Remission by Ofelia Martinez

Chapter 4

The Long Shift

The first day of rounds with our new attending ran smoothly. Dr. Medina was mostly quiet; we all knew he was assessing us, making his mind up about our worth as doctors. The other residents were shifty and insecure with their answers, but not me.

Having a secret with him gave me armor. He felt human to me now, no longer the god he still was to my peers. My confidence must have shown through because he was receptive to all my treatment plans and encouraged me to keep speaking. In short, I was killing it. Poor choice of words for a doctor, but I didn’t care. I was.

I would have been on cloud nine if it weren’t for the dark cloud Dr. Keach kept sending my way. He stood next to me always, so I could clearly hear his heavy breathing and puffing. I get it, Keach, I get it. You are pissed.

But his fragile little ego wasn’t my problem. If he wanted attention from his mentors, he’d have to work hard for it, just like anyone else. I pushed him out of my thoughts, so I could focus on what was important—caring for our patients.

Dr. Medina looked down at the list on his tablet. “Did we cover everyone for rounds who is not on Dr. Ramirez’s clinical trial?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “We have five potential trial participants left to assess and one participant already on the trial.” I always called them participants. I hated the term ‘subjects.’ It made patients feel like lab rats, which they most definitely weren’t. I had a hard enough time educating the public on what clinical trials were, persuading them that they would still get treatment even if it wasn’t the experimental one, without making them feel like things.

“Great. I will join you. The rest of you—get to work. You have your marching orders,” said Dr. Medina.

The circle broke, leaving me standing there awkwardly with him.

“Whenever you are ready,” he said.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Lead the way, Dr. Ramirez,” he said with obvious impatience in his voice. My first slip of the day.

“Yes, of course, Doctor. This way.”

We saw my first three patients, and Dr. Medina introduced himself as a new member of their care team. He was confident and charismatic, so each of them instantly fell into a trust with him. I was most impressed when he lingered in Valentina’s room and got her to warm up to him. She was so guarded, she hardly let anyone in.

I opened up the rounds, even though it was just the two of us in the room with Valentina.

“Valentina Almonte. Age twenty-four. Diagnosed two months ago. Accepted into the trial last month. Blinded standard treatment protocol for the last week.” Valentina’s arms danced like a symphony conductor’s, and I paused speaking long enough to pin her hands down with my own. I arched an eyebrow as a warning.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I give.” She squealed in her bed.

“Patient is responding well to chemoradiation.” I let go but continued to pin her with my stare.

“You have a good team of doctors here, Miss Almonte,” he said.

“Valentina, please.”

Dr. Medina took his time in the room, reading her chart. He set it down on the counter in front of her bed, and Valentina took the opportunity to turn to me. She mouthed, oh my gawd, dropped her jaw, and fisted her hands to motion humping the air. My eyes widened with alarm, and I begged her to stop, waving her down as discreetly as I could. Dr. Medina didn’t notice a thing.

“Valentina, I look forward to being on your care team.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” she said while batting her eyelashes. She was so obviously flirting with him, and I couldn’t help but smile. I approved of anything that would bring her spirits up, and if that was Dr. Medina, then I would gladly throw him into the fire.

Dr. Medina caught me grinning like an idiot as we walked into the hallway. He rolled his eyes. “Stop,” he said sternly.

“Stop what?”

“You know what.”

“You must get that a lot, Doctor,” I said, batting my eyelashes just as Valentina had. His eyes narrowed. I only stopped when I noticed the set of his jaw, and I wondered if he was too stiff and serious for a bit of joking banter. I checked myself and schooled my face back to its professional side.

“I apologize, Doctor. I forgot myself. If it makes you feel any better, that’s the first time I’ve seen Valentina smile in weeks. Her spirits have been really low. With all due respect, if interacting with you will help her emotionally, I’m willing to sacrifice your dignity a bit to her whims. On the whole, she’s harmless.”

“I feel used, Dr. Ramirez,” he said before turning to walk away from me. He shook his head all the way down the hallway, but I could swear, even by just looking at the back of his head, that he was snickering.

I didn’t see him again until late that evening. I’d finished all the work I needed to with my patients, and now all that was left was to chart on my last three consults of the day. I grabbed my laptop, deciding to chart from the doctors’ lounge where I could relax a bit. I hadn’t gotten a chance to eat during my shift, so I grabbed a Twix bar from the vending machine and set it next to my laptop on the table. The details I was charting swallowed me for nearly an hour, which meant I forgot about the chocolate. That was incredibly slow charting, but I wasn’t merely charting. I was analyzing every aspect of their disease: its presentation, treatment, and outcomes so far. I was scanning for clues. Anything that would help me beat this bastard called cancer.

The door swung open, and Dr. Medina walked in and settled in one of the sofa chairs. He didn’t notice me at first.

“Hello,” I said. “How’s your first day going?”

He turned to me, startled to find me sitting in the corner. “It’s technically my second day.”

“Okay, how’s your second day going?”

“All right. Nothing special.” He walked over to the table and sat across from me.

For some reason, that comment stung a little. He smirked, and I realized he was teasing me.

“What is this?” He picked up the Twix bar.

“Dinner.”

“Dinner? This isn’t food, let alone dinner.”

“Don’t judge.” I snatched the chocolate from his grip. I opened it and grabbed one of the two chocolate bars inside. As if to prove my point, I took a healthy bite. My eyes rolled back, and I moaned with pleasure. A thin strand of caramel fell to my lower lip, and I licked it off once I swallowed the bite. I opened my eyes to a stunned Dr. Medina. His mouth was parted, and he cleared his throat after a moment.

Then it hit me. I realized what he must have seen. He didn’t know that was my standard response to chocolate. He probably thought I was still flirting with him and probably not in the joking way I had earlier after our visit with Valentina. I was about to apologize and further stick my foot in my mouth, but he beat me to it, breaking the awkward moment.

He reached for the other half of my chocolate. “I think I will try it after all—”

I snatched it away before he could. “You can’t come in here judging my snack, insulting chocolate no less, and then ask for some.”

“You do know I’m your boss, right?”

“And being my boss while forcing me to give up half my dinner is an abuse of power.”

He opened his mouth to speak when the door burst open. Sara marched in with murder in her eyes. Shit. What had I done now?

“Carolina. Isabel. Ramirez. Fuentes,” Sara huffed. She stood directly in front of me, both hands on her hips as she glared me down. She had long ago picked up Dad’s trick of letting me know precisely how furious she was.

My full name. Double shit. “Chocolate?” I offered with a grin.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whined.

Dr. Medina jumped in. “I’m sorry, this is the doctors’ lounge, maybe you should—”

Sara brought her hand up to his face silencing him, and I cringed. “Do you enjoy changing your own patients’ bedpans, Doctor?”

“Is she talking to me?” he asked, perplexed because Sara’s glare never left me.

“Yep. I think so.”

He gulped. “My apologies, Sara. Won’t happen again.”

It didn’t escape me that he had learned her name.

“You are new here, so I’ll let it slide. This time.”

“What’s this about, Sara?” I asked.

“Your dad just texted me. You didn’t invite me to the cookout.”

“I’m not going to the cookout,” I hissed.

“Yes, you are. I just paid off a resident to cover for you.”

“Sara, you didn’t!”

“I did. And you are going.”

I slumped back in my chair, crossing my arms. This woman was giving me a headache. “I hate my birthday, Sara. You know that.”

“It’s not for you. It’s for your dad and anyone else who loves you. Don’t be so selfish.”

“Selfish? It’s my birthday.”

“It’s settled, missy. We have a bigger problem.”

I groaned. By this point, I had wholly forgotten Dr. Medina was witness to this embarrassing exchange.

“It’s Valentina,” she said. I moved to stand, but Sara gestured me down to my chair. “She’s okay. But it’s time.”

“Time?”

“I was brushing her hair tonight, and—”

“Oh,” I said. My eyes watered. Valentina wasn’t vain, but her hair was so beautiful. I was sure she would mourn the loss.

“She’s having a bad night. I wouldn’t go see her now. She wants to be alone. Let her cry. Tomorrow, we’ll take care of it.”

I nodded.

“How do you want to handle this?” Sara asked.

“Mary.”

“You want to pull a Mary?”

“Yeah, I have the morning off. I’ll do the shopping, and I’ll meet you in her room at noon.”

“I’ll bring the equipment,” Sara said. “And I will take the chocolate, thank you.” She grabbed the wrapper on the table with half my dinner and walked away. She waved at us with the chocolate. “We’re still having drinks at ten,” were her final parting words.

“Sorry about her,” I said. “She’s a bit—”

“Shameless?” Hector asked.

I laughed, even as a tear escaped my eye. I wiped it away quickly as if nothing had happened. “Yeah, that’s the best way to describe Sara. Shameless. You’ll get used to it. The sooner you learn she runs this place—and we’d be lost without her—the easier your job will be,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry.” I shifted in my chair.

“Never apologize for caring about your patients,” he said softly.

“No, I know. I’m apologizing for crying. It’s why so many people can’t take women doctors seriously.”

“No,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Don’t carry that weight on your shoulders. Any man who thinks that way is a piece of shit. I’ve cried for patients before. I’m not ashamed of it. I’m human. Some of them just get under our skin. It doesn’t make us bad doctors. It makes us better ones.”

He left then, understanding I needed a moment and giving me what I needed—my privacy. Even though what he said was true, the idea was so ingrained in me that I couldn’t bear to cry in front of my boss.