"His vitals are stable for now and he should be fine on the morphine drip for a few hours." I use my index finger to type in his last blood pressure check into his electronic chart and inherently bark orders at the bedside nurse. I feel sorry for ordering her around in such a rude, unmannerly fashion but I can't really help it. Stressed isn't even the word for today. A trauma came in about an hour ago and guess who's the only resident who didn't get paged? I'll give you a hint: her name starts with a J and rhymes with "So". I close out of the electronic chart and tuck it underneath my arm. "Page me if anything changes." After the nurse nods at me to let me know she understands, I take my gloves off and toss them in the trashcan on my way out the door and walk over to the nurses' station to see if I have anymore of Dr. Grey's patients to round on.
Being the only resident that didn't get paged to the trauma, I get all the scut for the day. Steph and Ben get to log all the trauma hours they need for the day and here I am, stuck logging hours on General that I don't need. I have enough hours to go around being that I logged seven hours on trauma yesterday after pulling a leech—yes, a leech—out of a woman's nose, but come on. A huge trauma just came in! A bus crashed into a church building a few blocks down the street and caused a major traffic pile-up. No casualties have been reported so far but lots of blood, guts and glass stuck in people's faces that Steph and Ben get to treat. Sighing, I reopen the electronic chart and scroll around to see if there's anything hands-on left for me to do. If I don't find a patient to treat, I'll be stuck running labs, scheduling surgeries and charting for the rest of the day and I'd rather have explosive diarrhea than run labs, schedule surgeries and chart. I'm a third year resident. I'm above all of this scut.
It doesn't seem like I'm needed anywhere else, unfortunately. I'd better go get a head start on these labs. "Page me if anything changes on the patient in 103, as well as 105. I'm gonna go run-" I'm interrupted by the persistent ringing of my pager and excitedly, I grab it so quickly that I probably seem like I was waiting for it to ring. I sort of was waiting for it to ring, in hopes of giving me something better than scut to do but the nurses at the nurses' station don't need to know that I was waiting on pins and needles for my pager to ring. It makes me seem desperate. I turn my pager around and leisurely read it, in a half-desperate attempt to make myself seem cooler than anxiously waiting for my damn pager to ring. I'm being paged to the first floor! Maybe they actually need me in the pit! I smile in satisfaction to myself and slyly put my pager back into my pocket. "I'm gonna go run some labs...page me if anything changes with my patients." I give the nurses a smile and turn around to go to the pit.
Whatever I'm being paged for probably isn't very important since I wasn't paged 911 but oh well, it's a page that doesn't include scut and I'm taking it. I walked away from the nurses' station so quickly that I forgot to put the electronic chart back on a charger, so I hope that it doesn't die. It's a shame how desperate I was for my pager to ring. I put my hands in my pockets and lightly jog down the steps to get off the second floor and onto the first. I go over to the first floor nurses' station and lean against the counter. "Someone paged me down here?" I ask the blonde haired nurse that's sitting in the chair behind the counter, typing something on the computer. She stops typing and looks up at me like she doesn't know who I am, even though I've worked here for three years and I've seen her all three years I've been here. "Dr. Wilson." I blatantly tell her my name, emphasis on the Dr. part.
"Oh...sorry, hon." She seems genuinely apologetic. She clears her throat and leans forward to get closer to me. "Woman in bed three...asked to see you." She points me to bed three as if I don't know my way around the pit. I appreciate her apologizing me though. Okay, but a woman in bed three asked to see me? What woman? I don't really think I've treated anyone that could possibly want me to treat them. Unless...Maybe Andrea is back. Andrea's the girl who's nose I pulled Herbie the leech out of. Maybe she found some other issue, like her nose is falling off or she's half brain-dead from having a leech chomping on her temporal lobe. I'm a horrible person because part of me really believes that her nose falling off or being brain-dead could be fun for me. With a sneaky smile on my face from reveling in my thoughts, I grab the pastel blue curtain that seals off bed three and pull it back.
The woman sitting on the bed isn't Andrea like I expected it to me, so I'm surprised to say the least. I reach behind myself and shut the curtain to maintain this woman's privacy. She's very pretty, I think. She has short, shoulder-length blonde hair and pale white skin. I can tell that she's a box-blonde because her brunette roots are coming through towards the crown of her head; she's obviously naturally brunette. She's a little bit on the heavier side but I wouldn't call her obese. She's sitting down on the bed but the way her legs touch firmly on the floor lets me know that she's rather tall. "Good morning." I plaster my friendly smile across my face and open up a new file on the electronic chart. "I'm Dr. Wilson and I'll be treating you today. Now, can you tell me your name?" I hold the chart against my stomach and look her in her eyes to seem humane. Her light hazel eyes are low, soft and sympathetic. She seems to be nervous for some reason. I actually get patients like this all the time. Patients that are automatically nervous once they enter a hospital, I mean. I think it's sort of strange how there are people out there that are genuinely afraid of hospitals when hospitals have always been my sanctuary.
She crosses her legs and squeezes her ankles together as she runs her stubby fingers through her wispy, thin blonde hair. She's wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt so her arms are exposed and since getting her to talk to me seems like a bit of a stretch, I quietly examine her with my eyes to see if I can pick out what might be the issue that brought her here. Her legs are covered with loose fitting blue jeans so I can't see them but her arms are quite revealing. In both folds of her arms, the skin is badly scarred with small, red circles. To a normal person without medical training, it would look like this woman has hives and to a certain extent, I'm sure some of these red circles really are hives. But there are some scars that are too deep red to be hives. Some of the scars are needle marks from shooting up. I keep my smile on my face in hopes of calming this poor woman down and walk over to the glove dispenser to grab myself a pair of gloves. "What's the weather like out there?" I start a conversation with her just to be mannerly as I pull on my gloves. "I was thinking about going out there to get some fresh air but it's probably raining, isn't it?"
She runs her left hand along her right arm and shifts her legs in an uncomfortable fashion. "It's actually a beautiful day out there." Even her voice sounds nervous. She sounds like she's not-so-sure if she should be here or not. "Is..." Her voice trails off so I put the electronic chart down and stand in front of her with a smile still on my face so she knows that it's okay to tell me anything because I'm going to help her. At this point, it's pretty clear to me that she didn't request to see me. I've never seen this woman a day in my life and we're perfect strangers to one another, so it's virtually impossible for her to have requested me as her doctor. I'm thinking that maybe the nurses got me mixed up with someone else or she just asked to see a surgeon and I'm the only available one. There's no possible way that she went to the nurses' station and asked for Dr. Jo Wilson. "What is your name?" She tilts her head and wrinkles her eyebrows, as if she's asking me to teach her trigonometry.
"Jo." I keep politely smiling and take my hands from my pockets. I slightly turn my body and pull up the flap on my white coat to expose my name. "Josephine...but everybody calls me Jo 'cause Josephine's a mouthful." I fold the flap down and put my hands back in my pockets. "You can call me Jo. You don't have to call me Dr. Wilson." Careful not to alarm her, I slowly grab her arm so I can take a look at her hives. "Are these hives?" She nods her head, refusing to look me in the eye. "Um... Do you get these all the time? Are you allergic to anything?" I turn her arm so I can get a better look at them. She doesn't say anything. "You know, I get hives sometimes." She cracks a smile so I smile too. "When I'm stressed out or nervous about something." I take a look at her other arm as well. She's smiling and holding back laughter. "No, seriously. Last year, I overheard my boss saying something about a member of the staff getting fired. I went crazy thinking it was gonna be me. My back looked like a political map of the United States when everything was said and done. Big mess of red down the middle..."
"I guess that's one way you and I are alike." She nods her head again and gently slides her arm backwards so it's out of my grasp. She grabs onto my arm and starts pulling up the sleeve of my white coat. I'm a little bit uncomfortable now, I won't lie. Why is she trying to look at my arm? I was taught to do anything to make a patient happy though, so I help her pull up my sleeve. She starts running her thumb along the hair on my arm. I don't know what else to say to her. I can't even smile anymore. Alex is always telling me how pretty I am and you wouldn't believe how many patients have complimented my looks as well. I know I'm not ugly but I never really thought that a patient would actually hit on me. Maybe I'm neurotic because I have some residual issues from things that have happened to me in my past but generally, people rubbing your arm like this—male or female—can only mean one thing. I know how to defend myself against someone that tries to take advantage of me and this woman doesn't seem like she's much of a fighter; even though she has a good 100 pounds on me. If this woman tries to do anything to me, I'm going to fight her off as best as I can. Then I'll go find Alex...he'll know what to do. "...I'm sorry, baby." She called me baby. I feel my nervousness starting to take over. I snatch my arm away from her and try to even out my breathing. "You're just...you're beautiful." She finally looks up at me and for the first time, our eyes meet.
When our eyes meet, I feel like someone just opened up the back of my shirt and dumped a gallon of ice water down it. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up and chills rocket all over my body. I don't know who this woman is. Like I said, I've never seen her a day in my life. So...why does my body feel like I know who she is? My heart feels some kind of connection with her and I don't know why. I've never felt connected with somebody like this. I've never felt this natural feeling that someone knows me and I know someone. I don't know her. But there could only be one reason as to why looking at her feels like I'm looking into a distorted mirror. You know those mirrors in the funhouses at carnivals, festivals or freakshows? The ones that make you look skinnier than what you are or fatter than what you are? I feel like I'm looking into one of those. One of those mirrors that gave me haunting hazel eyes, bushier eyebrows, forehead wrinkles and laugh lines in my cheeks. Those mirrors have the ability to make it seem like you're seeing something that you're not but they can never take away the features that make you...yourself. The wide forehead is still there, the hazel eyes are still there, the thin nose is there and the big, puffy lips are there. If you don't know someone but you look like them, there's only one reason why you could look like that person, right?
I close my eyes and shake my head to clear my thoughts. I've had a pretty rough, busy week. I think I'm just tired. There's no way this woman could be anywhere close to who my heart thinks she is. She wouldn't know who the hell I am, just like I don't know who the hell she is. If this woman is who my heart thinks she is, the last time she saw me was when I was two weeks old, 28 years ago. She wouldn't know who in the hell I am. She can't be her. "So...what's your name, ma'am?" I pick up the electronic chart again and pop open the new file, completely dismissing the awkward moment of her stroking my arm and calling me pretty. "And what brings you here today?"
She remains silent, which sort of annoys me. I'm ready to just pass her case off to someone else. Maybe I can act like someone else paged me and give this woman's case to another person, like a nurse or whatever. It doesn't seem surgical, whatever's wrong with her. "You don't know who I am, do you?" Instead of answering my questions, she dives into another topic. I shake my head and pretend to be busy typing something into the chart when in reality, I'm not typing anything. I don't like this feeling I have. This sinking feeling in my chest that's making my stomach ache. I feel nauseous. "I didn't expect you too." She sounds disappointed. "You're gorgeous, though. Look at your pretty, pretty hair and your eyes..." She shakes her head. "So pretty." I have half a mind to tell her "thank you" but if I talk, my voice is going to crack and I'm going to cry. "Can I still call you Jo?"
"...I have to go. I have other patients to..." I swallow a lump in my throat and close out of the new file on the electronic chart. "Good luck, ma'am."
"Jo, wait!" She stands up from the exam table and calls after me. "Wait, honey...just wait." My brain is telling me to keep going; to pull the curtain back and get the hell out of this room before I start crying so hard I can't stop or letting my emotions take over and end up cursing this woman out. But my heart won't let me go. My heart won't let me leave her. "I'm so sorry to...freak you out and stuff. You're just...not what I expected. I don't know what to say to you."
"...So you did page me?" I ask her.
"I found out you were working here and I just asked if you were available..I didn't ask them to tell you that I was sick." She holds her hands out like she's trying to diffuse the situation. "I just want to know you..."
"I'm working." I shake my head and turn to leave again.
"Josephine."
"I have to go...I'm sorry." I feel a tear creep down my cheek and tickle me as it falls. "I...I..." I can't even say anything. "I have to go." I pull the curtain back and leave the exam room. You know, I've always dreamed about this moment. I thought about the things I would do and the things I would say. I would ask her why she left me, I would try to understand why she did it because after all, nobody leaves their two week old baby unless they absolutely have to. I would hug her and tell her that I forgive her for everything and I would tell her that I'm not angry that she was never there to teach me how to deal with my period, how to cope with boy troubles, braid my hair or help me dress up for the prom. I would want to start over and have a relationship with her. I would introduce her to Alex and tell her that I think he's the one. And she would be there for the birth of her grandchildren, if me and Alex decide to have them. I always thought about this moment and I had it planned down to a perfect tee. I look like her, which was a shock. My eyes, my ears, my nose and my mouth all belong to her. And I immediately felt that connection. Crazy how your body just knows that you're related to someone because you feel that connection. I didn't think I'd have any connection with her, even though I came from her. I never thought that I would be the one to apologize to her. I never thought that meeting her—meeting my mother would be so nerve-wracking. I never counted on feeling so nauseous.
I need to find the nearest bathroom, because I'm going to throw up.