Focus on the positive. Reframe the negative.
“Anyway, I saw one of your patients in triage,” he says. “She thinks she’s in labor.”
“Is she contracting?”
“No.”
“Is she dilated?”
“Nope.” Ashesh smirks. “Closed like Kmart.”
“Sounds like she’s just pregnant. Send her home.”
Once he’s gone, Jocelyn pokes her head out of the shower. “White really wouldn’t help you? Dick move.”
“You know how he is. Egomaniac. He probably would’ve helped if I’d sufficiently humiliated myself by begging, but I couldn’t quite reach that level.”
She grins. “Nothing wrong with a little shameless begging.”
“I didn’t need to beg, though.” I throw my arms wide, faking confidence. “I am a surgical god.”
Her smile falls. “There was another reason I came in here. The second instrument count was off. Missing a towel clamp. They want you to look at the X-ray.”
“What?” I nearly laugh. “I don’t use towel clamps.”
She shrugs, and my mind goes wild. Thoughts tumble deep into chaotic disarray.
No. It can’t be. Towel clamps aren’t even in C-section surgical sets.
But...
What if...
I follow Joss back to the OR on numb legs. Cynthia, the nurse in the wash station outside the room, has an image pulled up on her portable rollie computer—a plain film of my patient’s abdomen with a towel clamp right in the center.
No way. Is this for real?
I move closer. “I don’t understand. I didn’t use towel clamps.”
Every inch of my skin is tingling, simultaneously cold and on fire. I can’t go back into that abdomen. I just closed it. It was a nightmare. I don’t even use towel clamps!
“Is the patient still on the table?” I ask, then glance at Joss, confused. “Wait. What are you doing out here if she’s still asleep?”
She maintains her stoic, concerned facade for no more than three seconds before she bursts into laughter.
I turn to the now-giggling Cynthia. “What’s going on?”
“Gotcha!” Jocelyn says. “Kevin is with the patient, by the way. I’m not totally negligent.”
My stomach returns to its normal position, though it’s unsure whether it wants to stay there. A bit wobbly.
“We pulled that picture from the internet.” Joss points at the photo. “I told you I’d pay you back for the porno tattoo.”
Holy hell.
This is some next-level shit. When did she get good at this?
“Cynthia!” I cross my arms, but I’m smiling now that all the tension is gone. “Cindy Loo! My main squeeze! You let her do this? You’re supposed to be Team OB. She’s the enemy.”
