“Stick around and you’ll probably get to scrub in for some emergency sections overnight.”
“I can’t.”
I slide her a sideways glance. “Youcan’t?”
“I have a kid. A family. It’s not unreasonable to hope to get my teachable moments during schedule surgeries.”
I open my mouth to tell her she needs to toughen up, that I went through the same thing and?—
The words die in my throat.
Because I didn’t go through the same thing, did I?
I don’t have a kid. I don’t have a family waiting for me at home. I don’t even have Garrett anymore, because I made my life so razor-thin, so narrow-focused on work, that there wasn’t room for him in it anymore. Not the way he wanted.
But before all of that…
I remember wanting to get out of here at night. Wanting to race home to my boyfriend’s arms, to dinner and a snuggle on the couch.
So in a way, I can see myself in her frustrated tears. Four years ago, standing in this exact spot, fighting to get meaningful cases from my senior resident. And what did he tell me?
Suck it up, buttercup. This is how we’ve always done it.
I sucked it up better than anyone. I got harder. I stopped expecting teaching moments. I learned to grab lessons where I could, stealing glimpses of technique between the insults and exhaustion. And I rose to be chief resident, only to turn around and repeat the cycle.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and her anger deflates intoconfusion. “You’re right to feel like you missed out. I could have advocated for you more in that moment.”
She blinks at me, suspicious. “Really?”
I lean against the scrub sink, suddenly feeling every one of my thirty years. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring this up with whoever is in the OR. I’ll explain that you missed out today. I promise. And we can grab lunch and talk about the cases.”
The junior resident stares at me in disbelief, then mutters a super-fast thank you and bolts before I can change my mind.
I check my phone. Garrett still hasn’t texted again.
I have a bunch of other text chains that I’m derelict on, though. A dusty group chat with my sisters. Jules, aka Baby Minelli, got a new job in the summer that she’s wildly excited about, nannying for a divorced power couple. He’s a professional athlete and she’s a…singer? Actress? I can’t remember what she told us before signing an NDA that she takes super seriously. Which leaves Cassie—the only one of us to stay in Pine Harbour—to send a weekly check-in message.
Wincing, I drop a heart on her most recent one. Proof of life.
I also owe a reply to my Aunt Mara, my mom’s youngest sister. The day I started as chief resident, she sent me a text message that cut a little too close to the truth.
Mara
I know this year is going to be the hardest yet for you, my ferocious niece! Stay strong.
And then she included a sketch of me as a fearsome monster.
Since then, she’s sent me variations on the same sketch.Never asking me how I’m doing, as if she knows from a distance that the answer isnot great. Just gifting me a little bit of inspirational joy every few weeks.
I either reply immediately or never, there is no in between.
But I want to be better. I look at the most recent drawing, which I saw in between surgeries a few days ago. My heart squeezes.
Rory
I love these messages, btw. I know I don’t reply often.
Dots appear as soon as I hit send.
