“Oh my god. You’re going to need this.” Dylan thrusts the cup into my hand. “I want to hear all about the show last night, but there is zero time. Dr. Johnson’s residents are not picking up the slack at all. Her intern confided in me that she’s learned nothing under Janet because she wouldn’t let anyone do anything and threatened their careers if they ever said anything.”
“What?” pops out of my mouth. “Are you joking?”
“Nope. We are so fucked, girl. They said Janet had no clue what she was doing and anything that didn’t go wrong, was pure luck.”
“Shit.” I had been wondering all week why her residents held back in the OR and watched my every move like hawks, but I just assumed it was a lack of familiarity and comfort with me. Not that they weren’t learning. Hell, some of them are second-year residents. “I’m going to have to talk to Carter about this.”
“Yes. Just not now. We have two laboring women and with the way one of their contractions are stalling, I’m thinking she’ll end up having a section.”
Awesome.
I take a sip from the cup in my hand. Espresso. Strong espresso. I take another sip, this one bigger than the previous one, and then throw the now mostly empty cup in the trash.
“That should perk me up. Thanks. Let’s go.”
With Dylan on my heels, we find our way to the nurses’ station and sure enough, there are two other residents, one a first-year and one a second-year, just standing around like fish out of water.
“You. Astrid.” I point at the second year. “Who is your patient?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Usually we just followed Dr. Johnson around.”
Are you flipping kidding me?
“Okay. As of today, that changes. There are four of us, which means we’ll go in teams of two for backup and support. Dylan, you’re with Astrid. Georgia, you’re with me. We’ll take the patient with the stalled labor, but if she does end up needing the OR, all of you will come in and watch and assist. Understood?”
“Yes.” And judging by the excited and relieved expressions on their faces, they’re ready to work.
“Alright. Let’s go. Georgia, bring me up to speed on our patient.”
That’s how the morning goes. It flies by with me running the show between what ends up being three patients and three residents. There are no fourth years on the floor today—just a fellow who is stuck in the OR. And other than one other attending—and Carter who doesn’t count since it’s his day off—we’re managing the floor.
We deliver Dylan and Astrid’s baby like champs. I watch as Astrid takes point, guiding her along and encouraging her. She has the basics. Whatever she did as a first-year wasn’t for naught, but she should be farther along with her training. I have no idea what Janet was doing with these two, but by the looks of it, it wasn’t much of anything.
That’s something we’re going to have to remedy and remedy quickly.
My stalled labor—going on hour thirty, poor woman—does end up in the OR having a section. I perform it with the fellow sitting up in the observation area charting. I throw questions at the residents, to which they all eagerly and immediately respond. And once the baby is out, I allow them to close, working together as a team.
And me, I take a step back, exhaustion hitting me like a truck. My eyes are straining to see the field. My back tight and tense. My limbs heavy and sluggish.
It seriously becomes all I can do to finish up this surgery and get out of the OR.
The moment we’re scrubbed out, I send everyone to lunch. There are only three other women on the L&D floor right now and they’re all less than six centimeters dilated. Which means it’s the perfect time for a nap.
“You sure you’re good with all of us going?” Dylan asks as I pull out my phone, about to text Carter.
“Yes,” I tell him, pulling up the message window. “I’m going to text Dr. Fritz to have him keep an eye on the floor. I’ll let the nurses know to page him if anything comes up. I’m going to try to catch a half an hour of sleep.”
“Please. You look like you need it. Your bags are growing bags and they ain’t Prada.”
I smirk, flipping him off as I text Carter who replies immediately.
Carter: Despite how much I’d love to join you, I’m glad you’re taking a break. Don’t worry about the floor. I’ve got it.
I smile at that, so grateful he decided to come with me this morning even if it is ruining his day. “Bring me back a sandwich or something,” I call out to Dylan.
“Will do.”
The three of them head for the elevators, talking rapidly about all we accomplished this morning while I head over to the nurses’ station. “Hey,” I say to one of the nurses who is at the counter typing on the computer. “I’m going to the on-call room for a quick nap. Dr. Fritz is here in his office and can be paged if you need anything. I think Dr. Schwartz is finally almost done in the OR, so she’ll be around as well.” Thank God. The other attending was in the OR for most of the morning.
“Okay. I’ll make a note of that. Do you want us to wake you at any specific time or just if there is an emergency?”
I open my mouth to respond when my right hand stiffens painfully to the point where I’m unable to move it. I glance down at it, confused until I feel a wave sensation going through my head. I blink, panic swimming inside me as the sensation grows more and more intense. I take a deep breath, followed by another, closing my eyes, and begging to all that is holy that I can stop this.
It’s a feeling I dread from the depth of my soul to the marrow of my bones. My breathing quickens despite my best efforts, and I know it’s too late. I know what’s coming. Having a focal aware seizure wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if I wasn’t positive what was to follow.
Mine start in my frontal lobe on my left side—hence why the right side of my body is affected. But that’s not where they stay. They go from localized to generalized, typically within seconds in my case.
“I need Ativan. I’m having a seizure.”
The nurse is staring at me like nothing I’m saying makes sense; alarm crawling up her features as she stands, asking if I’m okay.
Only I can’t respond.
I’m aware of everything.
Fully conscious for at least the next few seconds, only I’m trapped in my body. Unable to move or speak as my seizure progresses. They call these types of seizures auras. As in you know what’s about to come next and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.
Nothing.
It’s too late.
Terror and helplessness swim through me, tearing a gasp from my lungs. A rising pulls at my insides, like the downslope of a roller coaster, growing more intense as my head fills with a sound similar to a fan blowing at full blast inside my skull.
Thank God I’m in the hospital.
That’s the last thought I have before everything goes black.
26
I’ve been sitting in my office all morning, dealing with the Janet Johnson nightmare. After our meeting last week, something wasn’t sitting right with me. I’ve looked over her files and after getting a few texts from Grace this morning stating that Janet did absolutely zero teaching and that her not fucking up sooner was an act of God, I know it’s going to be a very long few weeks going forward as we get this all teased out and settled.