The shower’s hot enough peel a layer of skin off, but I relish it. I need to deal with these unruly feelings.
17
KENDALL
Grant peeks at me from across the surgical suite. My face tingles. How far we’ve come, that my skin prickles in—what, pleasure?—instead of anger.
Dr. Planck isn’t in the room yet, but the rest of the team is here. The patient is already positioned on the table.
George emits a low whistle. “Nurse. Can you hit the music?”
My lip curls. “Excuse me?”
Grant’s head snaps toward the other resident. “She’s not a dog, George,” he says in a low voice. “That’s extremely unprofessional.” His eyes narrow. “Her name is Kendall.”
George sputters, but he doesn’t argue. The others in the room avoid eye contact with him.
“I’ll start the music after the first incision,” I say. George nods.
Dr. Planck scrubs in, and we conduct the time out.
“Before we make the first incision,” Dr. Planck says, “does everyone agree that this is Dariush Aziz, and we are performing a right hip arthroscopy with acetabular rim decompression and labral debridement?”
Once everyone affirms, I turn on the music—classic rock, Dr. Planck’s preference. The tension from earlier evaporates.
Dr. Planck’s eyes sparkle. “All right, team. I’ve got a question. When someone dies, what’s the last organ to stop working?”
I smile. I know this is a setup for something, but I play along. “The heart,” I say. “Doesn’t it keep pumping blood?”
The anesthesiologist chimes in. “I’m going with the brain. You can measure electrical activity for a period of time after someone dies.”
“Is it skin or something? Is this a trick question?” Grant’s resonant voice rises above the other sounds of the OR.
Dr. Planck’s grin reaches eyes behind his surgical mask. “It’s the eyes. They dilate.”
I cock my head, then groan loudly.
“What?” George cuts in. “That doesn’t make sense. They . . .” He chuckles. “Wait, I see now. That’s terrible.”
We take turns telling more awful jokes. There’s some silence at a particularly difficult part of the surgery, but otherwise the mood is light.
A little later, though, I have to correct George.
“Uh, George—Dr. Gambill,” I say, and his gaze snaps to mine. “I need you to stop leaning on the patient’s leg.”
He straightens. “I know. I don’t need you to tell me that.”
“Hey.” Grant is holding a pair of retractors, so he doesn’t look at his co-resident, but his tone is direct. “You aren’t going to talk to her that way.”
“Glorified gofer,” George mutters, presumably talking about me.
Grant’s expression, or what I can see of it, turns thunderous.
“Do I need to replace you, Dr. Gambill?” Dr. Planck continues working with methodical calm, but a thread of anger winds through his words. “Because I won’t hesitate if you can’t respect the rest of the staff.”
“No,” George mutters. “I’m fine. Sorry.” He directs this last word at Dr. Planck, not me.
After the procedure, I hear Dr. Planck chewing out the resident down the hall. Normally I feel bad for residents who get yelled at by attendings, but not in this case. George can fuck right off.
