Notorious D.O.C. (Hope Sze medical mystery) (11 page)

There were so many things I wanted to say
to Tucker and couldn't.

He kept talking like the undertow of lust
wasn't dragging him under. "I still know some of the psychiatrists at the
Douglas. I'll talk to them, tell them I'm on psych here, ask around a bit about
your patient."

I stiffened. I couldn't explain why, but
goosebumps rose on my arms. "Don't get into trouble."

His shoulders shook with suppressed
laughter. "Pot. Kettle. Black."

"Still." I stepped through the
door, into the cool, shadowed foyer of the FMC, away from him. "Thanks.
'Bye, Kettle."

As I walked toward the staircase, I felt
conscious of his eyes following me. I spent the next four flights of stairs
fantasizing about him. And Ryan. How about him
and
Ryan at the same time?
 
Why should guys get all the threesomes?

Then I thought of how they'd practically
slit each other's throats just saying hello.

That made for an unlikely
ménage à trois
. Too bad.

Still, I grinned to myself through my
first two patient appointments, even while renewing reams of medications and
enduring caustic comments from my supervising physician, Dr. Callendar
("You should check her renal function, Dr. Sze, if medical detective work
still appeals to you").

Then Stan started booming on the phone in
the conference room.

"No, I'm at my clinic this
afternoon. Page Dr. Owens," said Stan. He rolled his eyes at me. I covered
a smile. Locating is just hopeless at St. Joe's. Then his voice dropped to
seriousness. "It is? Oh. Page him right now, then! Or call the ICU."

Stan Biedelman is not easily rattled, so
I lifted my eyebrows at him while I edged past him to grab a bone density sheet
from the dusty bookcase in the corner.

He hung up the phone. "It's your
patient. Reena Schuster."

"What?"

"She's in a coma. Probably an
overdose."

Chapter
10

Reena.

Coma.

Dr. Callendar ignored me while he ragged
on Omar, one of the other residents. Then he turned to me. On autopilot, I
reviewed my eighty-two year-old lady with hypertension, osteoporosis, and a remote
MI, here for a blood pressure check.

Dr. Callendar managed to slice his way
through my haze. "You shouldn't be here."

I bit my lip. Dr. Callendar had hated me
from the get-go, kind of like Reena, come to think of it. Still, I was
surprised he was so abrupt with me, considering I'd been strangled and all,
until he said, "You should take a month off. More if you need it."

Oh. He was actually trying to be nice to
me in a screwed-up, Twilight kind of way. Right. Me. Post-traumatic stress. By
this point, I had so much new stress, the almost-being-strangled stress felt
like old news. But it was nice to know Dr. Callendar preferred me breathing and
even rested rather than six feet under. I focused on his greying black crew cut
and told it, "If I took a month off, I'd have to add an extra month to my
training. I'm not willing to do that."

He shuffled through the files in front of
him and coughed. "You might...there have been exceptions."

Curiouser and curiouser. I almost smiled
at him. "I want to get back to work, too. I was going crazy sitting at
home."

"You might go crazy here too, doing
psych," Stan said.

Dr. Callendar shrugged. "It's your
decision. But don't expect any special treatment."

Ah. The old Dr. C I knew and loathed. I
met his eyes. "I never do."

"Good." A smile played around
his thin lips as he handed me a manila file. "Meet Mrs. Valdez, your new
thirty-nine year-old primip with gestational diabetes, in her thirty-sixth
week."

In other words, a first-time mother with
a strong chance of having a giant baby, and taking two days to deliver it
vaginally.

Dr. Callendar continued, at higher volume
for Tori and Stan, who'd joined us with their own cases to review:
"Sometimes the CLSC gets patients who are late in their
pregnancy—some of them are refugees from other countries. Of course, the
CLSC doctors don't deliver, but we do. I thought Hope would enjoy some
obstetric experience, especially since she's on psychiatry, which only has home
call." He nodded at the chart. "Why don't you take a minute to
familiarize yourself with the patient, and then, if you have any questions,
bring them up after the others have reviewed their patients."

Glumly, I opened the chart.

Dr. Callendar tapped a sheet of paper
with his pen. "Oh, and Hope. Gestational diabetes is a fascinating
subject. Why don't you do a presentation on that for us, at our next
obstetrical meeting."

I tried not to show any emotion. As far
as I could see, he'd pretended to care about my near-death encounter just to
provoke me more, like offering a massage before delivering a right cross. He'd
feed off any sign of despair.

It was almost enough to make me look
forward to psych call.

Reena.

Coma.

***

I rushed into the emerg at 4:55, hoping
Reena hadn't made it to the ICU yet. On the psych desk, I found a copy of the
psych consult:
29 y.o. F, known to you,
OD, SVP assess for suicidality when medically clear
.

I covered my eyes.

I heard low-heeled shoes tap toward me
and a heavy body lower into the chair beside me. "Don't blame
yourself," said Brigitte, the evening psych nurse.

I looked into her plump, rosy face and
asked, "How can I not?"

"We all blame ourselves when a
patient comes in after we've sent them home. But you didn't make her take those
pills."

True. But, at the most fundamental level,
she came to the emergency room asking for help. And I obviously didn't give it
to her.

I tried to concentrate on the medical
part. "Do we know what she took?"

Brigitte shook her head. "We're
waiting for the tox screen. She's not on anything, and the paramedics didn't
find any bottles at the scene."

I glanced at the resus room. "Is her
friend Jodi with her?"

Brigitte shook her head. "No one but
family. Her sister was the one who called 911."

Was Jodi actually her sister?
 
They didn't look alike, not that it meant
anything, but the vibe was not what I'd call sisterly. "Is her sister with
her now?"

"Yes. I'm just getting her papers
together. They're about to move her up to the unit."

Once Reena left the emerg, I wasn't
officially responsible for the psych consult anymore. Not that they'd probably
want me to do it.

I walked over to resus. For the first
time in my fledgling medical career, I cringed slightly as I drew back the
curtain, afraid of what I might find.

Reena was intubated. I'd kind of expected
that, since she was going to ICU, but it still shocked me to see the tube down
her throat and taped to her face. Her eyes were slitted closed, and her chest
moved up and down, hissing in time with the respirator. Two IV's, and an O2
monitor on her finger. Her face was pale but sweaty.

I would not have recognized her, behind
all the equipment, except for her curly hair spilling over the pillow.

"Are you another nurse?" said
the girl beside the bed, pocketing her cell phone. It wasn't Jodi. She had
brown skin and long, shiny black hair. She was pretty except for slightly
crooked teeth. She looked native Canadian to me. Nothing like Reena, except
they both had the same solid build.

"No. I'm Dr. Hope Sze, a resident in
psychiatry."

Her eyebrows jerked upward. "Ha! I
see." She paused. "Get it? It's funny because of your name."

I'd already heard all the jokes about my
last name, from sze-sick to Great Big Sze. I faked a smile. I don't have a
sister, but I doubt I'd joke around if mine were in a coma. "Yes. I'm
sorry about your sister."

A peculiar expression crossed her face.
"Is she going to be all right?" Her voice rose and trembled at the
end. She was younger than she looked. Maybe this was just her way of freaking
out.

"I hope so. We're doing our
best."

Her shoulders sagged as she surveyed the
equipment. "I know."

We watched Reena's chest rise and fall
with the respirator for a moment before a heavy-set woman in black burst in.
"Oh, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy—" She wrapped her arms around the
sister. "I can't stand it. It's too awful. I never got to talk to her. The
last thing I told her was that she should get a better job, she'll never know
that I love her—"

"It's okay, Mom," said Wendy,
muffled, into her shoulder. "I know."

"I couldn't stand to lose both my
girls, you know that."

"I know."

The respiratory therapist and an orderly
entered the room, swiftly followed by an emerg nurse who unplugged Reena's
equipment and re-plugged her into a portable monitor and ventilator. "Her
bed's ready upstairs," explained the nurse, Véronique, as she scooped up
the chart.

Reena's mother pulled a tissue out of her
sleeve cuff and blew her nose. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I don't mean to
break down. It's just the worst I've ever seen her."

Véronique patted her shoulder just before
she released the brake on the stretcher.

Mrs. Schuster wiped her eyes. "Thank
you, you've all been so..." She saw me and her eyes widened and her
shoulders jerked. "Oh, my God." She put her hand to her chest.

"I know, Mom," said Wendy.

Mrs. Schuster gaped at me, still blocking
the stretcher.

Was this because she'd seen the
'detective doctor' articles? What was the big deal, anyway?

"Mom?" called the RT.

Wendy steered her mother out of the way.
"It's okay, Mom. That's just a resident. Her name's Dr. Zee or
something."

Véronique said, "ICU's on the second
floor. Can you follow us in the next elevator? It's going to be cramped."

"Sure," said Wendy, since Mrs.
Schuster was rubbing her forehead like she had a headache.

I wanted to follow them up, but I had to
give them some space. I'd check on her later. In the meantime, Brigitte was
signaling me back to the psych corner. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter
11

I
hate groups. I'd rather be alone. So what the hell am I doing in group therapy,
anyway?

The
short answer is, it started as a joke. It's kind of a love-hate thing I've got
with people. Can't stand them, but I like to poke and prod them when I'm in the
mood. So I drift down to bars, slouch my way through the mall, drink coffee at
the Second Cup, even throw the occasional ball at the dog park. Whatever. If
people talk to me, I talk back. I figure it's good practice.

That
summer, at the Second Cup, I noticed this girl watching me, but every time I
looked at her, she'd look away. I know that game. I went along with it, keeping
my gaze on her longer and longer until she caught my eye and smiled. She had a
nice rack and good-enough legs. I figured, why not.

Only
she didn't go out on Monday nights. I thought it was school or her mom or
whatever. It turned out to be this group therapy. Turned out you can
"self-refer," so I went along one night. She thought I was the
greatest. I told her no, she was.

She'd
just introduced me to the biggest group of suckers I'd ever met. I couldn't
wait to play each and every one of them.

***

By the time I finished my shift, it was
almost 11 p.m. My eyes and tongue were dry with fatigue.

I'd fully expected Ryan to grab a bite
and head to his hotel room when I called and told him I'd be late. Instead,
he'd said, "Call me when you're done. I'll walk you home."

I stared at the receiver. I'd never had
someone look out for me when I was on call. "It's okay. Côte-des-Neiges is
supposed to be pretty safe."

"Is that why there are so many cops
around?"

I had to laugh, despite the ripple of
unease across the back of my neck. I'd asked the same question when I moved
here. Montrealers were like, "Oh, yeah, that's no big deal," although
one nurse said, "Gang activity." I'd noticed a lot of cop cars on
Côte-Ste-Catherine Street, the main drag, but very few right around my apartment.
I said to Ryan, "I guess the cops are supposed to make it safer."

"Why don't you drive when you're on
call?"

Good question. A parking pass cost twenty
dollars a month, plus gas. I was on call every other day for psych. That'd be a
lot of driving. Walking only took me twenty minutes, biking half that. And in
Montreal, people seemed to walk or bike or take public transpo. I sighed.
"Because I'm cheap and I don't live in Texas?"

He paused. I think he understood what I
meant. I walked because I could. Because I thought it was uncivilized for a
woman to be too afraid to walk home alone at night. But Ryan said, "Call
me when you're done. Or about to be done. I don't mind waiting."