Forbidden Doctor - R. S. Elliot Page 0,12
inch of their new learning environment. I hadn’t bothered introducing myself to them. At orientation and in the locker room that morning, I had heard the whispers, seen the sidewards glances that identified me.
They all thought I was a stuck up bitch, that I had graduated early, not because of my own merit, but because of my father’s influence. Initially, I had wanted to tell them that my father didn’t care about how well I did unless it reflected poorly on him, but I had let them be. I’d often found that when people couldn’t overtake you, whether because of effort or talent, they resented you. Jonah had been right about that. Letting people resent me was a lot easier than trying to change their minds.
“Ahh, the new doctors,” came a familiar voice.
I glanced up, and Jonah was standing with Adrian at the nurse’s station.
“Don’t you have your own students to go meet?” Adrian asked of his friend.
Jonah shrugged and shook his head.
“Nah, I wanted to see your green beans, so I told them to meet me here as well.”
Adrian rolled his eyes and scanned over the three of us. His eyes glanced over me nonchalantly, like I was just another intern, another student of his.
“So, according to this piece of paper I found on my desk this morning, I should have Drs. Smith, Lehaney, and Christophers,” Adrian said, holding a piece of paper.
The three of us nodded, and I figured that if he spoke this professionally to me, then I could follow his lead and probably maintain a professional working relationship.
Jonah, however, didn’t have the same idea.
“Hey, Stephanie, do you go by anything shorter? Steph? Ste?”
“Stevie, please,” I said, smiling at him.
He laughed and nodded.
“Alright, Stevie it is. Although when you’re on my rotation, you know you’ll have to be Dr. Christophers.”
“Okay,” I responded, and then he bid us all goodbye.
I thought he was going to leave the ward, but apparently, he was going to stand five feet away from us, put on a very stern expression, and scare the crap out of his now approaching students with it. I was secretly glad that I knew the sunny personality from the apparently strict teacher. Once more though, the two students with me stared, forcing me farther into isolation with what they would bring back to the rest of the new residents. There really wasn’t a good explanation for why Jonah was so comfortable with me anyway, so I let them believe whatever they wanted.
Adrian cleared his throat and grabbed our attention.
“We’re going to do rounds on my cardiothoracic patients, and I want to set out my expectations now. Assumably, you three are here because you want to be surgeons. I want you to understand now that there is just as much, if not more, patient contact. Many of the people you will see have been, or are, very sick. If you do not observe proper decorum, I will kick you off of my service. Understood?”
I nodded along with Smith and Lehaney.
Adrian burst into a bright smile and led us down the hallway.
My first ever patient was Jasmine Campbell.
She was an eight-year-old girl, who had suffered with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy; her heart muscle was too thick. When she was four, she’d had her first heart transplant but had rejected it within a matter of weeks after the operation. She had received her second heart transplant only two and a half months earlier and was experiencing symptoms of rejection yet again. She was hooked up to an IV filled with a cocktail of anti-rejection medication, and everyone had to wait to see what would happen next. The hope was that she would improve, have her current anti-rejection meds adjusted, and live a happy, normal life. The worry was that, in the three days since she had been in the hospital, things hadn’t changed for the better. Jasmine continued to feel worse and had been placed on oxygen to support her heart. Every time her drugs were altered, they’d hoped for better news. They had managed to slow the rejection, but it was still very much happening. I could see the concern in Adrian’s eyes, but he didn’t let it show when he turned to her.
“Jas!” He cried as we walked into the room. “How’s it going?”
His pleasant tone didn’t betray the very serious and disheartening conversation we’d just had with Jasmine’s mother, a small but clearly strong woman named Kayla.
“Not bad,” Jasmine said. “One of the aids let me choose an Xbox