I don’t blame her. If I hadn’t come into her life Thursday night none of this would have happened.
I drive to the nearest phone store, buy a new cell phone, drop my rental car off at the airport, and fly back to New York City.
The next morning our hospital administrator, Bruce Luce, tells me what a joy it was to hear from the Dayton police that I paid for lap dances at a night club and attempted to solicit two strippers for prostitution.
“Are we still on for tomorrow?” I ask
“Can you even operate with those eyes?” he says.
“It doesn’t matter. The kid’s a goner either way.”
“Have I told you lately how uplifting it is to talk to you?”
“Many times. Are we on for tomorrow?”
“Eight a.m., subject to Lilly being cleared for surgery.”
“What you mean is, subject to our doctors giving up all hope by midnight.”
“You’re an arrogant prick,” Bruce says. “And you want to know something? You’re not half as good as you think you are.”
“If that’s true, Mr. and Mrs. Devereaux can save a ton of money.”
“Why’s that?”
“Caskets are cheaper than hospital wings.”
“You’re a disgrace to your profession,” he says.
“Except when I’m saving the kids you gave up on.”
“Even then.”
“Thank you. May I go now?”
“After you meet the nurses who’ll assist you.”
“My regulars refused?”
“They not only refused, we had to pay them a settlement to keep them from suing you in open court.”
“They were bluffing.”
“Listen up, doctor. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else on earth, but one of the new nurses is a rare beauty.”
“Am I supposed to thank you?”
“You’re supposed to behave. We can’t afford a sexual harassment lawsuit.”
“Whatever you think of me, I’ve never touched a nurse in this hospital, and never will.”
“You can no longer speak to them the way you have in the past.”
“I’m trying to save lives here, not spare feelings.”
“You’re on the verge of losing your career.”
“Not if I keep winning.”
“Winning?” he says.
He gives me a long look. “You’re one dead patient away from losing your job.”
“What if it’s the nurses’ fault? I’ve never worked with them before. What if they suck?”
“That’s pretty much on you, isn’t it?”
“I’m telling you right now, I don’t trust a pretty nurse.”
“This nurse isn’t pretty, she’s drop-dead gorgeous, and has stronger credentials than anyone we’ve ever employed. You will not insult her.”
26
Older people know exactly where they were and what they were doing the moment they heard President Kennedy was shot. Younger ones remember the terrorist attacks of 9/11. And everyone remembers their first love.
I’m in the cafeteria, eating a cup of vanilla pudding, when the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen walks over to my table, sits down, and extends her hand.
“Hello, Dr. Box,” she says in a voice I’m certain will haunt me the rest of my life.
I take her hand, and a current of energy flows through my body.
“You’re my new assistant?” I ask.
“One of them,” she says.
“Your name?”
“Rose.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rose.”
“Thank you, Dr. Box.”
“Have the gods seen fit to give you a last name?”
“Stout.”
“Rose Stout?”
She nods.
“A misnomer if ever I heard one,” I say. “What’s that you’re holding?”
“Birch bark tea,” she says.
“Is it good?”
“It’s ghastly.”
I laugh. “Then why drink it?”
“It’s not for me, it’s for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, “but I’m not a tea drinker.”
She places the cup on the table in front of me. “Drink this now, while I watch. I’ll brew you some more every four hours. By morning you’ll feel like a new man.”
“Are you serious?” I say.
“Quite.”
“Three things,” I say. “First, I don’t believe in homeopathic remedies. Second, it concerns me greatly that a nurse I’m relying on does believe in something the entire scientific community has disproved time and again. And third, you won’t be brewing tea for me every four hours because I’m heading home soon and you have no idea where I live.”
She pats my hand, stands, and takes the empty cup away.
“See you soon, Dr. Box,” she says.
Empty cup?
27
Rose and Melba are CVOR registered nurses, trained to assist surgeons, perfusionists, and anesthesiologists in a cardiovascular operating room.
“Rose,” I say.
“Yes sir?”
“Let’s hear your background.”
“Two years CVOR, first assist, two years CVICU.”
“Where?”
“Cleveland Clinic.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s on my resume.”
“Why would you switch from intensive care to operating room?”
“Better pay, better hours.”
“How’s that possible?”
