flexed on my shoulder and then he let go and captured my hand in his. “That’s what I thought. Word of advice? You need to talk to her you can do your talking out there where it doesn’t look like you’re trying to make a move on her. Erin may be forgiving, but I’m not.”

  Randy took a step back, stammering. “Yeah, okay. We’ll talk later, Erin.”

  Numerous replies to that swirled around my tongue, none of them being anything that could be delivered without screaming. My teeth locked together. “I don’t think that’s necessary. There’s nothing left to be said.” I didn’t wait for him to utter another word. I led Adam in the opposite direction.

  “Was that the ex?”

  “Yes.”

  Adam tugged my hand. “Do I need to be worried?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Good. Where we headed?”

  “Away from him.”

  Adam’s deep rumble was sexy. “So you’re positive the vic said ‘Carter Mancuso’?”

  “Shh.” I hoped none of the people rushing around us would overhear. The conference room at the end of the hall was vacant. I flicked the light on. “Yes, I’m positive.”

  “Where’s the vic now?”

  “Patient.”

  Adam rolled his eyes.

  I pulled him deeper into the conference room. “Look, I don’t want to get into trouble with this. I’ve already told the other detective what my patient said to me. But I didn’t tell him about your case or that I recognized the name.”