I shake my head and laugh while I encourage her, “Come on, Yenisley, push!”
A squealing baby slides out, squished and stunned, but cute despite that.
As I’m finishing up the repair, the dad slaps his hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Doc. I have to say, I wasn’t too sure when Yenisley picked you, but you’ve been awesome.”
My gut reaction is to brush it off—after all, I did what any doctor would do under the same circumstances—but then I stop myself. Can’t keep succumbing to these pathologic thought processes. I allow myself a moment to truly consider what he said.
You’ve been awesome.
And hang on. Is that—pride? In my chest?
I shoot him a smile. “It’s my pleasure. Congratulations.”
This is what Joss meant about mental snapshots.Every good thing that happens to you—snapshot.
The doting parents pay me no mind as I finish and clean up. With a quick congratulations, I slip out of the room to check on my C-section patient.
On the way, I pass Dr. Isaacs—a well-respectedurogynecologist—walking with Dr. White. I lift my chin in greeting. Isaacs either doesn’t see me or he’s an asshole because he walks by without even looking my way.Dr.Dillhole.Dr. White, however, slows to talk to me, and I inwardly cringe. This man should be my mentor, but instead he’s a thing I have to endure. His wrinkled face always cracks into a smile like I’m his buddy, but he treats me like a naughty child.
“You hear that Murphy got herself knocked up?” he asks, referring to one of our female call partners.
I’d heard mutterings that Dr. Murphy and her husband were trying, but not that they were successful. “Really? That’s great!”
He subtly rolls his eyes. “Yeah, great we’ll be taking her call while she’s on vacation.”
I pause. Is maternity leave a vacation, though?
“She’s the feely-good emotional type.” He titters. “Her patients’ll love you. Probably be flocking to you when she’s out.”
Because I’m also the feely-good emotional type? How am I supposed to take this? I settle on a laugh. “Yeah...”
“Lucky you, eh?” He claps me on the shoulder and walks away, chuckling.
The lead vest of inadequacy settles over me. Tums. Where did I leave them?
Wait, no. I force myself to channel Joss-energy. This doesn’t matter. Let it roll off. No snapshot here.
In the post-anesthesia unit, Malika’s just coming to. “Malika, can you hear me?” Jocelyn asks her.
“Stop yelling!” Malika shouts and thrashes in the bed.
“Okay,” Joss says in a quieter voice. “You’re in the hospital.”
“I know that, bitch!” Malika’s eyes open and she yanks atthe wires connecting her to the monitors before the nurses stop her. “Get your hands off me!”
Whoa. What the hell? Malika’s combative while the dad stands off to the side, wide-eyed with a bundled baby in hand.
“Malika, it’s Doctor Foley.” I touch her ankle over the blanket. “You had a beautiful baby boy.”
“Yeah, with a big fucking nose!” she snaps.
“Ha!” Jocelyn squawks before throwing a hand over her mouth. “I mean—” She gives a fake and halfhearted gasp.
I can’t stop myself from snorting. She’s a terrible actress. “What’s going on?”
She leans closer and whispers, “Ketamine makes you mean. And honest.”
The father looks half scared, half concerned. “Is she okay?”
