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“Excuse me. Don’t mind me,” said the Doctor, shuffling around the rollie tables, comfy chairs, and chemo pumps. Her arms were laden down with all the best snacks: BBQ crisps, apple slices with the little cup of caramel, chocolate pretzel sticks and multigrain cheese crackers. The best snacks were always in the chemo ward.
She dumped her loot on a table before wheeling it into place on her chosen seat. Chemo also got the best chairs. This particular comfy chair was perfectly situated to be able to look out the window of the building but not be seen from the window in the door.
“Oi, those are for patients,” complained the only occupant in the ward, a crotchety, grey-haired man in his late 50's.
“Please don’t rat me out! I haven’t had a lunch break in two, no, three weeks,” said the Doctor, tearing into a bag of crisps. Calories had never tasted so artificial and processed; it was heavenly.
“Dr. Disco is on my case to schedule guest lectures for the new intern class. The Dean will not stop calling me about the theme for the annual fundraiser. Should it be Titanic or Atlantis? Sounds the same to me but when I suggest Ten Thousand Leagues Under the Sea he’s all ‘No, it’s too niche. No one will understand the reference’,” the Doctor said the last bit in a nasal mockery of the Dean.
“And now,” the Doctor continued, “I have a very angry rep from billing complaining that I inputted the cost code incorrectly, so a patient was charged the wrong amount so I’m in here hiding for my life.”
“And did you?” asked the man.
“Do what?”
“Input the wrong code?”
“Well, yeah,” said the Doctor like it was obvious. “She’s a single mom and even with NHS would struggle to pay for her daughter’s surgery. So, I inverted two digits and hoped no one would notice until after they flew back to Guatemala.”
“Huh,” said the man, leaning back in his chair. He looked over the strange woman. She kicked off her shoes before curling up in a ball, feet tucked under her. She munched away on crips. She had the doctor’s coat and stethoscope, but she didn’t ack like any doctor he had met so far.
“I’m the Doctor by the way.”
“Graham.” He wasn’t even going to question her lack of proper name.
“What are you in for?” The Doctor nodded to his chemo pump.
“Lymphoma,” said Graham. “Stage 4.”
“Got you on CHOP or RICE?”
“The first one, I think. Only my second round,” said Graham, his voice quivered. He rubbed his palms against his legs. The Doctor nodded and took a loud crunch out of her crisp.
“How long did they give you?” Graham huffed at the impertinence but when he looked back at the Doc, her eyes, it was like they irradiated part of the fear that kept him from voicing it out loud.
“If it doesn’t work, 8 months. Maybe a year,” said Graham.
“And when it works?” Graham noted her choice of words.
“Well…Then, the rest of my life.” The Doctor smiled, like she knew a secret she was slyly telling him; that it would be a very long life ahead of him. Her blonde hair caught the rare sunny day, her eyes sparkling with hope. Graham left behind the religion of his childhood long ago, but he always imagined that was what an angel would look like.
And then the effect was ruined when she upended the crisp bag, catching most of the crumbs in her gapping maw, others spilling down the front of her shirt. She brushed them off her striped shirt and reached for a packet of chocolate pretzels.
“Mind you, if I was given 8 months to live, I would not waste it on ‘War and Peace’,” said the Doctor, nodding to the book lying closed on the armrest. Graham sputtered.
“Oh really?”
“Seriously, I would reread all my favorites. I would line them up in my front room and read them one after another. It would be like visiting old friends one last time.” Graham looked at his copy of Russian literature. He had no idea why he bought it at Waterstone. It just seemed like the thing people did when they got a deadline on all the things they meant to do. That and he already read Moby Dick.
“So you wouldn’t travel the world?” asked Graham. “That’s the one thing everyone in my chemo support group goes on about. ‘When I get better, I’m going to see Everest or The Great Wall of China or Belfast’ they all say.”
“Belfast?” the Doctor, nearly choaking on a chocolate pretzel.
“Apparently that’s his idea of going abroad,” said Graham. Laugher flowed out of the Doctor like a song. Graham caught himself chuckling along. How long had it been since he laughed? Certainly not since his diagnosis eight weeks ago.
“I guess it would depend on if I was still practicing medicine,” said the Doctor. “I can’t turn my back on people who need me. But I wouldn’t mind seeing the Valley of the Gods.”
“Where’s that? Egypt?”
“Utah.”
“Well, I hope you never get a bad prognosis because that is a rubbish ‘only have 8 months to live’ destination.” Their banter continued back and forth, and the light slipped over the Doctor’s chair. A few other chairs were filled with sallow faced patients. The Doctor and Graham, although rowdy in their banter, were never told off. The nurse instead gave them space to just be themselves.
As the day in the life of the surgeon, her phone beeped, indicating a new fire that needed her attention. She groaned, slapping the armrests of the chair. She unzipped her bag strapped around her waist and pulled out her phone, scrolling through the incoming message.
“Gotta go?”
“Yeah,” the Doctor sighed. Graham watched as all the mirth that they had built start to slip away. A shadow darkened her expression from within as she read the message a second time.
"What's wrong?" asked Graham.
The Doctor drew her hand over her face. “I’ve got an eight-year-old on the table and my surgeons ran into a complication. Cardio and Pedes can’t consent on a course of action. Now I get to decide and hope it’s the correct one. Thanks for the lunch break.”
“Yeah,” said Graham, but it felt like he should be thanking her. The Doctor pocketed the remainder of her snacks and tossed the empty wrappers in the bin. She moved to leave when a stroke of genius hit Graham. Somehow, she awakened something that none of the support groups or oncologists or therapists could. It was too early to tell what it was but he knew he wanted to feel this way again.
“Say Doc, I’m going to be here pretty frequently. And it sounds like you take lunch about as frequently as I get my injections. Put me on your calendar,” said Graham. The Doctor turned back towards him. Her lips pulled to one side in contemplation.
“My schedule’s pretty irregular. I can’t promise I can make it,” said the Doctor.
“I’m here for six hours at a stretch. You don’t need to stay the whole time. Just pop in and say hi.” The Doctor shoved her hands in her coat pockets, but Graham could tell she was warming to the idea. “Think it over. Take my details from my secretary.” Graham waived a hand at the nurse, who was listening to the whole conversation from her workstation. “Miss, would you mind giving Dr. um, sorry remind me your name again?”
“It’s just 'The Doctor'.”
“That’s not confusing or anything.”
“It’s actually much easier than the alternative.”
“Right,” again he was just going to roll with it. Back to addressing the nurse, “Could you help?”
The nurse gave an overly dramatic sigh, playing along. “It is highly unusual but I think that can be arranged.” Graham felt a small sense of joy as the Doctor beamed.
“Great! You know where to send it to, Grace?” asked the Doctor. The nurse nodded. The Doctor waived Graham off and disappeared back into the hospital. Already the room felt smaller without her large personality.
“Graham O’Brien, you fox!” said the nurse. Her saucy smile paired well with her beautiful face.
“What?” said Graham, caught off guard.
“You've got a lunch date,” the nurse teased in a sing song voice.
“She looked like she needed a break. I was being friendly,” defended Graham.
“And the Chief of Surgery to boot.”
“That was the Chief?!”
“Giving out your number to younger women,” the nurse tisked. Graham felt this conversation was spiraling way too fast.
“That’s not, no, I didn’t give her my number.”
“I just sent over your entire chemo regiment. She knows more about you than you do.”
“First, she is way, way too young for me. And! I only give out my number to pretty women, like you.”
He cut himself short. The air in his lungs vanished. He didn’t mean to say the last two words. They just sort of spilled out. But now they hung naked between them.
“Well,” said the nurse, tossing her black braids behind her shoulder. “If you’re going to call me pretty, you may as well know my name is Grace, so you better start using it.” Graham felt his lungs return to normal and he played with the idea that if he had more than a year, it might not be a bad time to hang up the bachelor life.
~*~Three weeks later~*~
“Hiya Grace!” The Doctor gave a quick waive to the nurse in question, typing away at her workstation before scavenging snacks and sauntering over to her newest friend. He put down his book and extended his hands to the offerings of food.
“Come here often?” asked the Doctor. Graham snorted.
“How long have you been working on that one?” asked Graham.
“Since our last lunch break,” said the Doctor. It had been three weeks since their last encounter and Graham was hard press to admit he looked forward seeing the Doctor again. She sorted the snacks into two piles before kicking off her shoes and curling up in the chair next to the window.
“That’s disgusting,” said Graham, nodding at her trainers.
“You try standing in one place for four hours and then complain,” said the Doctor. She ripped open a bag of crisps and started shoveling the crunchy goodness into her mouth.
“So what’s the trouble this time?” asked Graham. The Doctor threw her head back with a groan.
“We have this patient and every time we think we pinpoint the problem something new crops up.”
“And you’re here having lunch with me instead of taking care of that?” asked Graham. The Doctor waived a hand away.
“I’ve got the interns doing research, the heads are pulling together a course of treatment and I’m waiting for a call back from Zurich so in the meantime, I get lunch.”
“Now I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure most people would not consider this a proper lunch,” said Graham, opening his own bag of crisps. The Doctor gave him a huffy crinkle of her nose before scooping another handful of junk food down her throat.
“I though we had decided you should give up on Tolstoy,” the Doctor said through a mouthful of food. Graham whisked the book out of sight before the Doctor could snatch it from his armrest.
“Oi! We decided nothing. And I already paid for it. Might as well finish it,” argued Graham.
“It’s old and depressing and everyone dies in the end,” said the Doctor. “There, now you can have 40 hours of your life back."
“I’m still going to see how it ends for myself, thanks.”
The Doctor didn’t accept that answer. Pouting, she turned around in her chair, her knees pressed into the cushions and her body flat against the back of the chair.
“Grace, hold him down while I get the matches,” said the Doctor.
“No open flames in the hospital,” reminded Grace, not looking up from her computer monitor.
“Not even just a little one?” The Doctor squeezed her forefinger and thumb together to show just how tiny a fire she would make.
“Tolstoy would make more than a little fire,” said Grace, her eyebrow cocked in warning. The Doctor pouted as she slumped back down with a huff.
“I will admit it’s a bit of a challenge. Had to go to Sparknotes a few times to figure out who’s related to who,” said Graham.
“What’s Sparknotes?” asked the Doctor.
“You are kidding?” asked Graham. The Doctor shook her head. “It’s a web site that summaries of all the important points, themes, characters and such. The book is so dense I spend a ton of time trying to figure out if I need to remember this name or that thing because I have no idea if it’s going to be important later.”
“It’s not too late for me to get the matches.”
“Har har. So, after a chapter, I go onto Sparknotes, and it will tell me, no, that character won’t be showing up again so I can delete them from the old rolodex.” Graham tapped his temple.
The Doctor snorted, grabbing another bag of crisps. She popped the bag open and then froze. Her face went slack as she stared at the opposite wall. Graham looked at the spot she was fixated on and saw nothing.
“Doc, what are you looking at?” he asked but the Doctor shushed him. She raised her hand and brought it down, like she was conducting an orchestra.
“What are you doing?” asked Graham but the Doctor didn’t answer. She moved her hands in the air and he realized she was performing a surgery he could not see. She weaved and stitched and manipulated an invisible patient, her eyes growing with each passing second. And at the conclusion of the dance, she smacked the armrests.
“OH! Oh, Graham O’Brien you are a genius!” said the Doctor. She jumped out of her chair. She got two steps away before turning back so she could put her shoes back on.
“What? What did I say?”
“A rolodex! That’s the answer I’ve been looking for!” Her hands fluttered between explaining and tying her laces.
“The what? Sorry, I’m confused,” said Graham.
“No time to explain. You may have just saved Kyle’s life! I’m coming back for my snacks!” She whisked out the door, her white coat fluttering behind her. He sat in a daze, like he witnessed the aftermath of a heavy storm.
Hours ticked by and the Doctor did not come back like she said. He ended up reading the same paragraph over and over again, not because Tolstoy is greatly overrated, but because he kept looking at the door, waiting for his friend to return. By the time Graham was done with his transfusion, Grace made to clear up the abandoned snacks.
“Hold on, she said she’d be back,” said Graham.
“I know, love, but I just checked her schedule. She’s going to be in surgery for another six hours, at least, and you’re the last patient here,” said Grace. Graham felt a flutter at the pet name but his beating heart slowed at the sight of the empty chair beside him.
“Can we at least send them to her office?” Graham asked. Grace’s warm smile filled his soul in a way he didn’t know could happen.
“I think that can be arranged,” said Grace
~*~One week later~*~
Yaz pounced at the opportunity when Dr. Harkness announced he needed an extra pair of hands in the OR. She flew to the scrub room, eager to be a part of a major surgery. He had warned her that it could take nine, ten hours. Maybe longer. That only heightened her excitement.
Yaz donned her disposable booties for her trainers and grabbed a bar of the harsh soap. Turning on the tap, she scrubbed her hands, nails, and forearms raw. As she started on the other hand, the door to the scrub room opened. Yaz reflexively matched the Doctor’s radiant smile.
“You’re on this case too?” asked Yaz.
“Yep,” said the Doctor. She slipped the shoe covers on before grabbed a bar of soap. She stood at the sink next to Yaz, turning on the water. “Dr. Harkness needed an ortho surgeon.”
“Aren’t there other ortho surgeons who could have taken the case? Aren’t you super busy?”
“Probably and yes. But this way I get to spend more time with you.”
Yaz felt her heart flutter. She didn’t know why, but the thought of the Doctor excited to spend more time with her fueled her confidence in a way she hadn’t expected.
Unfortunately, that confidence was tested very quickly. Their patient, Danny Simmons, was ran over by a forklift, resulting in his insides resembling a bowl of spaghetti. Several of his ribs were crushed, perforating the vital organs they were supposed to protect. Dr. Harkness took point, guiding the rest of the surgical team (the surgeons, scrub nurses, anesthesiologist, and the surgical tech) through the intricate ballet of the procedure. He gave clear directions and was unbothered when Yaz asked for clarification. Yaz had heard a few rumors that he was supposed to be a playboy or something, but overall, she found him to be a very capable teacher.
Yaz’s main job was to hold and retract so the more experienced doctors could repair the internal damage. She had expected a little bit more personal conversations, like what she was use to on TV, but the complexity and ever changing situation kept them focused on the task at hand.
That is until a mobile phone chimed. All the surgeons’ phones were placed on a table outside of the sterile field prior to surgery. One of the supporting nurses picked up the vibrating phone and opened the screen.
“It’s for the Doctor,” said the nurse. “A ‘Grace Synclair’ texted?”
“Is that Ryan’s gran? Doesn’t she work in oncology?” asked Yaz. The Doctor didn’t answer her. Dr. Harkness stole a glance at his boss but continued to work.
“Can you read it for me, please?” asked the Doctor, not looking up from her work. The nurse pulled up the message.
“It just says in all caps ‘GO GET SCANS DONE! RESULTS ARE IN!’ and then a bunch of exclamation marks,” said the nurse. The Doctor furrowed her brow and then the meaning clicked into place.
“Part two of that message should be coming in any time now,” said the Doctor. Sure enough, another ping sounded from the phone in the nurse’s hand. “What’s it say?”
The nurse read the message but searched for reassurance from her peers.
“I…I don’t have to read it here,” said the nurse. She pressed the phone screen to her chest
“No!” whined the Doctor. “I’ve been waiting all week for those test results!”
“Read the text or we won’t hear the end of it,” said Dr. Harkness. The nurse pealed the phone from her chest with all the joy of pealing back a plaster on an infected sore.
“Hematocrit, 40.2,” said the nurse.
“Skip to the good stuff. Give me Red, White, Hemoglobin, Lymphocytes and T Cell,” said the Doctor. The nurse looked like she was just asked to kick a puppy.
“Red cell count, 4.9. White cell count 3.2, Hemoglobin 8.9, Lymphocyte 1.2, and T Cell 2.0.” The Doctor whooped with the joy of a five-year-old on their birthday while the rest of the OR was in the middle of a funeral procession.
“Oh, what a relief,” said the Doctor. “That could have been so much worse.”
“Could have been worse? That was, oh my god,” said Yaz. Every think she knew about blood tests paraded a line of red flags around those numbers. With results like that her body was not working properly. With lowered white cells and lymphocyte, the body couldn’t fight off pathogens and infections. With diminished red cells, her body would be working twice as hard to do the most basic tasks. And then she remembered who sent them: Ryan’s gran in oncology.
“Do you have cancer?” asked Yaz, her heart pounding in her ears “Are you dying of cancer?!”
“Yaz, listen to me,” said the Doctor leaning forward but Yaz was too far into her own panic to listen.
“But you can’t have cancer. You can’t die. You’re too brilliant.” Yaz’s head was swimming. What would the world look like without the Doctor? What would her world look like?
“Dr. Khan,” Dr. Harkness warned. He stilled the cautery in his hand, alert to the new danger to the patient.
“Because I can’t lose you!” shouted Yaz. She froze. The Doctor’s hazel eyes dazzled like the galaxies embossed on her scrub cap as they stared at each other.
And a new realization formed in Yaz’s heart. She couldn’t lose this woman. How could she continue in her career without this brilliant surgeon to guide her? But it was more than that. She wanted to be a better person, a stronger woman, and a fearless leader because of the values the Doctor had inspired within her.
She blinked herself out of her revery, realizing only a fraction of a second had passed. The Doctor’s eyes glistened as they gazed into her own. Yaz licked her lips under her surgical mask.
“I can’t lose you because I still have so much to learn from you,” said Yaz, her words muffled by the mask.
“Dr. Khan, I’m going to ask you to take a step away from the table and just take a second to breath,” said Dr. Harkness. “I’m sure there is another explanation.”
Yaz retreated, her hands raise to preserve the sterile field. She stifled her first deep breath but found the next few much easier. It took almost a minute for her hands to stop shaking.
“G.O. are the initials of our mutual friend,” said the Doctor. “That’s who’s scans those were. Grace knew I was in surgery and used his initials on purpose. The phone probably auto corrected ‘got’ to ‘get’ because frankly, that makes a lot more sense. So really, it read ‘our friend GOT his scans done, results are in.” Yaz nodded but she still felt the remnants of her adrenaline in her veins.
“And you were right. My friend dose have cancer. This was his first scan since he started chemo. If someone came into the ER with those numbers, I would freak out too. But it’s good news because it means the chemo is working,” said the Doctor. Yaz could see her eyes shining. Maybe she was imagining it but could it be more than just hope that lingered in her gaze?
“I wish I could hug you right now but sterile field and all that.” Yaz laugh came out more of a blurb than haha.
“I’ll take a rain check. And I promise,” the Doctor added. “I am not dying of cancer. No, when I go, it’s going to be way more dramatic than that.”
~*~Two Weeks Later~*~
“Morning, Grace. Morning, Graham,” said the Doctor. She dragged herself to her chair and collapsed. She didn’t even grunt or grown or yawn because all those things required energy she did not have.
“Well, you’re here early, Sunshine,” said Graham, poking fun at her un-peppy appearance. Graham unbuttoned the top two buttons of his polo to give Grace access to his chemo port, a medical device implanted below his collar bone. Grace connected the long plastic tubes from the chemo pump to the spokes of his port. A few more adjustments and everything would ready for another round of chemo.
“I’ve been in surgery since six,” said the Doctor, rubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes.
“Oh, come on, that’s only, what? Three hours?” Graham glanced at the clock. It read quarter past nine.
“Six PM.”
“Oh,” Graham did the quick math in his head. “Damn.”
The Doctor’s hand fell to her sides like dead weight. She stared out into nothing. She didn’t even bother to take off her shoes or curling up. She just sat there, utterly spent.
“Why don’t you go home, kip off for a bit?” asked Graham.
“Can’t,” she spoke to the wall opposite her. “Board meeting at noon. Peer review for Journal of Cardiac Medicine due tomorrow and I promised the interns a lesson on remote surgery,” said the Doctor. Even her words sounded sluggish.
“You can’t do all that. You’re falling apart at the seams. Tell you what? Set an alarm for an hour, kip off, and then go do all those things,” said Graham.
“I can’t be gone that long,” said the Doctor. Her hand flopped like a fish on it’s last feeble attempt to return to the sea after being beached for 15 hours.
“You need rest.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
“You need sleep now! Go on. Forty-five.”
“Thirty.”
“Done!” said Graham. The Doctor fished out her phone from her bum bag and tapped away. Alarm set, she placed the phone on the table between their chairs. She closed her eyes and Graham heard her breathing even out in under a minute. Graham gave a low whistle. “I wish I could turn off like that.”
Grace finished setting the chemo pump with the correct drip times and sent Graham off on the road to recovery. Then it was the Doctor’s turn. She reached for the Doctor’s phone, amused to see the Doctor’s wallpaper picture included her grandson, along with his other friends he met at his new hire orientation.
“What are you on about?” asked Graham.
“Just taking care of one of my patients,” said Grace as she canceled the alarm.
The Doctor’s first conscious thought as she gradually rose from hibernation was that she enjoyed the twitter patted sounds of young teens exploring the dulcet tones of flirting for the first time.
‘No,’ she thought. ‘That was Graham and Grace. Oh, they really shouldn’t be flirting. Nurses and patients. No good. …But they would be cute together… after Graham’s cancer cleared up, of course. No dating patients. That’s a big rule. Grace is too honorable to break it... They really would have the best wedding.’
She considered dozing off again, just a few more minutes, but then the list of things to do crawled back. Strange she woke up before her alarm. That never happens. Wait, did she miss her alarm? The Doctor pealed back her eyelids, reaching for her phone.
“Hey! Morning, Sunshine,” said Graham. The Doctor’s face paled with dread as the screen flashed 13:27.
“No, no, no. No! NO! SHIT!” The Doctor fumbled with her bum bag. Graham watched in alarm as she dumped the contents of a small pharmacy on the table. One of the pill bottles toppled over, rolling off the table and away under an adjacent chair. Grace jumped up to fetch it. She saw that the label had been scratched out with a heavy black marker, masking the drug name and personal information.
“I missed the board meeting!” railed the Doctor. “Now I’ve only got thirty minutes to prepare for my lecture and-“ Grace put down the pill bottle and took the Doctor’s hands in hers.
“Stop,” said Grace. “I tuned off your alarm so you could get some rest. No, don’t make that face. Just listen. I contacted Donna and explained what happened. She came up with an excuse for the board, delegated your peer review to Dr. Jones and the intern lecture has been rescheduled for next week.”
The Doctor’s head fell back. Her body eased as her internal flight system shut down.
“Now how many of those should you take with food?” asked Grace, nodding to the collection of pills, guessing (correctly) that most days they were not taken properly. The Doctor slipped her hand out of Grace’s and separated out two bottles. Grace nodded.
“Do you want me to page an intern to bring you lunch up here?”
The Doctor shook her head. “The canteen is still open. I’m going to make my presence known or someone will put out a missing person’s report on me.”
“And you will get a proper lunch, yes?”
“Yes,” said the Doctor with all sincerity. (It was over twenty-seven hours since her last meal, but she wouldn’t tell Grace that.)
“I’ll get you some water for the rest. Don’t dry swallow them. It’s a nasty habit.” And she left to raid the chemo ward snack pile. The Doctor rolled her neck back and forth. Although she felt more human, the quality of her sleep would catch up to her soon.
“I haven’t slept through anything since that one final,” said the Doctor. She reviewed the contents of each bottle, some she kept out, others were returned to her bag.
“You slept through a final and they still let you graduate?”
“It was undergrad. Pretty sure it was sabotage. I was throwing the curve.” Graham laughed, unsurprised. The Doctor popped open the bottles and extracted pills of all colors, shapes and sizes.
“So what’s that cocktail for, eh?” asked Graham, wagging his figure at the collection before him.
The Doctor, ignoring Grace’s suggestion, dry swallowed the lot. “I've got a bad heart.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. You’ve got one of the biggest hearts I know. Second only to Grace.”
“Thank you, Graham. You have a pretty decent heart yourself,” said Grace, returning with a bottle of water. She gave the Doctor the stink eye before plunking it down on the table. The Doctor gave a meager thanks, cracked the cap and took a few swigs.
“When I was younger, I wished I was born with two hearts, like we have two kidneys. That way if one crapped out, I would have a backup,” said the Doctor, screwing the cap back on the water bottle.
“How long have you had this?” asked Graham, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer. The Doctor packed up her pills.
“Born that way. Just lucky I guess.” The Doctor stretched as she stood, taking the water with her. “Sorry our lunch got derailed, again. One of these days we’ll have a proper sit down.”
“I will hold you to that,” said Graham.
“And thank you, Grace,” said the Doctor. She couldn’t begin to list the things she was thankful for so instead she gave Grace the only consolation prize she could. “Now if you two were found cannonading in a corner somewhere, I have the power to make that blatant violation of the rules disappear. Just saying.”
~*~Two Weeks Later~*~
“Doctor, you have a 999 page from A&E. It says Graham O’Brien was just admitted,” said the nurse, reading the incoming message on the Doctor’s phone.
The Doctor did not shake. She did not move. Her patient’s spine was exposed and vulnerable if she flinched even the slightest, it could be detrimental. But still her mind raced.
“I can’t leave,” said the Doctor. “I still have at least twenty minutes until I can close.” She turned to the intern beside her. “Yaz, please go down and tell me what’s happening. Call my phone when you get there.”
“Is that a good idea, taking a call? What if it’s bad?” asked Yaz.
“He’s a cancer patient in A&E. It’s already bad,” said the Doctor, realizing only after the words were out that she was borderline shouting. She shook her head. Why was it always like this? She took a breath.
“Please,” whispered the Doctor. In a room full of people, only Yaz could hear. “He’s my friend and I trust you.”
Yaz nodded and whispered, “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry.”
Strange how this young woman’s reassurance acted like a balm on her burning anxiety. But the Doctor had no time to dwell on it. She still had to finish placing the shunt. She refocused on the task at hand before the doors to the scrub room finished closing behind Yaz.
~*~Moments Later~*~
Yaz felt every second prick on her skin as she scrubbed out of surgery. She didn’t bother grabbing her coat as she bolted straight to A&E. Nurses jumped out of the way and she weaved around wheelchairs and gurneys. Her lungs started to burn as she ran more than she had in a long time, trying to reach the opposite end of the hospital as quickly as possible.
Yaz skidded to a halt in front of the nurse’s station. One of the red headed nurses, she didn’t know which was which, pointed to the correct bay when she frantically asked for Graham.
“Hi, I’m here,” panted Yaz. She was surprised to find that Graham was older than she imagined. Much older. If Yaz hadn’t have known better, Yaz would have guessed he was the Doctor’s father, not her friend.
At least he’s out of the running to be the Doctor’s boyfriend.
….hopefully.
Focus! Yaz took note that Graham was conscious but woozy, like a cartoon character after they had a bop on the head.
And then Yaz registered who the nurse was on the case.
Clara turned around after adjusting the monitors besides Graham’s bed, reveling herself to Yaz. They both startled, then settled.
“Where’s the Doctor?” asked Clara. “I told Amy to page her.”
“In surgery. She’ll be another twenty minutes. She sent me,” said Yaz, then turning to the patient. “Hi, I’m Dr. Khan. Can you tell me what happened?”
Graham took in several raspy breaths but still Yaz couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“Are you having trouble breathing?” she guessed. Graham nodded, his hand now pressed against the plastic mask on his face.
“What’s his O2 stats?” she asked Clara.
“85%. I already did a rapid Covid test, but it came back negative.” Yaz took out her stethoscope and listened. His heart, while strained, sounded good, and so did his right lung. His left lung, however, bubbled and rattled with every struggling breath.
“Can you get me a portable x-ray?” Yaz asked Clara, who darted off immediately.
“What’s…” Graham started but he devolved into a coughing fit. Yaz could hear the dry, scratching sounds of someone desperate for a good lungful of air.
“Dose your chest hurt by any chance?” Yaz asked once his attack subsided. He gave a feeble nod.
“And dose one side hurt more than the other?” she asked. Graham indicated to his left side.
“Elephant,” he was able to wheeze.
“Like an elephant is on your chest?” Yaz clarified and Graham nodded again. Clara nearly ran into Yaz with the portable device. The machine in question reminded Yaz of a jack in the box as the telescopic arm expanded up and over the bed. As she positioned the camera end, Clara reclined the bed flat and slid a backboard under Graham, ensuring a clear scan. Having everything in place, the two slapped on the weighted vests, before maneuvering towards the control panel.
The touchscreen had dozens of settings and buttons, most of which Yaz had never used before. But she had helped with enough sprained ancles and fractured wrists to know how to use this thing. Right?
“You need to press that one,” said Clara, pointing to the red button.
“I know what button to press, thanks,” said Yaz, pressing the blue. Nothing happened. She then pressed the red. A whir and a click and soon an image of Graham’s chest filled the monitor.
“Don’t,” groaned Yaz but Clara just pressed her lips and threw up her hands in a clear ‘I’m not saying anything’ gesture.
A dark shadow filled Graham’s lung cavity. Yaz remembered the Doctor telling her he had cancer but this was solid. Cancer left spiderwebs of grey and marbling of black. This was a swath of black where a healthy clear lung should be. But his lung was there. She saw it, pressed to the side, collapsed in on itself as she realized that the chest cavity had filled with fluid.
“Graham, it looks like your lung has collapsed which is why you’re having such a hard time breathing,” said Yaz, but Graham wasn’t listening. His eyes flittered up at the ceiling, his shallow breaths slowing. Now even his figure tips had turned blue. She had to do something and fast.
“Help me sit him up,” said Yaz, doing her best to control the waiver in her voice. She fumbled but was able to pull over a table where she could wheel the base under the bed and the arm of the table over it.
“What are you doing?” asked Clara. Yaz helped Graham cross his arms on the table, his head slumping over. He reminded her of all the dumb jocks that would slump over their desks and sleep through high school biology.
“He needs a thoracentesis,” said Yaz.
“A what?”
“I need to drain the fluid so his lung can re-expand,” said Yaz.
“Yeah but,” said Clara, lowering her voice. “Have you done one before? And do you want your first one to be on the Doctor’s best friend?”
Yaz didn’t answer. It was more than just her relationship with the Doctor at stake. The Doctor trusted her, trusted her abilities, even as an intern, but the stakes were more than that. Graham needed help right now and she was the only one qualified to do what needed to be done.
“It’s fine. It’s going to be fine,” snapped Yaz. She rushed over to an equipment cart, nearly tripping over the bulky x-ray machine in her way. She felt like a badger digging through the equipment, ignoring Clara’s chastising remarks about making a mess. Yaz found the catheter and ensured the attached bag was secure.
Donning gloves, Yaz pushed up his shirt and disinfected part of his lower back. She put on local anesthetic but that would only help for the surface pain. Once the needle was in... she didn't want to think about it.
“Graham, it’s going to hurt. Like a lot. But then you’re going to start breathing better immediately. Ok?” said Yaz, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. Graham nodded into his arms as Yaz braced the needle in his lower back. Yaz held her breath and plunged the needle into him. Graham flinched as Yaz pressed it further up into his chest cavity.
“I know it hurts. I’m sorry,” said Yaz, fiddling with the syringe. She pulled the piston, and the vacuum pulled the fluid out of the chest cavity and into the attached bag.
The first few rivulets were red with blood, but the fluid was soon diluted by a steady stream of off-white puss. Graham closed his eyes. The pain in his chest was lifting and while he still couldn’t take a deep breath, he could feel it growing easier with each moment. The color started returning to his figure tips as the tingling subsided.
“Feeling better?” Yaz asked through a worried smile. Graham nodded.
“I know you and the Doctor are friends and all, but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell her I was scared,” said Yaz.
“Mums the word,” wheezed Graham and Yaz could see a lopsided smile through his oxygen mask.
Yaz collected several samples of his blood as well as the fluid draining from his lung. All of it would need to be tested to confirm her suspicions. With Clara’s help, everything was labeled properly, and Clara volunteered to take the lot down to the lab for testing.
“Graham!” The Doctor came barreling in, still in her galaxy scrub cap. Graham gave a guilty wave. “What happened? You didn’t page me.” Yaz quickly explained what happened when she arrived.
“Clara has already run the samples down to the lab but if my suspicions are correct, I think one of Graham’s lymph nodes has burst. That would explain the color of the discharge and why his lung collapsed,” said Yaz.
The Doctor checked the drainage bag hanging from the bed and nodded. Her face shifted from wily panic to calm understanding.
“Graham O’Brien, you are not allowed to scare me like that, especially while I’m in surgery. You know my heart can’t take it,” said the Doctor, giving Graham a playful slap on the arm. Yaz felt touched by the Doctor’s words of affection for her friend and their playful banter with each other.
“I’ll try and die at a more,” Graham took a quick breath, “convention time then.”
“Hey! No trips to Belfast yet,” said the Doctor.
Graham grinned. “Right. We’re going to Utah first.” The Doctor shook her head, turning to her student.
“Thank you for taking care of him,” said the Doctor and without concern for the consequences, hugged Yaz.
Yaz felt the remnants of her anxiety fade away as her arms closed in around her mentor. She didn’t realize how much she missed having the warmth of another person so close to her. It had been over two months since her dalliance with Clara but now, having been starved for any sort of real connection, the simple act sent her head spinning. She felt every breath, every curve, every passing second and the shocking absence as the Doctor pulled away.
“I, um, his chart,” Yaz fumbled, excusing herself to give the friends some privacy. She regrated checking over her shoulder because now she knew the Doctor had watched her go.