by Isabel Love
As an ER doctor, I always thought I would be the best person to take care of a loved one in an emergency. I mean, I take care of random strangers all the time. It’s my job. If I can take care of people who mean nothing to me, of course, I would be able to take care of people who mean everything to me.
But it doesn’t work that way. It turns out, when Max is in critical condition as a result of being hit by an SUV, I am a useless pile of shit.
After hanging up with Tony, I knew driving was beyond my ability. So, I called Quinn, and she came to my rescue once again. She picked me up, took the towel off my head (I forgot it was even there), brushed my hair, grabbed me some clothes (I was still in my robe), and walked me to her car. I don’t remember the ride here.
When we arrive, the mood is somber. Scared eyes greet me at the front desk. Quinn holds my hand as we walk through the patient assessment rooms and down the hall to the emergency operating room. The hall is crowded with people. Kevin, Julie, and Tony stand in front of the window that looks into the room. Paramedics linger in the hall, even though their job is done. Max is well liked in the ER, and everyone seems to be holding their breath, unable to look away from the room where he lies unconscious.
My feet are stuck to the floor. I can’t move them, so afraid of seeing Max lying in a bed, lifeless.
Tony catches sight of me and Quinn and comes over to us. I know the look on his face; I’ve seen that look when he delivers bad news to a patient’s family members.
He stands in front of me, hesitating.
“Tell me,” I croak.
“Internal bleeding, broken ribs, punctured lung, brain swelling.” As he lists the injuries, each one hits me like a physical blow, and I almost stagger back. Any of these injuries would be grave on their own, but together? It’s devastating. Tears fall down my face. Maybe they’ve been falling down my face the whole time, I’m not sure.
Tony hugs me. His tall body leans down and he smashes me against his big belly. “Monica, we have a great surgical team, you know that. Max is young and strong; he will pull through this.” I sob uncontrollably into his chest, ugly disgusting noises erupting from my throat. He pats me gruffly. Then I feel another hand on my shoulder, and another hand on my back. I turn to see my staff surround me, tears in their eyes.
“You guys,” I huff, my voice squeaky with my tears. “Who is taking care of him?”
“Surgery started about 10 minutes ago,” Tony informs me.
“Who’s doing the surgery?”
“Dylan Thomas and Harper Williams.” They’re excellent surgeons. I nod, wiping the snot off my face.
“Where is Max’s mom?” Quinn asks. My eyes widen at the realization that Max’s mom is here. I forgot all about her.
“She’s in the private waiting room. Want me to take you to her?”
“Yes.”
Max’s mom is a tall, slender woman with chin-length black hair and piercing blue eyes. Her face is blotchy from crying and she’s shredding apart the tissue in her hands when we walk in. I’m surprised to see she isn’t alone. Charlie, Logan, and Tate are also in the small waiting room. I look at Quinn.
“I texted Charlie after you called me,” Quinn answers before I can ask the question. I forgot she knows Charlie; that night in the bar seems like it happened in a different lifetime.
They all stand up when we enter the room and look at me expectantly as if I’m the doctor, there to give them an update, but I’m not here as a doctor. I’m here to wait with them.
Tate approaches me first, hugging me tightly. Then Logan and Charlie take turns.
“This is Max’s mom, Brooke Spencer,” Tate introduces her to me.
We fall against each other in a tight hug. Sobs erupt from both of us and we cling to each other. Once we calm down a bit, she pulls back to look at me. I must look disgusting. “It’s nice to meet you, Monica.” She gives me a watery smile.
“Hi, Ms. Spencer.”
“Call me Brooke.”
We sit together, waiting and praying. I can’t bear the thought of observing Max’s surgery. I need to be surrounded with the people that love him the most. Minutes turn into hours. One hour turns into two. The wait is excruciating, but at least Tony updates us regularly.
The first while passes in silence. Then Charlie chatters on about his latest job. He asks about Chloe and Ella, who are both on their way here. Ella was able to book a last-minute flight from New York, and Chloe is driving up from college, which is two hours away. The thought of them dropping everything to travel here for Max brings me back to my mom’s accident. I shiver at the thought, hoping like hell that their trip has a different conclusion than mine did. Quinn squeezes my hand, understanding the turn in my thoughts.
Logan leaves to get food, though none of us eat much. Chloe arrives at the three-hour mark. She is beautiful, with Max’s blue eyes and her mother’s tall slim frame. Her hair is long, though, inky black and so shiny. Everyone hugs her and cries all over again when she arrives. Ella walks in not even 20 minutes later and she gets the same tearful greeting. The two could be twins, only Ella’s hair is slightly shorter. The girls dote on their mother, holding her hand and comforting her.
The tears come and go. There are periods of time Brooke gets so scared and angry that she can’t stop the tears from falling. When she falls apart, her daughters surround her and hug her. Even Charlie and Logan do their best to comfort her, and I can tell they know her well. Then there are periods of time when the choking fear loosens its grip on us and everyone chats about the most mundane topics to pass the time.
It’s during one of these times that Ella eyes me curiously. “Why are you here, Monica? The last I heard, you and Max had broken up.” It’s a fair question. I look to Quinn for help, eyes wide, emotion clogging my throat. She shrugs, telling me I’m on my own. I find all eyes on me, waiting for my answer.
“I was a stupid idiot,” I admit, my chin quivering.
“Agreed,” Chloe says without hesitation.
“I was planning to get him back,” I confess, hating myself for not telling him last night. What if I never get to tell him? What if he never knows I was going to fight for us? Tears pool in my eyes and I wring my hands together. “I hope I’m not too late.”
“Why should he take you back?” Ella asks. Her mom admonishes her for being blunt, but I waive her concern away. The fact that Max’s sisters are so protective of him only makes me like them more. I deserve some interrogation after hurting their brother.
“Because I love him. I believe he still loves me, too. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” I tell them through my tears.
“I told him you’d come to your senses.” Brooke smiles tremulously.
The tears fall from my eyes as a let out a short laugh. I’m amazed I can still produce more tears. “You did?” I ask her.
“I did, just the other day. I had a feeling you’d come around. My Max is a good man. You’d have a hard time finding anyone better than him.”
I clutch her hand and nod in agreement, too choked up to talk. Max’s sisters and mom hug me as I cry.
“At least now we don’t have to kick your ass,” Chloe tells me.
We laugh, and then they tell me funny stories about him. Charlie and Logan chime in and we manage to laugh together. Chloe catches everyone up on her classes, and Ella tells us about her apartment and job. We all listen until the next emotional meltdown.
I know surgery takes a long time. Logically, I realize they had a lot to fix, but after four hours, my mind starts going crazy with anxiety. I come up with every complication listed in the textbooks—blood clot, stroke, pulmonary embolism. My brain catalogs them all, convinced something must have gone wrong for the surgery to take this long.
Ignorance is bliss, but even though no one else in this room knows all the things that can go wrong quite as well as I do, everyone is getting anxious, shifting in their chairs, looking at the clock every 30 seconds. I’m on the verge of walking in the back and d
emanding answers when the surgeon walks in the waiting room. Breathing a sigh of relief, I stand up to greet him, along with everyone else.
Brooke, Ella, and Chloe huddle around me to get the update. I try to read his expression, but all I see is fatigue. “Dylan, how is he?”
Dylan looks at all of us in the eyes and it occurs to me how comforting that one small gesture is. “He made it through surgery.” Everyone breathes a sigh of relief. “We were able to stop the bleeding in his abdomen, repair his cracked ribs, and re-inflate his lung. Luckily there was no active bleeding in the brain, only mild swelling, so we avoided surgery there. He’s sedated and hooked up to a ventilator.”
Brooke looks overwhelmed by all of this information. She squints at Dylan, trying to decipher whether this is good news or bad news. I slip my hand into hers and squeeze as we listen to the rest. “What does this mean? Will Max be okay?” she asks him with a trembling chin.
I know what’s coming next. “The first step is done—he made it through surgery. That’s very good, but the next 48 hours will be crucial in telling us what damage will be temporary and what will be permanent. He’s getting transferred to the intensive care unit and will stay in a medically induced coma until the swelling goes down and he can breathe on his own,” Dylan tells her.
“What are the chances of him making a complete recovery?” Ella asks.
“If he is able to breathe on his own and return to consciousness when we stop the sedation, 80%.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Charlie asks, uncharacteristically serious.
Dylan meets my eyes, regret in his expression. I close my eyes and nod for him to answer. “If he is unable to breathe on his own or if he does not wake up once we stop medications, the chance of him making a full recovery drops to 15%.” The statistic sucks, but I can’t focus on that number.
“What happens next?” Brooke asks him.
“We will keep him sedated for 24 hours and do periodic scans of his brain to monitor the swelling. If the swelling decreases, then we will stop the medications. We will also be monitoring his breathing with the sensors in the ventilator. If at any time, we see that he may be able to breathe on his own, we will remove the breathing tube. At that point, we wait and see what happens.” Dylan stands there as everyone absorbs this information. “Does anyone have any other questions?”
“When can we see him?” Chloe asks.
“We’re transferring him to the ICU. Once he’s in his room and stable, we’ll allow two people in at a time. Monica, I’ll text you the room number once we know.”
“Thank you.”
When I finally get to see him, I try to remember that this is to be expected, that the bruises and swelling will get worse before they get better. He just went through major surgery after being hit by an SUV with nothing to protect him against the impact. I’ve seen worse than this.
Still, no amount of training or experience can prepare me for seeing the man I love bruised, battered, and hooked up to countless IVs, monitors, and a breathing tube. I let everyone come see him first until visiting hours were over. I know using my status as director to be in this room isn’t exactly professional.
I’m doing it anyway.
My eyes roam all over his body, checking for any injuries they might have missed. It looks so wrong, seeing him here, lying in this bed, covered with a patient gown. I touch him gently, his face, his arms, his legs. I make sure everything is hooked up properly. Once I check him out from head to toe, I bring the chair in the room as close to the bed as I can and sit down. I take his hand into mine and settle in to watch him.
“I watch you too, you know.”
“Tell me you feel it, too.”
“You are a goddess.”
“I love you.”
“I don’t want to pretend anymore.”
“I want everything with you, Monica.”
His words fill my mind. I have loved every minute with Max. How did I put something as trivial as work between us? How could I think anything was more important than him?
I am so stupid.
“Hi there,” says a deep voice, bringing me back to the present. I stand quickly and wipe my wet cheeks. My eyes widen when I see who is at the door, especially at this hour.
“Dr. Finley…I…I’m sorry I didn’t make our meeting this morning.”
“No worries.” He waves a hand between us. “Tony Rosetti let me know what was going on. Can I come in? Or do you want to step out for a minute?”
I look at Max. I know he won’t even know I’m gone, but I hate the thought of leaving him.
Dr. Finley sees my indecision and enters the room. “I won’t stay long.” He stands at the foot of Max’s bed and studies him. “The surgery went well,” he comments.
“Yes, everyone is taking good care of him.”
He turns to look at me. His gaze, usually sharp and grumpy, is kind. “And how are you holding up?”
“I’m a bit of a mess,” I say honestly.
“Of course you are.”
“Dr. Finley, I wanted to meet with you today to talk about me and Max.” I bite my lip and decide to dive right in. I don’t even care about his approval anymore. The jig is up at this point. I need to lay it all out on the line and find out what the repercussions are. “The thing is…I love him,” I blurt out. I meant to slowly lead up to that part, but it feels so good to say it out loud.
Before he has a chance to respond, I explain. “Max and I met before he started working in the ER. Once we discovered we worked together, we tried to keep things strictly professional. Obviously, it was a failed attempt, but I assure you we have never acted like anything more than co-workers while on the clock.
“Max is a very important part of my life and I’m going to need to take some time off to help him recover.
“I know dating a nurse in my department is probably against company policy, though I couldn’t find our exact circumstance in writing. If it is against the rules, I urge you not to transfer Max. He’s one of the best ER nurses we have—you can ask anyone. If we aren’t allowed to be together and both work in the same department, you’ll have my resignation in the morning,” I finally finish.
Holy fuck. I can’t believe I said all of that, and to Dr. Finley, of all people.
My heart is beating a mile a minute and I may vomit, but I finally did it. Quinn would be so proud of me right now. I’m proud of myself. Max deserves someone who will fight for him. I want to be that person.
Dr. Finley’s eyebrows are halfway up his forehead and I can tell I’ve surprised him with my verbal diarrhea. I turn back to Max and I know nothing else matters right now. He needs to heal; I need him to be okay. I need to look into his eyes and tell him I choose him.
I’m expecting Finley to either tell me it’s okay for Max and me to be together (please, oh please, oh please, oh please) or to call my bluff, tell me it’s against hospital policy and I’ll need to resign.
“Have you met my wife?” he asks me. Oooookaaay. That is not one of the responses I had anticipated.
I rack my brain, trying to delve through my muddy memories of work functions. I’m sure she was at the fundraiser, but other than seeing a female counterpart, I don’t really remember her.
“I’m not sure I’ve had the pleasure, sir, and forgive me, but my brain isn’t firing at full capacity right now.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. My wife, Evelyn, and I have been married for 37 years.”
I’m still not following his subject change. “Congratulations.”
“I started out as a family doctor with my own practice. I went through nurse after nurse, as none of them could put up with my high standards and short temper—none until Evelyn.”
I blink. It’s been a long day, and my gears are a bit slow. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
He carries on with his story. “Evelyn was a breath of fresh air. She had even higher standards than I did, and she ran my office smoothly and efficiently. She even had a way of tell
ing me what to do, without telling me what to do.” He chuckles and I swear his eyes are twinkling. I had no idea Dr. Finley’s eyes could twinkle. “We worked together every day and then somehow, things changed, turned into more.”
“Are you telling me you married your nurse?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
Holy shit. It can’t be that easy, can it? “Are Max and I allowed to date?” I ask him the million-dollar question.
He smiles at me. “Monica, you are going to continue your work as director of the ER. I want you to focus on Max right now. Don’t waste one more second thinking that your job or Max’s is in jeopardy. We’ll figure out the details once Max is back to work.”
Would it be inappropriate for me to hug Dr. Finley?
Emotion clogs my throat and my damn tear ducts decide they can still produce more tears. “Thank you, Dr. Finley,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
He nods. “Now, it looks like you have a lot of vacation time stored up. Keep me posted on Max’s progress.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll check in periodically to see how he’s doing.” He smiles at me again and turns to leave.
The tears fall freely then, and I want to climb into bed with Max, bury my face in his neck, and feel his arms wrap around me, strong and steady. He always makes me feel so safe.
Instead, I grab a blanket, sit down next to him, and hold his hand. I tell him everything that just happened, although technically if he can hear me right now, then he would have heard my conversation with Dr. Finley. I talk to him until I run out of things to say, and then I fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat on the monitor.
This is it.
Max
Fuck, my head hurts—and why is it so bright in here? Ugh, I need to remember to close the blinds. I groan then stop suddenly at the onslaught of burning in my throat. My head throbs and my body feels so heavy. I turn my head slightly and try to crack open my eyes, but the light is too bright and the smallest movement of my head causes the pain to intensify. Another groan tries to escape, but the pain in my throat quickly reminds me not to make any sounds.
