by Chris Zett
Not fond of mixing work and private life anyhow, she would keep things simple. Diana was a colleague; Dee was Jen’s business, and her faceless drummer was history.
Chapter 6
Lurking halfway between the parking garage and the ED’s back entrance, Diana resisted the urge to pace back and forth. Her stomach churned, and it had nothing to do with the too-bitter coffee she’d brought with her. At least the travel mug held enough warmth to stave off the early-morning chill. It had been raining at night, and the cold dampness crept even through her leather jacket. She’d been waiting for Emily to arrive at work for over half an hour, and with each passing minute her appreciation for her former fans rose. They had lain in wait at the stage entrance or in front of her hotel, not seeming to care about rain, snow, or scorching heat. Last year, an aspiring baby-dyke drummer had stopped her with millions of questions about a possible career path in the music industry. Hopefully, the good karma she had created by answering her patiently would help her today.
Firm steps announced Emily’s arrival.
Diana hastily swallowed the sip of coffee she’d just taken, suppressed a grimace at the taste, and blocked her way. “Hi, Emily.”
“Diana.” Emily nodded once and stepped to the side to pass her.
“Wait, please.” Diana attempted her most winning smile. “Do you have a minute before we go inside?”
Emily pulled her phone from her navy rain jacket and looked at it, presumably to check the time. “Sure. Do you have a work-related problem?”
“No.” At least not yet. And Diana hoped she could keep it that way. “I’d like to talk about our meeting at the club.” She studied her closely. The knowledge about Diana’s past must have changed Emily’s perception of her, but would she act differently today?
“What’s there to talk about? You made your point clear, and I agreed to keep this out of the ED.” Emily’s voice was even and her expression unreadable.
Was it really that easy? Three days ago, Emily had been full of doubts, unsure she could keep the secret. “I’m sorry we had to cut the conversation short on Friday. Is there anything you want to know? Is everything okay with your friend?” Diana had seen Jen at the after-show party but had managed to avoid her with Mel’s help.
A faint color rose to Emily’s cheeks. “As I said, we should keep this out of the ED. We have an excellent reputation, and I’d like to keep it that way. That’s my focus, not personal feelings. If I need to know something, I’ll get back to you.” She looked again at her phone, then shoved it into her pocket. “The residents’ teaching starts in twenty minutes. Don’t be late.” Without waiting for Diana’s reaction, she walked to the entrance at a brisk pace.
Diana stared after her. While she had been nervous about this conversation, a tiny part of her had been looking forward to sharing some of her past with Emily. Apparently, that wouldn’t happen; Emily had made that clear. She could deal with that, but why had Emily stormed off like that? Was she annoyed? Angry? Her tone had been perfectly polite, and her words should have been reassuring; Diana just couldn’t get over the feeling that she was missing something.
She sighed, chucked the rest of the disgusting coffee, and followed Emily inside. No way would she want to be late today.
Emily studied the X-ray and sighed. Bilateral pneumonia, as she’d suspected.
She turned to her patient’s husband. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jefferson.”
He kept on stroking his wife’s hand, without acknowledging that Emily had spoken.
She touched his arm to get his attention and leaned closer. “Mr. Jefferson, I’m sorry.” She spoke as clear and deep as possible to overcome the failure of his almost hundred-year-old auditory system. “Our options are limited. But I promise you; we’ll do our best that she feels safe and comfortable.”
He nodded and beamed at her. “Thank you. She’s breathing easier since you’re here. She’ll pull through, she’s a fighter.”
Emily didn’t have the heart to tell him it was more the effect of the morphine than anything she could do to actually heal his wife. She’d discussed the situation with the couple’s daughter on the phone, who’d told her about his mild dementia. He tended to forget his wife’s widespread ovarian cancer and had called an ambulance just as the daughter had been out grocery shopping.
A sound Emily couldn’t identify pulled her out of her musings. She looked at her patient, but nothing had changed in the last minute.
Mr. Jefferson had returned his attention to his wife, and Emily decided to leave them alone for now.
She looked at Tony to see if he needed anything else, but he made a shooing notion. “I’ll call you when the daughter is here or…”
Emily nodded. He didn’t need to speak out loud what they both knew, that the woman would probably die before they could move her to a private room or arrange a transport home.
As she left the cubicle and pulled the curtain closed behind her, Emily recognized the sound immediately. Laughter! And not just one person. The inappropriate noise drew Emily to the direction of the nurses’ station. The sight of a small crowd stopped her in her tracks as she rounded the corner.
Playing rock-paper-scissors, Diana and Peter stood in the center of the laughing group.
What were the residents doing? Nothing, absolutely nothing should be decided by chance in an ED.
Peter groaned as he lost. “One more. Best four out of seven. Promise.”
“No more. That’s what you said the last two times.” Diana took a pair of gloves and handed it to him with a flourish. Her mischievous grin made her look younger. “Congratulations. You got curtain number three: the tapeworm.”
He took off, and the group of ED personnel dispersed. Diana remained with Madison, and they both leaned on the counter to study the electronic whiteboard.
“Let’s see what treat we can find for the winner.” Madison, the much too thin, much too blonde nurse, stood much too close to Diana and giggled.
Were they flirting? Even though she knew that hospitals were a breeding ground for friendships, affairs, and relationships, Emily didn’t like when her ED turned into a soap opera. She led by example and kept her professional distance from her co-workers. Nothing good came of blurring the lines of work and personal life. And Diana should know that, but maybe she needed a reminder that she was here for work, not fun.
“Dr. Petrell. The patients are waiting.” Emily didn’t raise her voice, but both women flinched. Good.
“I’ll just…help…” Madison bolted without finishing her excuse.
Diana looked after her for a second. When she turned to Emily, all traces of the previous elation had vanished from her expression. “Do you want me to take someone specific? I was just signing on to my next case.”
“No, you weren’t. You and your co-workers were disrespecting the patients by making this a game. We have rules regarding the patient assignment. If you can’t take your work seriously, you should just go back to LA.” And to your band. Emily had enough control to swallow her last thought.
A muscle in Diana’s jaw twitched, and her eyes blazed a brilliant green, but she remained silent.
Emily preferred it to an insincere apology. She glanced at the whiteboard and found Diana’s next patient within seconds. “Cubicle five.”
Without checking the whiteboard for details, Diana nodded once and stalked off.
The triumph of having the last word wore off too soon. Emily stared at the computer as if it held the answers to her racing thoughts. Maybe it did. She picked out her next case and typed both their names in the text fields, ignoring the slight tremor of her fingers.
Diana looked at the clock on the wall. If she hurried, she could grab a sandwich for lunch before the cafeteria sold out the best selection. She could type her lengthy notes while eating.
Courtney jogged into her path. “Dr. Barnes is looking for
you.” She pointed over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “I’d hurry if I were you.”
Great. No lunch for her now. Diana steeled herself for another of Emily’s lectures about one topic or another. Since their meeting at the club two weeks ago, Emily’s behavior toward her had changed completely. She used to be a great teacher who guided her residents by asking the right questions and provided many opportunities to learn. Now she limited their conversations to commands and criticism.
Standing at the nurses’ station, Emily read something on the computer and frowned. When Diana approached, her head shot up and she nodded toward the open file on the monitor. “What were you thinking? No, wait, don’t tell me. I guess you weren’t thinking at all.”
Diana glanced over Emily’s shoulder and recognized the case immediately as the one she had wanted to type up during lunch. “I can explain. I’ve—”
Emily raised her hand to stop Diana’s answer. “She has classical symptoms and a high-risk profile for a cardiac vascular disease.”
“Yes, but—” Another gesture interrupted Diana again, just as she had expected. Her stomach clenched, and she took a deep breath to ward off the rising sensation of powerlessness. It was better to let Emily get whatever lecture she had in mind off her chest before she tried to get in a word.
“You need to clear this kind of patient with me. It’s not your place to decide that she doesn’t need to see a specialist. I didn’t expect you to be afraid of Dr. Riley, too, like all the other residents.” Deep lines appeared in the artificial smoothness of Emily’s makeup-covered skin.
Why didn’t Emily let her explain? Diana bit her lip. Who was Dr. Riley? And why would she be afraid of someone she hadn’t met yet? Another deep breath was necessary. Not that it seemed to help much.
Emily obviously mistook her attempt at restraining herself for an interruption “Don’t argue with me. You know the procedures. You know I’m right.” Her volume had increased with every word, and several nurses stopped working and looked at them. A stab of her finger in the air accompanied each sentence.
Something inside of Diana snapped. Fuck Emily and her attitude! Diana wouldn’t play the meek resident anymore. She consciously stepped into Emily’s personal space and lowered her voice. She had just enough self-control left to know that turning this into a shouting match would be the end of her short career in this ED.
“Dr. Barnes, listen to me. You haven’t talked to the patient or her family doctor. As long as you don’t know her complete history, you can’t come to the same conclusions as I did. You have three options: let me explain, repeat my work and draw your own conclusions, or request a cardiologist now and embarrass yourself. It’s your call.” She looked straight into Emily’s eyes without wavering.
Surprisingly, this seemed to shut Emily up, and Diana took a step back. She looked around and nodded toward the nurses pretending not to stare at them. “Let’s take this to the lounge.”
Without another word, Emily turned and stalked toward the staff lounge. She held herself very straight, and Diana guessed she was still mad at her, but now they were talking. Or at least planning to. Hopefully.
Maybe she could even broach the real problem. Diana didn’t know why Emily’s discovery of her secret should be the cause for the abrupt change in behavior, but the timing was no coincidence. Her chest tightened at the thought of discussing her past with Emily if she was in that contentious mood. No amount of breathing could alleviate her trepidation. She passed the ambulance entrance as two paramedics left with an empty stretcher. The open doorway seemed to call her. Is it worth it? Just run away and leave all the stress behind. She sighed and followed Emily to the staff lounge. It was time to prove that she had indeed grown up.
After entering behind Emily, Diana closed the door to the lounge. She didn’t want an audience for their talk.
They took a seat on the same couch, and Diana turned toward Emily. “I think we need to talk about two things. About the patient first. May I explain the reasoning behind my treatment?”
Emily just nodded.
“Okay. The patient was here twice in the last month. And she saw about ten doctors in different settings with the same symptoms during the last six months. Her EKG and TropT were always normal, but because of her insistence and her high-risk profile, she received several echoes, stress tests, and even two catheters. She didn’t mention any of these tests to me, but her husband listed them all—against her protest—and even showed me all the relevant results. They were all negative.” Diana swallowed. In her hurry to get it all out before Emily lost her patience, she had talked much too fast.
Emily regarded her without betraying her thoughts and motioned at her to continue.
“The symptoms started right after her sister died of a massive heart attack. She was only fifty-nine; everyone thought she was in good health. I believe her problem is psychosomatic and explained it to them. While she’s still in denial, her husband concedes that there might be a tiny chance of it. They are willing to talk to psych for a second opinion and to see a grief counselor.” Diana hesitated and finally looked directly into Emily’s eyes. “I would have told you about her after she had seen psych and before I’d let her go home.”
Emily held her gaze for a few seconds. Her stiff posture relaxed slightly, and she finally said, “I’m sorry. You’re right; I didn’t know the whole story. But you should have completed your notes before you went off to do something else.”
Diana barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. This was typical of the new Emily—she always found something to criticize, even as she was apologizing. “You’re right. I’ll do it immediately the next time.”
“What else do you want to talk about?” The cold tone was anything but inviting.
Diana had thought of several diplomatic openings for this conversation but couldn’t remember any of them. She hoped Emily valued straightforwardness. “I believe you have developed a problem with me, my work, or my attitude in the last couple of weeks. And I don’t know which. Or why. What went wrong?”
“What problem are you talking about?”
“I don’t know if you have a problem. I just feel like there might be one. Your behavior toward me changed. In the beginning, you challenged me with questions, and you taught me a lot. Now, you just criticize me at every opportunity.”
“You think that the constructive criticism I provide is a problem? My problem?” Emily’s voice rose.
“No. Yes. Wait—” Diana reached for her but stopped short of touching her arm. “Please, let me explain. I don’t mind constructive criticism, but somehow the tone shifted in the last few weeks. I’d like to get back to how we worked together before. What can I do to make that happen?” That sounded too close to pleading for her taste, but she wanted to break through to the woman she sometimes glimpsed underneath the veneer of Emily’s aloofness.
Emily hesitated and studied the floor for a moment. She rubbed her forearm absentmindedly and finally raised her head. For an instant Diana thought she looked hurt, but her face closed off immediately. “Diana, I think you’re overreacting.” She spoke slowly, as if addressing a small child. “I’ve criticized you, yes, but I do that with anyone else who needs it. I don’t believe in coddling residents. This is not kindergarten.” Emily stood and headed toward the door. Before she reached it, she turned around and added, “This is real life, not an after-show party with a couple of adulatory fans. If you can’t cope with that, maybe you’re in the wrong line of work.” She strode out without waiting for an answer.
Diana slumped back onto the couch and hit the cushion with her fist. “Fuck!” This didn’t go as planned at all. Well, the plan had been rather sketchy, but it had definitely ended with an understanding, an improvement of their current situation. She didn’t believe that this talk had solved any problems. They hadn’t even touched the possible trigger for the change, their meeting in the club. Did Emi
ly think her fame as a rock star had gone straight to her head and left her unable to deal with criticism? But the real question was, was she? Did she expect too much from their work relationship? If Emily was right and this work atmosphere was normal, she had to thicken her skin. The alternative was to leave and start over somewhere else.
Like last time. Diana wanted to argue with that voice nagging in the back of her head. She hadn’t run away from work; she had purposely walked toward a different career…hadn’t she?
But this was neither the right time nor place to sort out her lingering doubts about her motivation for switching careers.
She stood, straightened her scrub shirt, and fingered the name tag she had received from her eldest brother, George, for graduation. The familiar lines of the engraving calmed her. D. Petrell, MD. That’s who she was today. She strode to the door, intent on taking up work again. Food could wait until she got home.
Six hours later, Diana sat at the counter at the nurses’ station and had just finished yet another chart when Courtney slumped onto the seat next to hers. She sighed dramatically, and when Diana didn’t react, she sighed again, more loudly.
Diana kept her own sigh inward. “Hey, Courtney. What’s the problem?”
Courtney swiveled her chair back and forth.
What is she, a five-year-old?
“The pedantic witch of paperwork, what else? I wish I were as good as you. She always makes me rewrite my charts. I don’t know how she’s doing it, but she finds something wrong or missing every time. But I heard she yelled at you today. So, you’re no longer her favorite?”
Diana pretended to concentrate on her notes to gain some time. Favorite? Where had that come from? She wanted to be respected for her work and for her personality. Being called a supervisor’s favorite could cause problems. First, it would be a joke; later, envy would turn it into a curse. She hated the threat of a competitive atmosphere.
