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soon as she did, she recognized her as one of the surgical attendings. She waswearing a long white lab coat over scrubs. Lynn assumed she was between cases and heading up to the surgery floor to check on a patient.
    Lynn tried to smile in an attempt to be sociable. Her pulse was throbbing in her temples. She wondered if her face was red or pale. It had to be one extreme or the other, as she was experiencing an adrenaline rush. She was aware she was hyperventilating. She nodded. “I am,” she said distractedly. What the hell could be holding up the elevators? Still none had moved from the various floors where they had been when she first hit the button.
    “Lynn Peirce,” the surgeon said, bending forward and reading Lynn’s ID hanging from a lanyard around her neck. “Actually, I remember you from your third-year surgery rotation. I’m Dr. Patricia Scott.”
    “I remember you for sure,” Lynn managed. “Your lectures were terrific, especially your slides.” Lynn forced another half smile at the tall, elegant woman before returning her attention to the elevator floor indicator. She hoped her anxiousness wasn’t too apparent. She didn’t want to explain herself.
    “Thank you. You must have been paying attention. I remember you did extremely well. I understand you got your residency notification a couple of weeks ago. Considering how well you did in your surgery rotation, I hope you gave surgery some consideration.”
    “Orthopedics, actually,” Lynn said.
    “Indeed! That’s terrific. We need more women in all the surgical fields, particularly orthopedics, where we are not very well represented. Where will you be going for your training?”
    “I’m staying here,” Lynn said.
    “Wonderful,” Dr. Scott said sincerely. “That’s super. I’ll look forward to having you scrub with me during your first year of general surgery.”
    “I’m sure I will enjoy that, Dr. Scott,” Lynn said, hoping shedidn’t appear as preoccupied and stressed as she felt. Finally one of the elevators that had seemingly been parked on the first floor began to ascend.
    “You can call me Patricia now that you will be part of the house staff. And, for the record, my office is always open if you need any advice. It wasn’t that long ago I went through the training gauntlet, and unfortunately surgery is still anachronistically considered by some to be a men’s club.”
    “I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Lynn said.
    The elevator’s doors opened. The car was jam-packed. Dr. Scott gestured for Lynn to precede her, and both had to literally squeeze in to allow the doors to close. Lynn was briefly tempted to ask Dr. Scott what it meant for a patient to go to the neuro ICU directly from the PACU, but she didn’t. The trouble was, she could guess. It had to have been some kind of anesthesia problem or disaster. Yet she still maintained a certain amount of hope it could have been something less worrisome. Could a nerve in Carl’s leg have been damaged with the bone drill? As bad as that might be, it was better than other possibilities she was trying to avoid imagining.
    By the time they got up to the sixth floor, where neurology and neurosurgery were located, the elevator had emptied considerably. Lynn thanked Patricia Scott before getting off. She walked quickly. She knew where the neuro ICU was located. She’d been there on a few occasions during her neurology rotation and again during her stint on neurosurgery.
    Most visitors to the floor were expected to check in at the main nurses’ station. But Lynn decided on the spur of the moment to act the same way she had down in the PACU: as if she belonged. Without hesitation she pushed into the ICU directly.
    The neuro ICU appeared superficially similar to the PACU in terms of its prominent high-tech equipment, but here patients stayed much longer, sometimes weeks, even months on occasion. There were separate cubicles defined by glass walls, and not all the patientswere sporting