Rita stood up, unsteadily, and dressed herself as Lisa stood vigil at the door, at one point shooing away Wendy and another nurse.
Once dressed, Lisa handed her a scrub cap. Rita touched her shoulder-length black hair, which felt like a bird’s nest and probably looked worse. In violation of OR sterility protocol, her hair wasn’t properly covered, which, if possible, left her feeling even more naked and vulnerable.
She took the cap, slipped it over her head, and tucked her hair underneath the expandable elastic edges. “Thanks.”
“Your operation this morning. Are you going to be—all right for it?”
No weakness.
“Uh, sure.” Rita slipped her cell phone in the back pocket of her scrubs, smiled wanly, and wondered if she really was in any kind of shape to cut into another human being this morning.
So, she suspected, did Lisa, whose concern etched deep lines in her forehead and drew the corners of her mouth downward. Lisa was one of the best nurses Rita had ever worked with: smart, confident, compassionate. They’d been together almost ten years. In the way of an outstanding caddy counseling a professional golfer, Lisa knew more about Rita’s surgical skills—what she was capable of and, more importantly, what she wasn’t—than Rita.
But Rita also knew she could not back down. Not now. Lisa opened her mouth to say something, but Rita talked over her.
“I’m good. I’m, uh, just going to head over to the locker room. Maybe take a shower, grab some coffee. Clear my head.”
“I’ll walk you over to the locker room.”
“No, thanks, Lisa. I’m good.”
“I have to go over that way anyway.” She folded her arms and thrust out her left hip. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Rita clipped her ID badge to the front of her scrub shirt and put on her glasses. They were stylish, with thick black frames. She winced as the left end piece slid over her sore left ear. She usually wore contacts, except when she worked late nights at the hospital.
She and Lisa stepped into the corridor outside. Rita kept her head down. The last thing she wanted was to attract attention.
“Good morning, Dr. Wu! Hi Lisa!” A passing nurse flashed them a sunny smile. She was carrying a box of bladder catheters. “Big day! The auto-surgeon operation today, right? Off to an early start this morning?”
“Um. Good morning, Becky. Yes.”
“Hi, Becky,” Lisa said.
“Good for you,” Becky chirped. “I mean, gosh. The auto-surgeon operation. Gosh. Everybody in the hospital’s heard about the auto-surgeon. So exciting, Dr. Wu. Good luck! Have a terrific day!”
“Thanks, Becky.”
Becky sped away, cheerfully greeting a male nurse several paces down the hall. His reply was clipped and surly. He was staring at his cell phone and mumbling. A short distance beyond him she spotted Wendy, a conspiratorial grin playing about her lips, engaged in an animated dialogue with another nurse, who was listening with a rapt expression that oscillated between surprise and morbid fascination. They didn’t see Rita or Lisa. Rita couldn’t hear what Wendy was saying, but she had a good idea what the topic of the conversation was.
Me.
She realized with dismay that she was still a long way from the women’s locker room and that the corridors between here and there were teeming with early-morning staff preparing the operating rooms for a busy working day.
Lisa seemed to read her mind. She grabbed her lightly by the elbow and spoke in her right ear. “Let’s go the other way.”
Rita nodded numbly. She had no personal experience with walks of shame. But she’d seen plenty of girls who had as she’d jogged to cross-country practice on Saturday mornings in college: as they’d slouched home in revealing dresses or blouses with tight jeans, high heels slung over shoulders, eyes fixed on the ground. Back then, Rita had felt nothing but contempt for those girls. Right now, wanting nothing more than to blend in with the walls, she was feeling a whole lot less judgmental.
They reversed direction and entered a relatively empty hallway. Lisa kept her hand resting on Rita’s elbow, for which Rita felt grateful: She was still feeling wobbly. Operating room ten was one of the farthest away from the locker room. A walk of what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes seemed to stretch into hours. Eventually, a thick red line appeared on the floor ahead of them.
Finally. Thank God.
The red line demarcated the end of the designated operating-room area, in which scrubs and surgical hats were mandatory, and the beginning of everything else. This morning, the red line felt to her like the tape at the end of a grueling marathon. She could see the entrance to the women’s locker room just beyond.
Lisa let go of her elbow as they stopped at the red line. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
Lisa folded her arms.
“Yes, Lisa. I’m fine. And, um … you won’t, ah, mention this to anyone. Will you?”
Lisa shook her head. “No.”
“Thanks, Lisa. I—well … just, thanks.”
Lisa offered a small, unenthusiastic nod as Rita darted into the women’s locker room.
RITA