Chapter 6: Slip

Having finished my tuna sandwiches enjoying the sun on a bench next to the practice, I started back towards the staff room. I wasn't cheating time, I had Mr Popkiewitz's files with me, deciding what kind of anaesthetics I should give and calculating how much. Besides, I always had a light meal before surgery, cause despite all guidelines, you never really knew how long it would last, especially when Christian was in charge. I had to get ready quickly, cause I only had ten minutes till the scheduled time I should restart my duties in the operating room, but I realise there is no need to rush when I barge in the staff room to get rid of my lunch box. Christian is in there himself, sitting on the couch with some files on his lap as well. But from the way his leaning back on the couch, his deep breathing and shot eyes I know he's asleep. I bang the door behind me, he has work to do. Unfortunately for this purpose our doors are cushioned against such treatment and the modest thump doesn't wake him up. His sweaty hair sticks to his forehead and his tired look makes him look vulnerable, so I sit down beside him and gently touch his knee, "wake up, we have surgery."

He shifts, takes a longer breath, and opens his eyes, "who wouldn't get whacked after reading the new techniques used in lower lid arcus marginalis release, and catching up with fifteen patient files?" He tidies up the papers on his lap.

"Must be really weird to be you. Is that the only lame excuses can you come up with?" I look around as I only see three files in the room, and I'm holding one, not to mention that there are no specialist magazines nowhere near in the area. I don't mean my comment callously, but it's the way things have always been between us. In fact, I look forward to some sort of haughty reply from him every day, and I'm hardly ever disappointed. In a way, our clashes lift my self esteem, as I can reassure myself by being able to stick it up against him, "you must be tired for being up all night conquering the female population." It did occur to me several times that I should be more careful with him after his suicide attempt, but it would've felt so unnatural and out of place. He surely didn't want any different treatment from me, he made sure of that with his foul bickers he directed towards me right after he came back. I'm not slow-witted, I can prove that with my own remarks, and I do know he's like this because he doesn't want anyone knowing the real him, but what can I do? I can't just let him win all arguments. I wonder though, if he needs to hide the real him, how much worse can that be that his masked self? Nevertheless, I'm not much for psychoanalysis, if I was, I probably won't be lonely. What I'm especially not interested in, is Christian's inner world. His outer one is utterly enough for me.

"What's wrong with that?" He answers my question, "Liz, you and me, we want the same thing. Women."

I grimace and shake my head, fighting the impulse to make a malicious observation, but to my own surprise, I'm considerate towards him given the circumstances and opt to enlighten him instead. After all, I might be lost sometimes myself, but I'm ultimately a good person and I have to behave accordingly if I wanna be happy with myself, "my sexuality is about affirmation. Lesbian identity is a positive action,

loving and honouring women, creating bonds, not just what we share in the bedroom."

"That's because some know how to, most don't."

"What? How to be modest?" I comment dryly. I know I can be loud mouthed at times, but I can't help it.

He doesn't respond, disappearing behind the door, I'm assuming to change his clothes. I don't mind, I can come up with other comments in the meantime with which we can make surgery more exciting. With the usual silence between the two doctors since the big shock for Sean, it can be a bit unpleasant in there sometimes.

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"Hey, in a perfect world every female would end up falling into your arms like they were going home," I comment when Sean enters, "that is why you have a problem with lesbians."

Sean's overdue, Christian had already removed small wedges of skin to narrow the base of the nose and is glancing sharply towards me, "I think had enough of your jokes for one day, thank you very much," he says sardonically.

I share a glance with Sean as he picks up his own scalpel. He looks a bit bewildered, he opens his eyes wide and nods towards me.

I must look a bit incredulous as well as I stare at Christian, "do you not have at least one good snap back today? I mean what's the fun in offensive remarks if all you get is silence? What's this? Did I actually manage to render the legendary Dr. Troy speechless?" After all, I'm doing nothing more, than the usual mockery between us, "never thought that would happen. I have to mark this day on my calendar."

Sean is already right in the middle of it, placing incisions inside the nose to provide access to the cartilage that shapes the nasal framework, but he asks at the same time, "what's going on?"

"Getting ready to view the endonasal structures," his partner responds, then "retractor," he commands and Meera, our new nurse complies.

I feel the need to answer Sean's real question, "I'm just used to Christian responding

back viciously, not getting upset."

"I'm not upset," he everts the caudal edge of the alar rim with his double pronged retractor.

Sean presses down on the cartilages, along with their simultaneous inferomedial displacement, "bad day?" He looks up at his partner for a second.

"Well, how many times in one day can I try getting out of the car with my seat belt still on?…Cartilage grafts," he orders, so he can place them in the columella for

additional tip support, but he immediately gives them over to Sean, "could you? I need to sit down."

"What?" Sean took the implants off him, momentarily not remembering his own notes on where exactly he wanted to put them, "what's wrong?"

Christian glances at me, "your seat…" Given his sweaty forehead, misty eyes and the weak, pain stained voice he says this with, I don't hesitate to grab my stool and hastily place it behind him. He is already holding onto the table and I'm afraid he'll faint on top of the patient, so I guide him a couple of steps back, ease him down myself and free his face. He's quite pallid, "I'm nauseous," he touches his tummy as he says this.

"I would prefer if you didn't throw up in here," Sean crunches his forehead, "Liz, could you help him out?"

"What about Mr. Popkiewitz?"

"Meera will get you if there's any change in the heart rate. Just get him out already and be back as soon as possible."

"Christian?" I instruct him to move.

He stands up, "I'm ok. I can go myself."

From the slowness of his movements as he goes to the door, I'm not so sure. Neither is Sean, cause he indicates with his head that I should follow, "take his vitals, talk to him," he instructs me. Under any other circumstances, we would've let him go, but not with that suicide venture behind him.

"You feel like telling me what that was all about? I might be able to help," I shadow him on the corridor. He doesn't answer, but I can hear that his breathing got heavier,

"what's going on Christian?"

He sighs and sits down panting the same place I found him sleeping not even an hour ago, "I'll tell…you when…the sickness…passes…" He says between deep breaths.

I take the time to check his blood pressure, and I report it back to him, "ninety over sixty," I reach for his wrist, but he shakes me off, "no need Liz, I'm okay."

I don't want to humiliate myself by showing open concern towards him, but my medical vocation doesn't let it lie, so I ask him, "did you take anything?"

"Do you really think I'd do it that openly and in the middle of an operation?"

"You do weird things in the middle of operations."

"Just my stomach playing up."

I eye him unbelievingly, "why would it do that?"

"Why not?"

"Well, if I'd count the number of times we caught you lying…"

"If I'd count the number of times you go out your way to point out my faults…"

"There are two to dance…" I start to defend myself until I see the hurt look in his eyes. He could pretend as he wanted, but in those, he had trouble hiding his pain. I frown as I feel a bit guilty when he is slightly recoiling back from me. The look on his face is stony, daring me to say something else in a twisted self damaging kinda way and I suddenly feel sorry for him as I notice his hands shaking. He clasps them together, frowning when he notices I'm looking right at them and that he can't make them stop. I guess he is a lot more vulnerable than he looks most of the time, at least just now, "whatever it is, you'll tell Sean right?"

He nods slightly, and leans back on the couch. I fetch a glass of water and give it to him, "look, I have to go back. Will you be all right?"

"Said so," he gives me an exhausted smile.

Walking back to the OR, I swear to myself I'll try to hold myself back to responding to any negative remarks he shots towards me. Not forever, no, but for a while.

tbc