She barely nods as her eyes are still glued to the pager in her hands, her lithe fingers dancing across the buttons to familiarize herself with it.
“If they need to be added onto the surgical schedule,” I continue. “Run the case by me first. Don’t makeany, and I meanany,serious treatment decisions without me. Or if I’m not working, I’ll choose which other attending you follow up with. You don’t play God, got it?”
She nods again, practically jogging to keep up with me as we walk the halls from the surgical offices to the pre-op area. She holds the pager in her hand and continues to focus on it as if it’ll tell her secrets. “Are you going to be my shadow the entire time? Or just until you realize I know how to do more than put a band-aid on a skinned knee?”
I stop abruptly before we reach the first set of double doors that lead to the surgical unit and turn toward her with my hands on my hips. “I’m going to be your shadow until I’m confident you’re not a complete walking malpractice.”
She mocks my stance, placing her own hands on her hips. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
I give her another firm stare before punching my hand out to open the automatic doors. I gesture with my head for her to go first, and I follow behind. “To the left,” I bark, leading her down the hall to the bank of television screens that displays the surgical schedule. I give her a brief overview of the surgeries that are scheduled first, the ones that are already in the OR, then show her the furthest screen, currently blank, which will show the patients that are in post-op. She asks some basic questions, nothing too irritating, but it shows me that she understands the process.
She smiles at a few of the nurses as they shuffle around and opens her mouth to introduce herself before I interrupt, “Let’s go.” I turn to leave the station, not waiting to see if she follows. A second later I hear the squeak of her shoes as she shuffles to catch up with me.
“Don’t you think I should take a minute to get to know some of the surgical staff?”
“You can gossip and paint your nails some other time, Princess. We have a consult waiting for us in the ER.”
She mutters something under her breath, and I don’t bother to ask what she said. I know she’s pissed at me and probably cussing me out for being short with her. But I have one job to do, and that’s to get her to hate working here.
I press the down arrow on the bank of elevators, and the doors immediately slide open. We both step inside and move to lean on the opposite walls. Her arms once again come up to cross over her chest, and I smirk. Leaning back, I use my hands to balance on the railing as I cross one ankle over the other. “Enjoying your first day, Princess?”
Her eyes squint as she tilts her head to meet my gaze. “Love it,” she deadpans.
“This type of work isn’t for the faint of heart. You need to be attentive and organized. You need to have a hell of a work ethic and stamina to get yourself through grueling shifts.”
“I know,” she bites out, her arms still firmly crossed over her chest. Her gaze is over my shoulder now, focusing on her reflection in the mirror behind me.
“People are putting their lives in your hands, even before you enter the OR.”
Her eyes flick to my face. “Tell me, Dr. Andrews, do you think I was on vacation for the last two years?”
Her question surprises me, and I cock my head in response.
“Do you?” she prompts again, enunciating the words.
“I don’t know, or care, what you were doing for the last two years.”
She scoffs, nodding her head in understanding. “I see it now; I see why you and my dad are so close.”
The elevator halts. The doors ding and open wide, yet neither of us move. “Care to elaborate on that?”
She takes one step forward. “You both think I’m just a teenager and this is some sort of game for me. You think I’d prefer to play house in the jungle, surviving off of daddy's money while perfecting my suntan. What you don’t realize,” she says as she takes another step forward, “is that I worked alongside many great physicians who have a hell of a lot more experience than you do. Ones that aren’t afraid to teach, to share their knowledge, and not use it against others. You don’t know that I’ve inserted chest tubes, central lines, and drained all sorts of abscesses from every part of the body you could imagine. More than the typical second-year resident sees, and I did it inside a tent while sweating balls in one hundred degree weather. Ordering electrolyte replacements or blood transfusions or reviewing critical labs doesn’t scare me. Opening and closing a body for surgery doesn’t scare me. I’ve probably sutured more cavities closed in a day than you do in a week.
“I know how to do the basics, Dr. Andrews. What I need is a mentor who will share their knowledge, who will show me what it’s like to be in charge of an OR, who will give me the confidence to become the surgeon I want to be. We both need to get me through the next six months so I can get the hell out of here.”
The elevator doors closed during her tantrum, and she reaches a hand out to slap the button, allowing the metal doors to open once again. She moves to exit and I reach an arm out to block her. She stops abruptly, whipping her head in my direction to wait for my next move.
Once I’m confident she won’t run out of the elevator, I let my arm fall and press the button for the third floor to buy us some time. She takes two steps back; once the doors close in front of us, and as I feel the cables tug the cage into motion, I answer.
“You’re right.” I rub a hand across my forehead, wondering how the fuck I’m going to figure this out.
“I’m what?” Her voice is pitchy, sounding just as surprised as I am.
“I’m a dick, and that likely won’t change.”
She rolls her eyes, but I hold up a hand to stop her. If I’m going to do what Richard asks of me, I at least need to keep a semi-professional relationship with his daughter. In a weird way, she reminds me of myself at her age. I was hungry for the OR, desperate to get my hands on any procedure or scrub in to watch the attendings perform the most basic surgeries just so I could seesomething. I was so eager to get my hands on a surgery that I was willing to do whatever it took.” I’ve seen doctors come and go throughout the years. Some people soar through med school, acing tests and perfecting their technique in the cadaver lab, but residency is where people sink or swim. It’s where the strong continue to grow and the weak are filtered out.
If any other resident had her attitude it would almost excite me. If she has the confidence she boasts, plus the skillset to back it up, she’d be a hell of a resident to have on my team.
