Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Her smile competes with the OR light haloing her head. “I’ll see you then.”
“You will. Bye.”
I wiggle my fingers in farewell. Alla uses her whole arm.
My steps are extra spirited as I walk toward the locker rooms all intern doctors use. Even with HosSterile having their own lockers for their staff to use, I keep my belongings in my hospital-issued locker. It saves taking up a space someone else may need.
When a severe bout of tiredness overwhelms me, I increase my speed. My apartment block is only a ten-minute walk from the hospital, so if I keep my focus on my bed and not a hope for a re-run of the event that’s kept my pulse rampant for hours, I may achieve eight hours tonight instead of the four to five I usually get.
“Where are you?” I murmur when my dig through my locker fails to find the envelope Dr. Sidorov placed my offer in. I took it with me to the ER since my chat with Dr. Sidorov made me late for my shift, but I swear I left with it once my shift was over. I stuffed it under my arm before I…
My breath catches halfway to my lungs when I recall the last place I saw it.
I left it in Mrs. Ivanov’s room.
When I close my locker door more abruptly than required, I apologize to the intern working the graveyard shift for startling him before making my way to the surgical ward. I’m not angry I need to visit Mrs. Ivanov again. I’ve been chomping at the bit to get an update on her condition all evening. I’m annoyed that excitement was the first emotion to blister through me—excitement that has nothing to do with the speed of Mrs. Ivanov’s recovery.
My patient’s health should be in the forefront of my mind, not my wailing libido.
“You didn’t happen to pick up an envelope from Room 12A earlier tonight, did you?” I ask the nurse on duty at the desk. “It was white with a Myasnikov Private seal on the top corner.”
“No, sorry.” Before she can ask any of the questions in her eyes, a patient buzzes, demanding her attention.
I smile to assure her we’re both fine before entering the corridor Mrs. Ivanov’s room is located in. Since it is early, my knocks are faint. Most people are asleep at this time of the morning. I’m the only fool burning the night oil at all times of the day.
“Mrs. Ivanov?”
I brace the door’s hinges so they only give out the slightest creak when opening before I tiptoe into the silent room.
I’m halfway in when I am startled by a light switching on. It beams from the corner Mr. Ivanov was shadowed by the night we met. Except it isn’t Mr. Ivanov’s almost sable eyes staring back at me. It is those belonging to my supervisor—the man I’ve been avoiding all day.
“Dr. Abdulov. You scared me.” He leers at my skittish response but remains quiet, prompting me to ask, “Why are you sitting in a dark room?” I blame the late hour for my daftness. “And where is Mrs. Ivanov?” Her bed is empty, and not a single trickle of water can be heard.
My eyes snap back to Dr. Abdulov when he says, “She was discharged earlier this evening.”
“Already?” When he nods, I ask, “Who authorized that?”
His glare leaves a sour taste in my mouth. He’s clearly unappreciative of my line of questioning, but instead of calling me out on it, he lowers his eyes to the contract I came here to find. It is out of the envelope and ruffled like it has been flicked through. “Why haven’t you signed that yet?”
I snatch up the document and place it back into the envelope before replying, “Because I’m unsure if this is the direction I want to take. I want to specialize in—”
“You specialize in whatever offers the biggest incentive.” Again, he nudges his head to the contract. “That far exceeds anything you will receive in the public sector.”
“Health isn’t about profits.”
He scoffs as if I am an imbecile. “Says every first-year intern.”
“I’m a third-year surgical resident.” His chin juts out sharply when I say, “Who would never let a patient’s livelihood be jeopardized by undermining her medical condition.” He attempts to interrupt me, so I speak faster. “A B12 deficiency isn’t a joke. It can cause severe complications if not monitored and corrected by a team of medical professionals.” I use my last word sparingly, because what I’ve witnessed the last three months under Dr. Abdulov’s guidance hasn’t been close to professional. “I will organize a discharge plan for Mrs. Ivanov this evening and forward it to her GP in the morning.”
He slows my steps to the exit with a gravelly tone. “Mrs. Ivanov is not your patient.”
“From what I’m hearing, she isn’t yours either, because if she was, she’d still be admitted.”