Remission by Ofelia Martinez

Chapter 12

Free Clinic

“What are you doing here?”

The last person I expected to see at the free clinic was Hector.

“I thought I’d volunteer a shift,” he said. “Check it out.”

“Right.”

“I didn’t realize the med students run it in conjunction with the hospital.”

Hector sat at one of the desks in the shared office. The room was packed with students getting ready for the huddle at the start of the shift. We had an hour before we opened the clinic, and already the waiting room was packed.

I was the lead resident for today, so I called the huddle.

“We have six volunteers tonight, so let’s work fast. For those of you who are here for the first time, you will call patients from the waiting room and take them to the conference room—no more than three in the conference room at a time. Refer any emergent patients to the emergency room and triage the rest into the clinic. Our maximum capacity tonight is thirty. Stop triaging once that quota is met and refer them to the emergency room, if necessary.”

“So, what do I do?” Hector asked once the medical students had dispersed.

“Oh, Dr. Medina. Sorry. I forgot you were here.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly, looking hurt, but the corner of his mouth quirked up a bit.

“Sorry. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t really have time to get you up to speed. There’s really not much to do.” I clasped my hands together. “We have an assistant updating the board with patients and their room numbers. You and I are basically here to be a prescription pad if the med students need it, and if they have any questions.”

“That’s it?”

“Mostly. The students will start trickling in here soon. They will each give us a run-down of patient symptoms and their proposed treatment plan. We will have to approve or adjust the treatment and write any prescriptions necessary.”

“I don’t see the patient?”

“You don’t have to unless you want to or would like to ask the patient more questions.”

“Got it.”

Hector fell into a quick rhythm. It didn’t escape my notice that it was the female students who gravitated most toward his counsel instead of mine. They flirted, but he didn’t flirt back. He remained professional and respectful the entire time.

Halfway through the shift, Hector and I were talking when one of the newer volunteers approached us.

“Excuse me,” she said shyly. I turned to her.

“Yes?”

“I have a twenty-nine-year-old female patient. No complaints, but she needs a prescription for birth control.”

“What? She came to the free clinic for birth control? Who triaged her into the clinic?”

The med student flushed red. “I did,” she said.

“Okay, you are new, right? Routine preventive and ongoing care needs to be referred to a primary care—”

“I know,” she said, interrupting me. “But please, let me explain.”

“Go on,” I said.

“She doesn’t have a primary care physician, and I know the protocol is to refer her to one, but I think this is a special circumstance. The patient is a mother of five and struggling. She is Catholic, and she doesn’t want her husband to find out she’s taking birth control. She’s been saving for a long time to pay out of pocket for an appointment so that it wouldn’t show up as a claim on the insurance she shares with her husband.”

I nodded at her, encouraging her to go on.

“She scheduled and paid for an appointment with Dr. Tyler Smith.”

“No,” I gasped. I counted to ten.

She nodded.

“What is it?” Dr. Medina asked, looking between the volunteer and me as we both seethed in silence.

The med student continued. “He said he wasn’t comfortable prescribing birth control and sent her on her way. She is devastated and says her family is barely scraping by with the kids they already have. She used up all her savings for that appointment.”

Hector stepped in and asked the student to go to her next patient; we would take care of this one.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me when she was gone.

“What do you mean?”

“You have murder in your eyes. The only other time I’ve seen that look was when Sara was hurt.”

“Dr. Tyler Smith’s philosophy on birth-control is to keep your legs crossed. He probably told her that too. I’m sure she feels guilty enough as it is without her doctor putting her down.”

“Maybe I should speak with her. I don’t want you to say something you will regret.”

“I’ve been a doctor a while now, Hector,” I said with irritation. “I’m perfectly capable of composing myself.”

“Then, you won’t mind if I join you. Just to observe.”

I couldn’t very well argue with my boss again, especially so soon after biting his head off about taking liberties with my trial data, so I let him shadow me during my consult with the patient.

After our introductions, I pulled out my prescription pad. I handed her the prescription and told her to take it to a pharmacy for it to be dispensed. She almost cried with gratitude, as though I was handing her a lifeline.

“Don’t see Dr. Smith anymore, okay?”

“I definitely won’t,” she said, clutching the piece of paper to her chest.

I grabbed the prescription pad again and started writing on it.

“This is my assistant’s phone number. Her name is Amanda. When you need a refill, call her. She will arrange a prescription to be sent to any pharmacy you want. No charge.”

“Really?” Her eyes glistened with tears as she clutched the prescription.

“Really. I do need you to keep up with your pap smears, though. You think you can get those on schedule with your husband’s insurance?”

“Yes. He would have no problem with that. It’s cancer prevention, right?”

“That’s right. You’ll want to get a copy of your results, send them to Amanda, and I will get you prescriptions for as long as you want them. Okay?”

She left, showering Hector and me with words of gratitude, even though he’d not said a word; he was likely waiting for me to say something disparaging about one of our doctors. I didn’t give him the satisfaction. Besides, I couldn’t do that. There was no law against what that physician had done.

When the last patient left, most of the med students had gone. The new student stayed behind, helping me tidy up the office space. I looked at the badge hanging off her short white coat.

“Dr. Stuart,” I said. “Good job today. Keep it up.” She must be the chief’s granddaughter. He’d mentioned she would be graduating from medical school soon.

She beamed at me and waved goodbye. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

“I like this place,” Hector said.

“Really?” I said, and my brow arched.

“Why does that surprise you?”

“Doesn’t seem like you would enjoy being around . . .” I trailed off, unsure of how to remain politically correct.

“Around what? Humble people? Poor people? Hardworking people?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Why do you think I’m some pretentious ass on my high horse? I get that I have a bit of an ego, but—”

“A bit?” I laughed, and my eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when I realized the sound had escaped against my will.

He shook his head.

“Sure, Dr. Ramirez. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and rubbing shoulders with peasants offends me.” A tone of irritation laced his voice.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Just tired, I guess.”

“Apology accepted. Want to make it up to me?” His grin reappeared.

My eyebrows raised all the way to my hairline.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Carolina. I only meant I need help shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“Yeah, shopping. I hate shopping, and my mother is coming to visit next weekend. I need—”

“Furniture?”

“Exactly.”

“A table, chairs, linens, towels, pillows? Hell, a second set of dishes?”

He groaned. “I knew there was stuff I hadn’t thought of. I need her to be comfortable, and I have no clue about any of that. I’ve never had to pick stuff out for a house before.”

“All right. I’ll help you if only because I’ve never seen a pathetic side to you, and I’m rather amused.”

Hector wasamazed when I told him we could order most of the things he needed online and have them delivered. I would still need to go over to his house again to take another look at the spaces and measure to make sure the furniture I selected would fit. He gave me a budget and told me to pick out everything.

“Thanks for agreeing to help,” he said as soon as I stepped foot in his home.

“No problem. Consider my assistance your house-warming gift.”

“I appreciate that.”

I set my laptop on the kitchen island and scrolled through a few online furniture stores. Hector wasn’t being much help and gave no indication as to his own personal taste.

“Look,” he said. “I really don’t care about any of this, but my Mom will. Just pick out what you like. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“All right. Tell me a little bit about your Mom’s home in Mexico. Anything you remember that might give me an idea as to what she likes?”

“I really don’t know, Carolina. I don’t pay attention to that kind of stuff.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was going to be more difficult than I’d imagined.

“What about your old house before you moved here? What was that like?”

“My wife decorated it. If it made her happy, I was fine with it. But it wasn’t really my style—”

“Okay, see, you do have a style!” I said. I was not going to ask him why his wife wasn’t decorating this house, not even with the opening he offered. Don’t get personal, Carolina. It’s none of your business.

“No. I don’t have style, but I can rule out hers. It was very pristine, all white, clear crystal, that kind of thing. I was afraid to touch anything.”

“Okay, so practical, durable, and easy to clean. That’s a start.”

I couldn’t resist it any longer, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Why isn’t your wife helping you with this?” I clasped my hand to my mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay.” Hector’s smile was lopsided now. “I’ll tell you about her, but not today. Today is a happy day. Okay?”

“Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”

We turned our attention to our task and moved past a subject I could already tell was a sore one. I picked out a console cabinet for the living room, some vases to go on top, and a few framed landscape prints. When I showed them to him, he shrugged. “Do you like it?” he asked.

“I do,” I said and smiled wide. I’d kill for that kind of furniture.

“Then it’s perfect.”

We repeated the process for every room in his house, from his guest room and bathrooms to dining room and dinnerware. He had no opinion on anything, though he did, at one point, say he thought his mother would approve of my taste, and that fueled the rest of the shopping experience.

When we were done, I sat back, pleased with myself. His house was going to look amazing. I hoped his mother agreed when she arrived.

Without a task occupying our collective mental spaces, being alone in his home became awkward. Too intimate in the still, echoey space.

“So, that’s everything. You’ll have to be here for deliveries. I sent appointments to your calendar.”

When I was ready to leave, Hector took my hand in his but kept it there for one second too long. “Thank you, Carolina,” he said. “You are really saving me here.”