“Is it too big? You don’t have to cover the whole wall—”
“No, it’s fine. I think I can manage, but I will really have to think about this for a couple of days and sketch. And I have two requests.”
“Okay.”
“The first: do you mind if I walk around the hospital for a while, just to get ideas? I’ll do my best to stay out of everyone's way. I usually take photos, but I realize that might be a problem here.”
She thought for a moment before nodding. “That's fine, but please be mindful. And your second request?”
“Would it be possible for me to put up a sheet or something?”
Her eyebrows furrowed together. “A sheet?”
“When I start working, I prefer if people aren't watching me, and it helps to keep people back. Oftentimes, people are tempted to touch. I have no idea why, but they are.” And it drove me insane.
“Yes, that’s fine. When can you start?”
“Tomorrow, but for now I will just measure and think.” I pulled out my sketchpad.
“Well, please let me know if you need anything, all right? You have my number, and I’ll be walking around—”
“She means spying.”
We both turned toward Eli as he approached in his dark blue scrubs and white coat. He handed a cup of what smelled like tea to his mother before drinking from the other one he held.
“I would never spy—”
“Oh please, you hate surprises. I bet she will be down here every other day, trying to get a peek at what you're doing.”
“Your lack of faith in me hurts.” She frowned, facing me. “I might come down sometimes, but I won’t say a thing—”
“You’ll just feel her eyes burning a hole in the back of your head—ouch.” He stopped when she grabbed his arm.
“I’m going to go before I harm one of my most precious doctors. Thank you again, Gwen.”
“I still don’t think we need a mural!” he called as her heels clicked down the hospital hallway.
“You think of your patients, I’ll worry about the hospital.” She waved, but didn’t turn back as she drank her beverage.
He shook his head. “She didn’t even say thank you for the tea.”
“Do mothers really ever have to say thank you?” My mother's comeback was always that she deserved it for giving birth to me.
“Do a decent—” He stopped when his beeper went off. Grabbing it, his eyes widened, then he took off running. It wasn’t just him. All the doctors around me were paged, one by one, and each ran off in the same direction as Eli.
It was hard not to panic at a sight like that. Part of me wanted to leave, but another part of me, the part controlling my feet, slowly walked down the dark blue line they had run along, gripping my bag as I went.
At the end of the blue line I saw “ER” written above the entrance. Staying toward the corner, I watched as men, women, and small children were rolled in by paramedics.
“How many victims?” A nurse holding bags of bandages and gauze ran past me as if I wasn’t even there.
“They don’t know,” the other nurse replied. “Apparently the truck’s tire went down in a sinkhole and caused a ripple effect on the highway, but it wasn’t the only one. A summer camp bus flipped trying to avoid—”
“Bunhead!” Eli yelled, lifting a little boy onto the bed.
The girl, who did indeed have her blonde hair pulled into a bun, ran toward him.
“Did you look him over?” Eli questioned, looking into the boy’s ears.
“He said he was okay. His nose was hurt, but I checked and it was fine. His sister was worse—”
“Stop talking.”
She jumped, closing her mouth.
“Breathe. You said his nose was hurting. Sinus pressure. His eardrums are ruptured, you need to…”
“Page EMT and administer antibiotics for the cuts, and check up every 30—”
He gave her a stern look.
“15 minutes to make sure that was all.”
“Dr. Davenport!” another doctor called from the door.
“Bunhead, keep an eye on him,” he ordered, already walking over to another room. He and the rest of them were everywhere, moving from one patient to another. Some who were in far worse condition were rushed right out of the room toward surgery. Eli stayed back for most of it.
Even in the chaos I focused on him, running back and forth as wave after wave of new bloody, crying, screaming patients were brought in. It was like he was on autopilot—he had to be. Nothing fazed him, not even when an older woman threw up all over his tennis shoes. Instead of jumping back, he held her gray head until someone brought over a small bucket.
“Sorry. I am so—”
“There is no need to apologize, Mrs. Miller. Do you still feel like the room is spinning?”
I didn’t think I would ever admit it to him, but that day I thought he was pretty amazing. All of them were. It went without saying, but seeing it with my own two eyes—and though I loved what I did for a living—in that moment I kind of wished I was a badass doctor, too.
At least now I can think of a way to apologize to him, and a sketch.
Eli