out.
And even more disappointed when she decided she liked the one-person craft better than a team yacht. She’d been too afraid he wouldn’t understand if she explained how terrified she was she’d mess up on a team craft and disappoint him even further.
Last night had only intensified that feeling of inadequacy when he’d shunned her attempts to help. Logically she knew he was proud of her accomplishments. She’d heard him brag about her often to his golf buddies. Then why push her away?
She hoped they’d have time before it was too late to reconcile the disparity.
“Brenda?”
Kyle’s deep voice shook her out of her dark reverie. She turned her gaze on him, feeling slightly disoriented. “Yes?”
“I asked if you need anything before you go in,” he said, his gaze probing her face.
She started, realizing she’d spaced out for a second. The uncharacteristic moment shook her. She was in the scrub room, preparing to take an organ out of a patient. She’d better pull it together. The last thing she wanted was to be unfocused during a procedure.
She breathed in, filling her lungs, and slowly let the air out as she centered her mind and immediately realized she was thirsty. Not surprising, really. She hadn’t drunk her normal sixteen ounces of water this morning because she’d been distracted by her bodyguard and her parents.
Her mother had made breakfast as if nothing catastrophic had shaken their world. Her father had sat at the kitchen table and read the paper. And Kyle had woofed down the eggs and bacon with gusto. Brenda had pushed her food around her plate but had no appetite. Sitting around acting as if her world wasn’t falling apart literally made her sick to her stomach.
But her patient shouldn’t suffer because of Brenda’s personal problems. “A glass of water would be helpful.”
Kyle nodded and padded to the water cooler in the scrub room. Gratefully she took the cup he offered when he returned and drank the liquid.
“Thank you,” she said when she handed back the empty cup, feeling better already.
“More?”
She smiled, appreciating his solicitousness. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”
After scrubbing her hands, she entered the O.R. Her patient lay prepped on the table, white cloths placed so that only a square patch of her abdomen was exposed. The anesthesiologist, Derek, sat at the head of the table monitoring the patient’s vitals while the surgical technician prepped the instrument tray and laparoscopy, the video camera that would guide Brenda once she’d made the incision.
Brenda barely noticed the room itself. Bare, sterile walls. Cold metal everywhere. The faint odor of cleaner permeated the air.
One nurse, Kate, stood a few paces back. A second nurse approached Brenda with gloves and mask at the ready.
“How’s our patient this morning?” Brenda asked as the nurse slipped the gloves quickly over Brenda’s fingers and then secured the face mask behind her ears.
“Out like a light and waiting,” the nurse answered. “She was a bit nervous when we spoke earlier, but I told her she had the best surgeon in the city working on her today.”
“Thanks, Marge.” It was high praise indeed coming from the veteran nurse. They’d worked alongside each other often the past few years, ever since Brenda came on board at Heritage as a resident. She liked having Marge as her scrub nurse. She was competent, assertive in technique, anticipating Brenda’s needs before Brenda even had to ask. All good traits in a head nurse.
Though Brenda knew she was on the young side for a surgeon doing her fellowship under the auspicious guidance of one of the country’s leading general surgeons, Marge had never made her feel inadequate. Here at the hospital, at least, people appreciated how hard she worked, the hours she dedicated to the patients.
Here going above and beyond was rewarded. One day when she became chief she’d make sure to continue the tradition of recognizing hard
And even more disappointed when she decided she liked the one-person craft better than a team yacht. She’d been too afraid he wouldn’t understand if she explained how terrified she was she’d mess up on a team craft and disappoint him even further.
Last night had only intensified that feeling of inadequacy when he’d shunned her attempts to help. Logically she knew he was proud of her accomplishments. She’d heard him brag about her often to his golf buddies. Then why push her away?
She hoped they’d have time before it was too late to reconcile the disparity.
“Brenda?”
Kyle’s deep voice shook her out of her dark reverie. She turned her gaze on him, feeling slightly disoriented. “Yes?”
“I asked if you need anything before you go in,” he said, his gaze probing her face.
She started, realizing she’d spaced out for a second. The uncharacteristic moment shook her. She was in the scrub room, preparing to take an organ out of a patient. She’d better pull it together. The last thing she wanted was to be unfocused during a procedure.
She breathed in, filling her lungs, and slowly let the air out as she centered her mind and immediately realized she was thirsty. Not surprising, really. She hadn’t drunk her normal sixteen ounces of water this morning because she’d been distracted by her bodyguard and her parents.
Her mother had made breakfast as if nothing catastrophic had shaken their world. Her father had sat at the kitchen table and read the paper. And Kyle had woofed down the eggs and bacon with gusto. Brenda had pushed her food around her plate but had no appetite. Sitting around acting as if her world wasn’t falling apart literally made her sick to her stomach.
But her patient shouldn’t suffer because of Brenda’s personal problems. “A glass of water would be helpful.”
Kyle nodded and padded to the water cooler in the scrub room. Gratefully she took the cup he offered when he returned and drank the liquid.
“Thank you,” she said when she handed back the empty cup, feeling better already.
“More?”
She smiled, appreciating his solicitousness. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”
After scrubbing her hands, she entered the O.R. Her patient lay prepped on the table, white cloths placed so that only a square patch of her abdomen was exposed. The anesthesiologist, Derek, sat at the head of the table monitoring the patient’s vitals while the surgical technician prepped the instrument tray and laparoscopy, the video camera that would guide Brenda once she’d made the incision.
Brenda barely noticed the room itself. Bare, sterile walls. Cold metal everywhere. The faint odor of cleaner permeated the air.
One nurse, Kate, stood a few paces back. A second nurse approached Brenda with gloves and mask at the ready.
“How’s our patient this morning?” Brenda asked as the nurse slipped the gloves quickly over Brenda’s fingers and then secured the face mask behind her ears.
“Out like a light and waiting,” the nurse answered. “She was a bit nervous when we spoke earlier, but I told her she had the best surgeon in the city working on her today.”
“Thanks, Marge.” It was high praise indeed coming from the veteran nurse. They’d worked alongside each other often the past few years, ever since Brenda came on board at Heritage as a resident. She liked having Marge as her scrub nurse. She was competent, assertive in technique, anticipating Brenda’s needs before Brenda even had to ask. All good traits in a head nurse.
Though Brenda knew she was on the young side for a surgeon doing her fellowship under the auspicious guidance of one of the country’s leading general surgeons, Marge had never made her feel inadequate. Here at the hospital, at least, people appreciated how hard she worked, the hours she dedicated to the patients.
Here going above and beyond was rewarded. One day when she became chief she’d make sure to continue the tradition of recognizing hard
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