Hit on Open Ice

One.

"Mr. and Mrs. Henderson. How's the morning going so far?" I crossed the threshold into the quaint room, holding the file of papers tight to my chest. I regarded the older couple with a nod and a sheepish grin before directing my attention to the monitor above the bed. "Your blood pressure appears to be stabilizing. That's good. Has physical therapy been by yet to see you?"

The gray-haired man remained quiet, bowing his head, and his wife scoffed.

"Well, tell the girl, Harold," she barked. I knew what was coming, I bit my lip to keep from smiling, not wanting to encourage his behavior.

"Harry," I scolded and he looked up, shrugging his one good shoulder.

"Listen, Doc. I know whatcha said. I need to work with them. But they come by so damn early in the morning. Won't even let an old man drink his coffee and read the paper before they start barking orders at me."

I shook my head, a small chuckle falling from my lips. I couldn't help it. I approached the side of his bed.

"Listen, Harry. I know it's bullshit. But if you don't do your part of the work, then all the work I did in there" I tap my pen gently against his left shoulder "will have been for nothing."

He sighed in defeat. "Alright Doc. I'll behave."

I nodded. "I'll have your nurse call the therapist and reschedule. The interns will be by to round on you later today. I'll see you in the morning."

"On a Saturday? Do you live here or somethin'?"

"Basically," I replied with a chuckle. "It's my weekend to be on call. No place I'd rather be." I winked and said my goodbyes to them before stepping into the hall to find the nurse.

I approached the desk and the small brunette who sat behind it, her gaze focused on the phone in her lap; she was trying to be sneaky. She wasn't doing a very good job. I cleared my throat and she jumped to her feet, shoving the pink phone in her pocket and giving me a wide grin—too wide. It was almost frightening.

"Dr. Spencer, I.."

"Don't worry about it," I said, cutting off her rambling. "Mr. Henderson in 223 needs to see PT today. Can you call and get them back here?" She nodded her head and I smiled, turning to walk away. "Oh, and Kayla? I'd swipe right on that one if I were you." She yelped a little before laughing, and I chuckled under my breath as I sauntered down the hall. My new tennis shoes squeaked against the tile, annoying me and, surely, everyone around me.

I stopped as I approached the scheduling board, my eyes roaming over the scribbled names that graced the whiteboard. It was a busy Friday, per usual, and all the operating rooms were booked through the day.

"New shoes?" I looked over in time to see Charlie saunter up next to me, pulling his blue scrub cap off his head as he spoke. He pushed his hand through his dark black hair and smiled.

"Yeah," I replied.

"I could hear them all the fucking way in OR 5." He nudged me with his shoulder and I smacked his arm.

"You're such an ass."

Charlie and I had gone through internship together, the toughest year of both of our lives. We bonded over our lack of sleep and aggravation with the superiority complexes of our mentors. We had promised to be better residents than the ones who had trained us. I was apparently the only one to keep that promise.

"You have a total hip this afternoon?" He asked as he typed away at his phone.

"Yeah. It's gonna be a tough one. I could really use an extra set of hands..." I trailed off, hoping he would get the hint.

He didn't.

"Can I borrow your intern for the afternoon? Pretty please?" I cupped my hands together and batted my eyelashes. He scoffed. "You owe me, Charlie! I let you have Beth TWICE last week!"

"But I was gonna make her take over in the pit for me so I could get a nap." His words slid off his tongue, full of entitlement; sometimes I just wanted to smack him, even if he had become my closest work-friend.

"I'll buy you coffee. Two coffees." It was slightly embarrassing how much I was begging, but I had been dreading this case all week. It was sure to be complex, not just a straight-forward hip replacement; the man was larger, and his hip bone was necrotic and decaying. I could use the extra help for retraction to cut down on surgery time.

He groaned, dropping his head in defeat, and I knew I had won. I squeezed his shoulders, excitedly squealing a thank you, and turned to continue down the hall.

"Donut!" He hollered after me and I spun to face him once more, eyebrow cocked in confusion. "Two coffees and a donut." I chuckled and gave him a thumbs up, turning at the end of the hall and approaching my office that hid in the corner.

Being chief resident had its perks, or one perk, at least. The doorknob squeaked as I turned the key and pushed my way in. The office was small, barely big enough for a desk, a loveseat, and a filing cabinet. But it had a window, a beautiful bay window that overlooked the city. On days where I was overwhelmed, which was most days, I would spend any free time I had curled up on the brown leather sofa looking out across the horizon. It gave me a sense of peace and comfort, this city I had grown to love so much.

As I plopped into my desk chair I pulled a bag of trail mix from my desk drawer and propped my feet up on the old wood, crossing them at the ankle. The sun beat down through the room, heavy in the midday sky, casting an array of shadows over the walls. It was an uncharacteristically warm day for mid-November. Last year at this time Providence had been blanketed with snow. Today, though, the temperature had reached a whopping 42 degrees, not a cloud in sight.

Feeling a little warm beneath the beating sun I slid up the sleeves on my gray undershirt, exposing my skin and the ink that graced nearly every exposed inch above my wrists. I gazed at them, as I always did, the memories that had led to each piece swirling in my mind.

My tattoos were practically a secret to everyone here at the hospital. I found it had to be that way. They didn't have a policy against tattoos-the higher-ups we're finally stepping into the 21st century-but I found that, despite my best intentions, I was judged for them. Not by everyone. But I had been kicked off one too many cases over the years because patients felt like it was unprofessional, like my skills must somehow be subpar because of it.

I didn't let it bother me, though. Not anymore. I knew I was a good doctor, tattoos or not, my work spoke for itself. Eventually I tired of the stares I would receive, the disapproving glances from older patients and coworkers. So I wore a long sleeve shirt under my scrubs, even in the summer, to prevent any further issues. I didn't regret the tattoos, not even in the slightest, and I actually quite enjoyed keeping them my little secret.

Shoving another handful of trail mix into my mouth I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Charlie's intern, Lana, asking her to meet me at my office. As I waited for her arrival I pulled my latest novel from my bag and opened to the dog-eared page, allowing myself to get lost in the words, even if for only a few minutes. The book was kind of cheesy so far, but that's what I lived for. My own life had no real romance, so I lived vicariously through the characters in the books I read. It was usually so predictable-boy meets girl, girl hates boy, boy chases girl, girl falls in love, blah blah blah-but I was a sucker for it.

A soft knock at the door caused me to shut the book in haste, shoving it, and the trail mix, into my open desk drawer. The door opened and Lana peaked in.

"Hey. You're with me this afternoon." I slid my sleeves back down over my forearms and rose from my desk. "Let's go scrub in."