It took inordinately long for Clayton to right the chair and place his bottom cautiously back into it. “Sorry about that,” he said with a matter-of-factness that suggested he did such things all the time. “I’d like to get to know whom I’ll be working with over the next month. Could you introduce yourselves, one by one, and tell me something special about you?” He looked toward Sable to begin.
She obliged. “As I said, my name’s Sable Johnson. I graduated from the University of Hawaii, and I’m interested in psychiatry because my mother is schizophrenic.”
Susan retook her own chair, between Kendall and Clayton.
Clayton nodded next at the male R-1 beside Sable. He had short, spiky brown hair, hazel eyes, and a slender figure. “I’m Monk Peterson. I graduated from Johns Hopkins at the age of twenty-three.” Clayton made no comment, simply moving his gaze to the next woman.
She wore a dress polo, like the others, in plain khaki that matched her pants. A braided rope belt circled her tiny waist; and, unlike the others, she did not wear a Vox. “Nevaeh Gordon. Medical College of New York. I’m a vegan.”
At a gesture from Clayton, Kendall piped up next. “I’m Kendall Stevens, graduate of New York University.” He added, deliberately sounding like a personals ad, “I like dogs, long walks on the beach, and peace on earth.”
The group chuckled. Then it was Susan’s turn.
“Susan Calvin. Thomas Jefferson Medical.” She racked her brain for some tidbit worthy of remaining permanently lodged in her colleagues’ thoughts of her. “I also happen to like dogs, though I don’t own one. I live with the perfect man,” she said, then added conspiratorially, “my father.”
Smiles wreathed every face.
“Thanks, everybody,” Clayton said, rising. “Now we have to get your thumbprints established on the door lock and assign lockers and cubbies. Then, we’re on to the on-call rooms to allow another group in here.” He glanced at his Vox. “After that, it’s a tour of the hospital, particularly the psychiatry areas, restrooms, cafeterias. And, finally, to the Pediatric Inpatient Psychiatry Unit, where Stony Lipschitz, our supervising R-3, is holding down the fort single-handedly until our arrival.” He took a step toward the door, nearly tripping over the askew leg of his chair.
The tour of a cheery hospital with impressively up-to-date facilities ended with a descent into the basement that betrayed everything the new psychiatry residents had previously seen. Janitorial staff rolled massive equipment through bleak, gray hallways broken by unmarked doors, beyond which Susan Calvin could hear the whir and hum of machinery. At length, they turned down a quieter corridor, no less dreary, that ended in a thick metal door with an old-fashioned key lock below the handle.
Clayton Slaubaugh, R-2, stopped the interns in front of it, removing a key from his pocket. “It’s an ugly part of the hospital, but necessary. The unit itself is far more upbeat, but the inpatient children need quiet isolation from the rest of the hospital. They’re locked in for their own protection, and to prevent elopement, and the location keeps adults from wandering in where they don’t belong.” With that warning, he unlocked the door onto an empty hallway broken only by two doors and ending at another metal door with another key lock. “You will not be issued keys. Only the attending, the R-3, and certain members of the nursing staff carry them. To come and go, you will have to use the buzzers.” He indicated a recessed intercom-type system.
Feeling extremely uncomfortable, Susan went silent as she looked around at the empty walls and listened to the echo of the door closing behind them. Even Kendall seemed to have nothing funny to say. As they passed the first doorway, Susan peeked inside to see an adult couple playing a board game with a girl who appeared to be about ten years old. The room across from it was empty. Clayton used the same key to unlock the second door, opening the way into the world of inpatient pediatric psychiatry.
The unit itself looked far brighter than the hallways leading to it, the walls painted a mellow blue with paper drawings and watercolors taped to them. A wall broke the area directly ahead into a large staff area on the right and a hallway on the left. Immediately to Susan’s right, a door opened onto an enormous restroom; then a smaller area contained a medication room, where an orderly was placing items onto a snack cart. Directly to the left, Susan saw two doorways opening onto simply furnished bedrooms that mostly consisted of a metal bed and shelving, all fastened securely to the walls and floors. Compared to the sleek, monitored beds in the rest of the hospital, these looked like ancient devices of torture.
After making certain the door closed and latched behind him, Clayton led the residents into the staffing area. A large nurse, a head taller than Susan, met them at the opening, nodded at Clayton, then stepped aside to allow them entrance. As the six resident physicians funneled through the opening, Susan noticed the nurse casually pushing a chair out of Clayton’s way with her foot. Apparently, the clumsiness he had displayed in the psychiatry residents’ office was not a fluke.
The staff area contained multiple tables, desks, chairs, and cabinets. Most of the level surfaces held computer consoles, some being accessed by staff members. Other than the cinder block partition that divided the staff area from the main hallway, the walls consisted of what appeared to be glass. Through it, Susan could see several more bedrooms swinging around the back of the unit, a closed white door marked SELF-AWARENESS ROOM, another restroom, and a large open area that currently held several children varying in age from elementary school to adolescence. Most sat on chairs and couches, watching an enormous television screen enclosed in a clear, unbreakable box. A few played games or sat talking in small groups. None returned her gaze. Apparently, what she had first mistaken for glass was actually a series of one-way mirrors.
A young man no older than thirty rose from his seat in front of one of the consoles. Tousled jet-black hair fell rakishly across his forehead, emphasizing eyes so strikingly blue, Susan assumed they were tinted. His nose jutted, perfectly straight, over a mouth that clearly smiled a lot. He had classic high cheekbones and a solid, undimpled chin. Though he was slender, his chest and arms revealed him as an athlete. Susan caught herself staring and swiftly looked away, only to notice every other R-1 studying him as intently.
“Stony Lipschitz,” Clayton introduced, passing the key he had used to open the unit doors on to the R-3. “Our peerless leader.”
“Hello,” Stony said. Accepting the key, he dumped it into the pocket of his dress polo, along with a pack of laminated patient cards. “I’m the R-3 supervising PIPU this month.” He spoke with just a hint of a lisp, which likely worsened with agitation. Susan winced at the irony of a lisper with so many
Clayton ran through a brief introduction, probably as much to refresh his own memory as to inform Stony. He pointed to each R-1 as he spoke his or her name. “Kendall Stevens, Monk Peterson, Sable Johnson, Susan Calvin, Nevaeh Gordon.”
Stony paid close attention to Clayton’s words and gestures, then nodded. “I think I have it, but I may ask once or twice more, if that’s all right.”
All of the R-1s bobbed their heads and mumbled their okays.
“The interesting thing about doctors is that no two treat patients exactly the same way.” Stony retook his seat, leaned back against the desk, and gestured for the others to sit as well.
A wild scramble for the chairs sent Clayton dropping to the floor again. Stony smiled, as if at a private joke. “Clay, do you mind handling the patient work for a bit while I finish orienting the -1s?”
Clayton’s round face turned pink, and he rose, brushing dirt from his pleated slacks. “Of course. No problem.” He headed off toward the nurses.
Stony watched him pass beyond hearing range, then pulled his seat closer to the R-1s. “Ol’ Clamhead’s not a bad guy, though he doesn’t have much grace, physically or socially.”
Though Stony could surely tell the R-1s needed a moment to process the nickname, he did not miss a beat. “Every doctor finds his or her own niche. Some are sticklers for procedure and use the most cautious approach to every patient in every circumstance. Some are more liberal and experimental in their approaches. Others fall various
