Unrivaled, p.8
Unrivaled, page 8
Linda spied her and motioned her over. “I was just about to call you. Mr. and Mrs. Ricci just came in. The clerk brought them down to the private family room. We cleared it so there’s no one else in there. I made sure there was fresh coffee and hot water for tea. Do you need me to go with you?”
“No,” Zoey said, “let me talk to them. If we need to get a chaplain or priest or rabbi or somebody down here to talk to them, I’ll call you. You can take care of that, right?”
“I can. I checked Tony’s chart a while ago. They’re Methodist. I’ll call Reverend Abercrombie, to see if she’s in-house. Or if not, who’s covering.”
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” Zoey said. “Thanks.”
“Oh, and Zoey?”
Zoey paused. “Yeah?”
“Honor talked with personnel. They have a copy of his driver’s license. He’s not a designated organ donor.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” Not all that surprising that Tony hadn’t noted anything on his license. Neither had she. She’d just automatically renewed her driver’s license online when it came due. She’d gotten it the first time when she’d been, what, sixteen? Who thought about dying when all you wanted was to be able to drive somewhere without your parents chaperoning? Or in her case, her aunt and uncle.
Hopefully his parents wouldn’t see the absence of a donor designation as meaning he didn’t want to donate. If they ever even needed to talk about that. She’d have to ask Declan how to handle that.
Before she could overthink what she was going to say or let her nerves make her hesitant, Zoey strode down the hall, knocked softly on the closed door with the placard that read Family Room, and entered. The room was just large enough for a generic office-supply-issue, straight-backed blue sofa with wooden arms, four matching chairs, a brown metal coffee credenza on wheels against one wall, and recessed ceiling lights behind plastic covers that bathed the room in a cold, flat white light. She’d never noticed before how barren and inhospitable so many of the waiting rooms seemed to be. A shiver rippled down her spine, and she quickly said, “I’m Dr. Cohen, one of the surgical house staff. I’ve been helping to take care of Tony since he arrived.”
Mr. and Mrs. Ricci sat side by side on the sofa, their hands linked. Tony’s father was a big man like Tony and, like Tony, had deep brown eyes the same shade as his skin, close-cut black hair without a hint of silver or gray, and a broad open face. They looked like each other. Tony’s mother was smaller than her husband by half, almost delicately boned, her pale skin drawn tight across sharp, soaring cheekbones.
Her eyes, the same shade as her light brown hair, fixed on Zoey unwaveringly.
“They told us out front that my son has been taken upstairs to the trauma unit,” she said. “When can we see him?”
Zoey pulled over another blue fabric chair, like the ones they were sitting in, and sat facing them. “He just went upstairs to the trauma unit a few moments ago. It will take another twenty minutes or so before they have him completely settled. They’ll want to be sure all his monitors are hooked up, that his labs are up-to-date, and whatever else he needs in terms of medication or treatment has been started.”
“We understand,” Tony’s father said in a deep rumbling baritone. “Can you tell us what the situation is?”
“From the reports of the first responders, Tony was a back seat passenger, and he was restrained. The car he was riding in, as you may have heard already, was involved in a multi-vehicle accident on—”
“Yes,” Tony’s mother said anxiously. “A terrible nine-car accident on the expressway. The news said a tractor trailer jackknifed, blocking all the lanes, and no one could stop. We saw the news on the internet, but we didn’t know…”
Her voice trailed off, and the look in her eyes pleaded for Zoey to tell her anything but what she feared she might hear.
Mr. Ricci drew her closer and cleared his throat. “Tony has been living at home since he started his residency. He wanted to start paying off his student loans. He doesn’t have a car.”
Zoey nodded silently, sensing they needed to talk until they were ready to hear what she would tell them.
Mrs. Ricci added, “He carpools with neighbors of ours who drop him off here on their way to work at the quarry. They always start early, and he likes to—” Her voice quivered, and she took a few seconds to catch her breath. Lifting her chin, she went on, “He likes to start rounds early, he said. He’s very conscientious.”
“I know,” Zoey said, although she didn’t know him very well at all.
“What can you tell us about his condition?” Mr. Ricci asked.
Tony’s parents listened expressionlessly as Zoey explained his injuries, although, as the moments passed, Tony’s mother gripped his father’s arm more and more desperately, as if clinging to a life raft in treacherous seas.
“If I understand what you’re saying,” Mr. Ricci said, his voice flat and every word uttered with effort, “he has a very serious head injury and is in a coma.”
“Yes,” Zoey said.
“Will he wake up?” he asked.
Mrs. Ricci stifled a sob, but her eyes never left Zoey’s face, and neither did her husband’s.
“I don’t know,” Zoey said.
“When will you know?”
“We’ll know more tomorrow,” Zoey said. “In the meantime, he’s being treated with what we call the head trauma protocol.” She explained to them that he had a breathing tube that was controlling his air flow to help regulate the amount of blood flow to his brain. She outlined his medications and described the tests they would be running throughout the night.
Mrs. Ricci said after a moment of silence, “Will you please find out when we can see him?”
“I will. I’ll call right now.”
When they turned to embrace one another, Zoey stepped out into the hall and let the door ease gently closed behind her. She let out a long, steadying breath.
Declan leaned against the wall across from the door. “How did it go?”
Zoey walked over to her and said quietly, “That was terrible. They’re handling it pretty well right now, but I don’t think they have any idea what’s coming.”
“It’s hard. It will take a little time.”
“They want to know when they can see him. I need to call the TICU.”
“I just did. They’re ready upstairs. Why don’t you introduce me to them, and we can take them up together. Then they’ll know who I am too.”
“I didn’t tell them very much.” Zoey ran through the conversation in her mind. Had she said enough to prepare them? Could anything prepare them? “I didn’t tell them anything about, you know, the organ donation.”
“That’s fine. Until the apnea test is completed, there’s no point. If they ask about his chances, you tell them the truth. They’ll ask when they’re ready to hear it.”
Zoey glanced at the sign. Family Room. Inside, a family was on the verge of being shattered. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to this for the next couple of months.”
“You’ll never get used to it,” Declan said softly. For a brief moment, she cupped Zoey’s arm just above her elbow. A slight touch, a bit of pressure that said she understood, that she shared her sorrow, that she was there. A touch more intimate than any caress Zoey’d ever experienced.
Declan stepped away. “Are you ready?”
No, not at all. Not in the least. Not for any of this, whatever it was.
“Of course.” Zoey kept her voice light and sure. “I’m fine.”
Because no matter what she faced—fear, pain, or loss—that was what she always said.
Chapter Nine
When the last transplant case finished at nine thirty, Zoey helped transport the patient to the recovery room, wrote the post-op orders, dictated the op note, and dragged her flagging body into the locker room. The early morning traumas had disrupted the regular OR schedule so much, Dr. Doolin’s first case hadn’t even started until two in the afternoon. As senior resident on the service, Zoey was expected to stay until everything was done, and she would have no matter what her role on the team. Many of the transplant patients required shunt placement for vascular access, and those cases almost always went to the residents as teaching cases. She never wanted to miss a case, even if all she did was hold retractors. Anything could happen in the OR, and learning to handle the unanticipated made for a better surgeon.
Now the work was almost done, and she was more than ready to leave. Only one more thing to do.
She changed into yet another pair of clean scrubs, pulled the plastic bag containing the bloody street clothes she’d worn to the hospital a light-year earlier from the bottom of her locker, and crammed it in her backpack. When she got home, she’d probably trash the lot. Served her right for giving in to her urge to dress up just a teeny bit. Every now and then she wanted to feel sexy, and scrubs just didn’t do it. Not on her, at least. Declan looked pretty hot in them. And oo-kay. That was a weird segue. Maybe she really did need to get out more. She’d gotten pretty comfortable relying on Emmett for…too much.
After a quick check back in the recovery room to make sure all the post-op transplant patients were stable, she walked down the hall to the TICU. The unit was a different world at night. Eight beds with just enough space between them to allow two people to stand back-to-back, separated by partially drawn curtains, lined the wall across from the central station. A pair of private rooms with large windows allowing staff to easily see the patients without entering occupied each end of the unit. Monitors still beeped, IV-pump motors still churned by every bedside, and ventilators cycled oxygen through breathing tubes, but the lights were turned down low, the staff tended to talk in hushed tones, and the gaggle of attendings and house staff that surrounded the patient beds during the day was absent. Other than the intensive care unit night staff who were all busy checking patients, the only house staff at the central station was Emmett. Zoey wasn’t surprised to see her. This was Emmett’s first day as the chief surgical resident. That made her responsible for the surgical house staff and the job they did, even if she had no way of overseeing each of them personally. Knowing Emmett, she’d try.
“Hey,” Zoey said as she dropped into a chair next to Emmett. “Are you about done?”
“Just finishing,” Emmett said, racking the tablet she’d been reviewing. “You?”
“Yeah.” Zoey rubbed her face. “I just wanted to check on Tony Ricci.”
“I just did,” Emmett said. “No change.”
Zoey sighed. “I’ll just take a quick look. You walking home?”
“Waiting for Syd.”
“Oh, right.” Zoey smiled. A couple thing. Right. “I’ll see if Dani’s around.”
“I think she left about an hour ago.”
“Okay.” Zoey stood. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“’Night,” Emmett said.
Tony had been given one of the isolation rooms, not because there was any concern for infection or contagion, but because it afforded him and his family some degree of privacy. His chart wasn’t in the rack with the others either. The staff had sequestered it in the med room so curious onlookers, who had no reason to be looking at his chart, wouldn’t be able to. Zoey stood in the doorway of his room and watched the monitors. Pulse, blood pressure, cardiac rhythm, urine output, O2 sat, all within normal range. His ICP had come down too as a result of the head trauma protocols, but still not in the normal range. She walked to the bed and checked his pupils. No constriction when she flashed her light into them. No evidence of reflex movement in his extremities, even in response to mild noxious stimulation. She couldn’t find a single scrap of evidence that suggested higher-level brain function.
From behind her, Declan said, “Hi, Tony, it’s Dr. Black. I just wanted to stop in and see you before I left.”
Zoey started to step aside, but Declan motioned her to stay.
“Hi,” Declan said softly.
“Hi.” Zoey hadn’t expected to see her and definitely didn’t expect the quick surge of heat that settled in her belly as Declan turned back to Tony.
“You’re in the trauma intensive care unit, with a breathing tube in,” Declan said as she repeated some of the physical exam that Zoey had just done. Resting a hand on Tony Ricci’s shoulder, she added, “We’re keeping you super-sedated to help things heal. I’ll be back in the morning.”
Declan squeezed Tony’s shoulder, a small farewell gesture that tightened Zoey’s throat as she followed Declan out into the hall.
“How are his numbers?” Declan asked.
“Everything is about the same as six hours ago. That’s the last time he had bloods. Gases are the same. Electrolytes are fine. CO2 is down.”
“That’s good,” Declan said.
“I didn’t say anything to him when I went in there,” Zoey said half to herself.
“That’s okay,” Declan said. “He can’t hear you.”
She met Declan’s eyes. “But you did.”
Declan raised her shoulder. “Habit. Patients who do have cerebral function can sometimes recall conversations from when they’re in a coma. It’s never as dramatic as television shows would make it, but you just get used to doing it.”
“It’s a good habit,” Zoey said.
“I got a text from Kos a while ago,” Declan said, tossing her cover gown into a hamper by the door. She’d changed back into street clothes. Zoey hadn’t really noticed her body in the middle of the alert earlier. Now Bonnie’s words came back to her. Fitness trainer body, good-looking in an andro way.
Understatement. Great looking. Hot body.
Stop. Right. There.
“Um, do you need me to do anything tonight?” Zoey asked.
“No. We’re having a meeting at six tomorrow, neuro, trauma, transplant, and us—well, me, since you’re on transplant already—to discuss the treatment plan.”
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
“Are you done for the day?”
“Yeah, I was just heading out.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” Declan said, holding the stairwell door open for her. “Good work today.”
Zoey smiled. “Thanks.”
Zoey took the stairs on autopilot, aware of Declan turning in the opposite direction on the main floor. She’d just reached the street when a Range Rover pulled up beside her and slowed.
“Zoey, it’s Declan. Do you need a ride somewhere?”
Startled from her post-call haze, Zoey turned. Declan leaned toward the open window. “Oh, it’s just a ways. But thanks.”
The car came to a halt. “It’s ten thirty at night, Zoey. Let me give you a ride.”
What could she say? “Okay, thanks.”
Zoey climbed in and buckled up. Alone with Declan surrounded by semidarkness and the new-car scent, Zoey, more self-conscious than she’d been at any point during the day, folded her hands and rested them between her thighs. This was not part of the script. She knew what was expected of her within the walls of the hospital, what she should do, what she should say. Or not say. Out here, in a world she barely inhabited, those rules changed.
“Where are you?” Declan asked.
In my head, figuring out how I got here. “Sorry?” Zoey asked belatedly.
“Where do you live?”
“Oh, Morris,” she said. “Between School House and Chelten.”
“Zoey, it’s a mile and a half at least.”
“How do…oh, that’s right, you went to school here.” Half a second later, she flushed, infinitely grateful for the darkness. Way to admit she’d been listening to the rumor mill. At least her embarrassment wouldn’t show on her face.
“I did,” Declan said, seemingly unperturbed. But when did anything seem to ruffle her? “Residency too. I see that the information highway hasn’t changed.”
“Ah…right, somebody mentioned it.”
“I imagine,” Declan said dryly. “Anyhow, I’m not that far away from you now. But you know, the neighborhood is safe and all that, until it isn’t. So be careful, okay?”
Ordinarily Zoey would have complained if someone suggested she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. Or didn’t know how to, more to the point. But Declan’s concern only made that heat low down in her middle spread a little farther. Much more and she’d need to open the window since the AC wasn’t helping much. “I always am. But thanks.”
Declan glanced over at her, a bit of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry. Not my place.”
“No,” Zoey said quickly. “It’s fine.”
“So, you’ve got one of those big twin Victorians on Morris?”
“Yeah. We’re only a block and a half from Quinn and Honor’s place. A lot of us from the hospital live around there. That’s probably why nobody thinks much about walking around at night. We always tend to run into each other, working the same hours and everything.”
“Honor is still on School House?”
“Yeah,” Zoey said.
“I think she’d just moved in there when we started our residency. Arly was just a toddler.”
“Is it weird being back?” Zoey turned to watch Declan drive, watched her hands on the wheel, her long tapered fingers just lightly cradling the rim. She drove like she seemed to do everything, with a quiet easy confidence. Although there was no traffic, she took her time. The neighborhoods were quiet except for the occasional distant wail of a siren headed to the hospital. Moonlight and the occasional illumination from the streetlights as they passed beneath made it easy to watch Declan’s face too. She didn’t give much away in her expression, but the tight line of her jaw said it all.
“Sorry,” Zoey said. “I’m not very good at small talk.”
Declan glanced at her again, a grin unexpectedly breaking her stoic facade. “I’d say you’re really good at it. And yes, it’s weird to be back. I keep tripping over what was and what is, and it’s a little disorienting.”
“I bet the hospital hasn’t changed all that much, though,” Zoey said. “I wasn’t a student here, but it’s got that sense about it, you know, all the history? You can still feel it in the halls when you walk around at night. I like that.”
