“I trust you – you can decide.” Only when she remembered she was also an economist did she ask if it was expensive. I told her we’d manage because the army supports its soldiers.
“I miss you.”
“Me too. It’s so hot here, my brain is drying out…”
“You’re always talking about the heat. I want to feel it for myself. And you! I’m counting the hours.”
“And I’m counting the minutes.”
In just two days, I had been exposed to countless new things, all coming at a dizzying pace: the Navy, the shipyard, patient line-ups, emergency plans, the hospital, diving, the pressurechamber, First Aid Lifeline, the “essential worker” designation, private practice permits – and now a potential apartment.
I had also met many people who, to my relief, were very willing to help.
“It’s really a different place!” I told Lily every time we spoke on the phone.
I knew that the stronger the foundation I built before Lily arrived, the easier it would be for us to make decisions together. The encounter with the new city enchanted me. Even its rhythm suited me at this stage. It was the opposite of the rumors spread in the north, that the sun and the heat dried out the brains of the locals and slowed everything down. Only Lily was missing. She wasn’t there for my first steps in the city. I regretted it, but I also realized I had spared her a lot of running around, making things easier for her. I knew that if I wanted to see her, I would have to be patient until the end of the week. There was no sign in the air of what was about to happen.
What heat!!!
Chapter 40
First On-Call
The permits for private work had been signed but hadn’t come through yet. What did arrive was a call from the hospital reminding me I was on duty that evening. The closer my shift drew, the more nervous I became.
The thought that in just a few hours I’d be responsible for the ER and a significant number of the hospital’s patients made me restless. It’s no small thing to be the only “fresh” doctor in a hospital where, as everyone knows, things can turn dramatic fast. The first thing you learn in clinical work is to call for help when something happens. In a big center, within seconds you’re not alone; here it could take a long time – even though “everything’s five minutes from the hospital.” Five minutes is an eternity in medical terms. And what if the on-call senior is in the shower? Does that double, triple, or quadruple the response time?
Why isn’t there an in-house on-call? Are they that stingy – or is their staff just that good? I even thought about phoning the department head at New-Hope Medical Center and asking what to do “in case of.” That’s how anxious I was. What if a couple of ambulances showed up from all over after a bus-on-bus crash? This really isn’t for me, I thought, as the jitters started nesting in me. All this for a few dozen lira a day – so why? Why did I agree? Questions raced through my head. I paced everywhere like a caged lion. At some point – I honestly don’t remember how – I found myself in the hospital lobby at exactly seven in the evening.
“I’m Michael, the night on-call doctor,” I introduced myself to the nurse on duty.
“Dr. Whitney?”
“Yes. I prefer Dr. Michael…”
“Dr. Lahav is on his way. He’ll take you around,” she said, giving me the once-over. I was used to those looks by now. I knew she didn’t believe I was the doctor. My baby face did me no favors in my early days. More than once, after I’d examined a patient in New-Hope Medical Center’s ER, made the diagnosis, treated them, and written the admission or discharge – either the patient or a family member would ask, “So when is the doctor coming?”
The emergency room was completely empty. All the curtains were drawn back, exposing empty beds. The waiting area was deserted too.
“Dr. Lahav, this is the new doctor. He’s on tonight,” the nurse introduced me. He was in his white coat, stethoscope looped around his neck.
“Aaron,” he said, extending a hand.
“Michael,” I answered, and we shook hands.
“Let’s go through the wards, then we’ll come back to the ER.” He was all business.
I don’t recall how long the “round” took – the handover routine between shifts. We went through all the departments, but when we reached Internal Medicine, something made me slow down. Turned out the most critical patient in the ward was about thirty, suffering from an undefined autoimmune disease. She was unconscious, intubated, and until recently had been receiving dialysis. The monitor showed a completely regular heart rate and respiration.
“Her condition is extremely grave,” Aaron said. “Even her family understands by now that she has no chance. They’re all waiting for her to take her last breaths.”
“She looks so young,” I said.
“Yes, the disease hit her relatively early. She had arthritisin the past, and deteriorated into severe renal failure. She was hospitalized at Parkview Medical Center, and now they’ve brought her here, near home, to ease things on the family.” He filled me in on her medical history and current condition.
The encounter set off an explosion in my head. I don’t know how I managed to look like I was listening and actually take it in. I suppose if it had been daytime, they would’ve sent me to the ER for observation.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Lily. Aaron was basically describing her, her illness – and here I was, meeting reality, and maybe the future. The patient was close to Lily’s age too. I tried not to react, but I couldn’t help it.
