“You know, I’m really interested in neurosurgery,” Ryan says.
“Me too,” I reply.
He laughs awkwardly. “And I’d love to do residency here, so I’d appreciate any tips or advice . . .”
“Sure, I’ll keep it in mind.” I pull out my phone to discourage further conversation, and text Ally to confirm we’re still on for tennis tomorrow.
Back at the clinic, I stop at the reception desk to give Celine the latte. She looks a little confused—I’m not in the habit of leaving mid-clinic to buy her coffee—but she takes it with a smile of thanks.
“But—you didn’t get a drink for yourself?” Ryan looks confused as we walk back to the workstation.
“I don’t drink coffee, Ryan,” I say with a shrug. “But life’s a lot easier if you keep your assistant happy.”
There. Now the kid can’t say I didn’t teach him anything.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see that Ally’s replied to my text.
Alexandra: Can we reschedule tennis? I fell off my bike this morning and got a bit scraped up. I’ll need a couple days to recover.
Me: Of course. You okay?
She doesn’t reply right away, and I think back to the woman I saw in the ER waiting room. She really did look a lot like Ally.
“Dr. Malone, I’ve got a case to review if you have a minute,” Lucy says.
“Sure,” I say absently. “Actually, no. Lucy, I have to go deal with something. I’m leaving you in charge.”
Lucy’s eyes widen in surprise. She’s a senior resident, so leaving her to run a clinic isn’t crazy, but it’s not something I’ve ever done before. I’m not exactly known for giving my residents autonomy.
“Okay, Dr. Malone,” she says.
“If you think someone needs to be booked for surgery, have them wait for me to review,” I tell her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Anyone you’re happy with, you can send home. I’ll read your charts later.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
“Uh, Dr. Malone—” Ryan begins.
“No, Ryan, you can’t come with me,” I say, pre-empting his question. “Dr. Sun is in charge, understand?”
Ryan nods. “Of course.”
When I get back to the ER waiting room, there’s no sign of Ally. I try to call her, but she doesn’t pick up. So I head to the low acuity zone, where they treat the walking wounded. Ally said it was nothing major, and hopefully that’s true.
As usual, the ER looks like a disaster area: chaotic, noisy, and crowded. The low acuity zone is basically another waiting room, with rows of chairs facing a TV that’s playing the news. A sign under the TV states that ‘chairs are forpatients only’, and almost every chair is occupied. There are a few curtained cubicles off to one side, to give patients the illusion of privacy when they finally get seen.
I spot Ally almost immediately, sitting at the end of a row talking to a nurse. As I walk closer, I notice her left forearm is wrapped in gauze and her pants are ripped at the knee.
“If you want to leave before you see a doctor, you’ll have to sign out against medical advice,” the nurse tells her.
“That’s fine,” Ally replies. “Is there a form or something?”
Oh, there’s no way. She looks pale and exhausted, and she’s clearly in pain. For all I know, she could be badly injured.
“Ally,” I begin.
She looks up and blinks in surprise. “Oh. Hey, Drew.”
“You can’t leave,” I say simply.
