“What happens now?” He traced the line of my clavicle. I could tell he was still the tiniest bit salty about the game. He’d get me next time, I was sure of it. “When do I get to see you this week?”
“You’re not going to have time for me. You’ll be busy.”
“Trust me. I’ve never had a problem finding time for you.”
There was something so certain, so definite in his tone that I shifted to face him, thinking I’d find something more in his expression. I found his sleepy eyes and warm smile. “Then come find me when you get some downtime.”
He pulled me tight to his chest. “Don’t think I won’t.”
On the other side of the room, the vibrator continued buzzing. “We’ll see how it goes. Okay? We’ll see how this rotation goes and then?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not interested in hearing your strategic exit plan,” he said. “I’m going to finish this rotation and then I’m going to start another one. You’ll tell me all the ways it’s going to kick my ass. You’ll probably be right but I’m gonna hope for the best anyway. I’ll finish that one, tell you that you were right, and then start another. We’ll repeat this cycle many times. We’ll make it work. I promise.”
“How do you know we’ll make it work?”
He ran his fingers through the ends of my hair, pulling the slightest bit. I never wanted him to stop. “Because I love my challenges, Whit.”
Twenty
Henry
Pediatric Surgery Rotation:
Day 4, Week 4
My cohort’sintroduction to residency was burn surgery which, to put it mildly, was really fucking intense. There were a lot of great attendings on that service though the one we reported to, Dr. Pecklewithe, was what I could only describe as a miserable bastard. Teaching was the least of his concern. He lived to shame and belittle at every turn. It was awful. I doubted whether I’d make it through residency if every rotation was like that one.
After the burn unit, we were shipped off to a satellite campus for our community general surgery rotation where Dr. Bass proved it was possible to be more of a miserable bastard than Pecklewithe. The guy seemed to think residency was one big cockfight and his only purpose was to pit us against each other.
With those horror shows behind us, we assumed transplant was a high point though not the norm. Imagine our surprise when we rolled up to pediatrics and discovered that Dr. Acevedodidn’t bother with shaming or cockfighting. If anything, he seemed intent on getting to know us as people and inviting us to his house for dinner.
I was stunned to learn that I loved pediatric surgery.
I wasn’t especially great at operating on kids and I wouldn’t be choosing peds as an elective anytime soon, but the cases were nothing like I’d ever seen before, my entire cohort was rocking this rotation, and Dr. Acevedo was an incredible teacher. No cockfighting, no ritualistic shaming, not even a water bottle to hold in the OR.
Best of all, Whit wasn’t my boss anymore. There were still times when she made me practice techniques on raw chicken, but there was no limit on the sleepovers. We spent as many nights together as we could, and with that, a new fear burrowed into the back of my brain: what if I fucked it all up? What if this fell apart and I couldn’t fix it? If this ever ended, I was sure I’d wander into the woods and never return to society. I didn’t want to function without her.
There were times when all I could think about were the months that I’d wanted her,neededher, and how I’d survived only on the thin hope that everything would be better when I figured out how to make this work. What would I do if I didn’t even have that hope? And what would I do if I did fuck it all up yet had to see her every day at the hospital? I had another four and a half years of residency left. I’d never make it.
Itwouldbe my fault. I didn’t know how or why, but I was positive it would be me. I knew all of Whit’s soft spots and dark corners and I knew she’d only turn away from me if I gave her a reason, because she wanted this as much as I did. She wanted me to keep on showing up and proving that I’d stay for her, I’dalwaysstay, and I intended to do that.
Until I fucked it up.
Dr. Acevedoand his wife invited theentireresidency program and a bunch of attendings to their house for Thanksgiving. They started serving food around eleven in the morning since many residents were stuck on overnights. They didn’t stop until eleven tonight because most of us couldn’t get away much earlier as the hospital was already running lean for the holiday.
Pediatrics got lucky today. Not a single procedure on the board, just post-op patients to look after. I spent most of my day learning how to knit from Reza while Tori and Cami planned vacations they couldn’t afford.
I was meeting Whit at Dr. Acevedo’s Cambridge home although the official story was that we weren’t there together. In all honesty, it didn’t bother me. As long as it gave Whit what she needed to not stress every time she thought about the ethical stuff, I didn’t care. We’d leave together—discreetly, of course—and that was the only thing that mattered to me.
The street was lined with cars and every light was on in the grand old Victorian. It took all of a minute before Acevedo met me at the door and introduced me to his wife Erin, a short redhead who seemed ridiculously happy to see me.
My own family had never been this happy to see me.
They showed me to the dining room where the long table was loaded with all the traditional Thanksgiving dishes plus curries, koftas, enchiladas, and many other items I didn’t recognize. They’d planned for everything—and everyone.
