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Having an autistic brain means that everything needs to be categorised and separated. Actions and people are simplified into black and white. You go here, and I go there. To the allistic eye, it’s a system for coping in their world where nothing makes sense. Why try to navigate the murky waters of a lake when you can swim in a chlorinated pool? In reality, the autistic brain organises and categorises nouns as that is the default setting for their processing; they do not automatically assume any differently. Folders in the office are always more convenient when colour-coded. Shoes never missing when they have a specific place on the shoe rack. Tummy never rumbling with set, expected eating times. It just made sense. This meant that when it came to people, it was just a simple organisational system: keep your work life and social life separate. A clear division of relationships. So really, Mel wasn’t trying to deceive her colleagues; she wasn’t trying to hide her girlfriend; she was simply separating the people she knew from how she knew them. Simple.
Despite her most logistical efforts, this proved to be a difficult task for Mel. This was demonstrated by her consistent wishful thinking that her co-workers were her friends -or at least had the potential to be- and not just her co-workers. Another struggle with her autistic brain: misreading her relationships with the people around her. Mel was unsuccessful in her fruitful ambition to create a workplace family. People whom she could feel loved and supported by. The only person whom she felt any semblance of connection with had left mysteriously after her first day.
The leaving of Dr Frank Langdon was a strange case. It appeared that other than the occasional polite smile from Charge Nurse Dana and Chief Attending Dr Robby that nobody appeared to like Mel, not like Langdon did (she thought). They just didn’t “gel” well.
It was clear in the ER that many a person were not in favour of the character that was Frank Langdon. Mel supposed that there must have been something wrong with her. That being because if nobody liked Langdon, and he was the only person that liked her, what did that say about her personality?
These thoughts became smaller and smaller the longer that her sister, Becca, stayed in a support home. Not because being away from her sister made her life better -by all means it was the opposite-, but because it meant she could visit and see her, the receptionist at Becca’s support home.
The first time they met was during an introductory visit. Genuine smiles were exchanged, alongside professional conversation. Mel knew it was the kind of place her family of two were welcomed at when she had stayed an extra hour after the tour was over just for a “friendly conversation” with the receptionist.
Her beauty was striking. Even with the overhead glare of the ceiling light she still glowed. When Mel had leaned on top of the counter to talk to her more clearly, she got a waft of daisies. The longer the receptionist spoke, the more Mel could feel herself drifting into a trance. She imagined herself stood in a field filled with flowers. The sun was golden and warm. A soft breeze caressing their skin, allowing the alluring scent to blanket them. A gentle cough of a person to her rear snapped her violently out of it. A small queue of people waiting to sign in had formed behind her. With cheeks so warm that she checked her own temperature later that day in case of a fever, Mel sent a smile to the kind woman and waved goodbye.
Regulating her emotions was a skill that Mel had had to learn. Understanding the emotions she’s feeling is still a skill that Mel is trying to learn. She knows what to do when she’s feeling overwhelmed in the chaotic, loud, bright, fast-paced environment of the ER. She’s not sure what to do when she starts visiting the support home to ask questions about their operations and logistics but then has to think of the questions to ask once she gets there.
After a fifth visit within two weeks without stopping to say hello to her sister (who was out on a trip with the carers every single time) it was the receptionist who had put one foot forward. With a nervous smile Mel had been asked if there was any other reason she had been so frequently visiting. She had then been asked if it would be easier for her to clarify any questions on “operations and logistics” over dinner (which Mel squeaked out a yes to).
*
They had officially been dating for five months when it happened. They had been what felt like the best five months of Mel’s life. One month of frequent dates and texting. Walks by the river and feeding peas to ducks. Clinging to each other “for stability” when skating in their local ice rink. And then more clinging when “being wobbly” on roller blades. Having to meet up on multiple occasions because “it just wouldn’t be fair to the server” to not try every single flavour of ice cream they sold. Attending a scuba diving course because it’s “important to learn new skills with your ‘friends’” (and is also insanely fun). Writing music using terms from Mel’s medical textbooks to help her study. (Mel was caught out on this one when Dr Robby caught her singing under her breath at the bedside of a patient. It was the first time she had ever seen him laugh. She quite thought he looked like a Seal.)
They were at Mel’s flat competing in a “bake off” when Mel had asked her to be her girlfriend. Mel had made cinnamon rolls in the shape of the word “girlfriend” and had even iced a question mark at the end. In response, she giggled and carved a “yes” into the raspberry Swiss roll she made. It made a mess everywhere.
After a month and a half of dating, Mel had introduced her to Becca. It was simultaneously an introduction of her partner and her coming out. Becca was just happy that Mel had someone. Becca was even happier at the realisation that she could visit the reception any time she wanted. The reception desk became quickly full of small hand-made crafts dedicated to her from Becca’s weekly “crafts time”.
They spent their first Christmas together at Mel’s. Cheap Christmas lights strewn across the ceiling. Hand-made green and red paper chains on every counter-top. They had decided to go to an expensive restaurant as their present for one another. The day had ended in Mel’s flat with stomachs full of Christmas pudding and droopy eyes watching Billy Elliot for the third time in a row.
That day hadn’t even been a full month ago yet. Warm hands and entwined fingers. Slipper socks hiked up to their knees. The feeling of a slow, soft, warm breath fanning over Mel’s neck as they cuddled on the sofa.
Now she was staring at a cold body. Lifeless eyes. The only certainty that she was still alive was slow beeping of her heart monitor. Mel didn’t know what to do, how to react. The noises around her somehow loud and quiet at the same time. Bodies rushing to aid the “hit and run” in the cold crisp afternoon of mid-January.
“Mel!” no response. “Mel!” a small flicker of recognition. “MEL!” a jump. Hands were waving in her face. The bright white of the room suddenly coming into focus. “Blood pressures dropping. 70/40 mmHg. Mel are you in or out?” Dr Robby was looking at her. His face showed slight concern. His eyes were flicking between “the patient” and Dr King herself. Hands working faster than Mel’s brain could process.
Mel’s eyes fluttered slightly in confusion. She was suddenly feeling a little dizzy.
She looked back at “the patient”. Blood was splattered across the entire left side of her body. Not a single patch of skin was left un-grazed. Her left thigh was almost completely degloved. There was an open skull fracture wound. She could see her cranium.
Mel ignored the bright lights. She ignored the loud noises. She ignored the number of bodies in the room and the feeling of people brushing past her. She had to drop the flickering gaze of her attending. Mel let out a breath of air. It sounded like a pained gasp. When had she stopped breathing?
Stepping forward, Mel put her hands out to stop wringing them, reaching for her girlfriend. She had to do something. Anything. Everything. Mel was not about to lose the love of her life. Love? Yes, love of her life. She couldn’t stand there and do nothing.
Dr Robby gave her a stiff nod in acknowledgement as she began to help. Was he worried? Yes. Was he more worried about trying to keep this patient alive first? Also, yes.
*
“The patient” was in surgery. They had gotten her stable enough to travel to an OR. Mel was in the bathroom. She was scrubbing. Scrubbing away the blood that had stained her skin. A permanent mark. An unwanted tattoo. She watched the pink tinted water sail down the plug hole.
Her skin was starting to become raw. Her nails left scratches in the crevice’s where she could still feel it. Feel her. The blood had kept her hands warm. She hated it.
A gentle knock on the door caused Mel to lift her head. She couldn’t even recognise herself in the mirror. Her face was tear-stained and red. Her eyes in the early stages of “going puffy”. She didn’t remember crying. A fat splotch of water rolled down her face. Was she still crying?
As the door creeped open Mel hastily rubbed her nose and face with the palms of her hands attempting to vanish any evidence of upset. Dana stood in the doorway, a look of pity written across her face.
She stood with one hand on her hip, the other holding the door open. The front pieces of her hair were hanging down, framing her face; fallen free from the chaos of ten minutes ago. Her long-sleeve turquoise shirt was off centre: sleeves were rolled up, collar worn from being tugged at. “You okay cherry blossom?”
Mel could barely huff a small chuckle at the nickname. Usually, it was Dr Santos who was victimising people with her nicknames, but Dana claimed the honours of this one (and she was the only one who used it, but that’s less important). It came from one week in August. She had been informing Mel all about the various botanical meanings behind flowers and trees. When Mel had asked what her favourite tree was, her response had been “cherry blossoms”. They symbolise many different human features dependent on where you are in the world. Having been from the UK to her they symbolised fresh starts and new seasons. A poignant metaphor for the transience of human existence. Mel had been excitingly ranting this information to her colleagues throughout the week. She came in everyday with fun facts and meanings behind five new flowers or trees. After trapping Dana and Javadi in a conversation about Cherry blossoms for almost a full ten minutes, Dana had wrapped up the conversation by saying that she was their cherry blossom; always reminding them of what little time they had. Javadi had laughed. Mel wasn’t sure why it was funny. Later in the day, Dr Shen had told her to stop with the “tree talk”. It was a hospital after all.
“Yeah. I-I’m fine Dana” Mel responded while wiping away another traitorous tear.
“Well. You don’t look fine, honey.” Dana took a step closer, reaching out an arm to pat Mel’s shoulder. “I’m just makin’ sure you’re alright.” Mel awkwardly nodded her head and a beat of silence passed. “You know ‘er don’t you? That poor girl who just came in?” Mel turned to face Dana fully, barely looking her in the eye.
The doctor nodded her head awkwardly. “How did you know?” Mel began scratching at her hands again.
“You’ve got that hopeless look in your eye. We work in a hospital sweetheart. I see it all the time in the faces of families and friends or even partners of patients.” Dana had paused before saying “partners”, had tilted her head trying to catch Mel’s eye. The heavy suggestion caused Mel to look up. Seeing the pity on Dana’s face was what had finally made her crumble. Was she that obvious? Could they all see how this one person had her grazed and broken fingers wrapped around the strings pulling on Mel’s heart?
Mel felt so little without her. Who was she without her? Her happiness, her charm, it was so infectious. Mel was a doctor, she wasn’t supposed to catch things from the people around her, she was supposed to be weary; careful; clean. And yet here she was, made sick with love.
Mel collapsed into Dana’s open arms, her fingers clenched around the fabric on the back of the nurse’s scrubs.
The air in the bathroom quickly became heavy and loud with the strangled breathing of a crying Dr King and the hushes of a worried Nurse Evans. Mel was letting out garbled sobs, her glasses fogging up from her tears. The two clung to each other; Dana slowly led them to the floor.
Mel wasn’t sure how long they were in there. How long she was crying for. Mel had barely registered that Dana had been instructing her on breathing exercises, mainly focusing on the feeling of a hand rubbing her back.
*
Mel was stood in fresh scrubs, free from the constraints of her girlfriends blood on her body. The doctor was looking into the OR room from the viewing room. Many seats were available, the room being empty except for her lonesome, and yet she still stood; it allowed her to stop the nervous bouncing of her knee. She was stood so close to the glass her breath was slightly fogging up her view. In her hands she clutched a water bottle and a Reese’s Pieces Peanut butter bar, both of which were given to her by Dana along with the room number for the OR.
“The patient” was laying below covered in blue hygiene sheets and her own blood. Two doctors had their hands on the inside of the skin on her leg, pressurising against blood vessels where a regular clamp couldn’t. Another doctor was feeding various wires and cameras into her brain attempting to locate and end a very possible brain bleed. Mel could see the imaging from where she stood.
The doctor didn’t look to see who had entered when the door opened with a soft click. Mel wouldn’t have forgave herself for missing something important, and nothing was more important to her in this moment than the extinguished suffering of her girlfriend.
A tall, warm body saddled up next to her looking down into the operating room. It was quiet for a moment. Mel welcomed the peace.
Dr Robby broke the peace. “I’ve-err-I’ve never had to be here before.” He all but coughed out. Mel’s face fell into a frown. Was that supposed to be helpful? “They could have gone with a nicer colour to decorate with.” He rocked back and forth slightly on his heels as he looked up and around the room. “The grey is a bit depressing.” He stroked his beard as if he’d just given a really interesting critical analysis of a painting in an art museum.
Mel carried on looking down into the room, determined to not be deterred by his distraction strategies (she would have agreed with him if it were any regular day). Robby turned his wandering gaze to her face for her reaction. When he didn’t receive one he began to awkwardly stroke the back of his neck: a nervous habit.
Robby let out a deep sigh before saying: “Look kid, you should go home.” They didn’t realise it, but Dana and Robby had influenced one another. Robby gave Mel the exact same head tilt, trying to catch her eye, studying her, as Nurse Evans had earlier. Mel allowed an unusual scowl to appear on her face. She still refused to look at him.
“No thank you Dr Robby. I am quite comfortable here.” Mel heard him let out another sigh and added: “If you are worried about my health then you are worrying about the wrong person. I am awake, alert, and staying hydrated.” Mel wagged the water bottle and chocolate at him.
“So you know her then.” It was a statement, not a question. Mel began to wonder how many times she was going to have this conversation today. “She is going to be in there for hours. You know this.” Robby was convinced that his appearing grey hairs were from conversations such as these where he was having to parent his very stubborn subordinates, and not from age. “It is a part of my job to not just care for my patients, but for my team as well.” He had turned fully towards Mel now, directly addressing her. “We don’t have to talk about this -about her- if you don’t want to but I need you to take care of yourself. Go home and get some rest.”
It was Mel’s turn to let out a short, exasperated sigh. “Dr Robby, I know this. Do you not think I know this?” Frustration was leaking into her voice. “I already told you-”
“Mel, that wasn’t a suggestion.” His voice got higher as he spoke: his warning tone.
“Y-You’re ordering me to leave her?” Mel turned sharply towards her boss, breaking her self-made contract. “She could die-” Mel’s voice cracked when she said the word, it. Even thinking about the mere concept of itmade her eyes begin to go glassy.
“I am ordering you to rest.” Robby corrected her. “Take the rest of the day off. I need my best doctors to stay being the best doctors. They can’t do that when they’re emotionally and physically exhausted.” Mel’s shoulders didn’t relax at his words. “Besides, nobody likes to see their doctor cry.” At this, Mel self-consciously wiped away the dried tears sticking to her cheeks. It made no difference. Robby grimaced slightly; that was supposed to be a joke.
“I-I don’t want to go just yet.” Mel hesitantly let out. She was not one to defy her boss but was also aware that she needed to stand up for herself.
“At least take a seat.” Another command, not a question. He pulled down a folding chair as he spoke. After Mel had finally sat down, Robby pulled down a chair two away from her own so that there was a space between them. Professional. Appropriate. “Do you-uh-do you want to talk about it (her)?” He had phrased it like a question, but it sounded painful coming out of his mouth like he had just swallowed a bunch of nails and was pretending that everything was normal.
It was not that Mel didn’t like or appreciate Dr Robinavitch, it was more so that there were very few times in which it was himself whom had to comfort her. The first had been on her first day, when he had caught her crying and told her not to apologise for being human, for feeling human. The second time had given her the impression that he definitely wasn’t as good at comforting people as he thought he was, or he wouldn’t be offering out such terrible advice so willingly.
Dr Michael Robinavitch was often an intense doctor for his subordinates. Not because he was a bad teacher, and not because he didn’t care. It was actually the opposite. Dr Robinavitch cared. He cared too much and he didn’t do anything with those feelings. He would penalise his students for time wasting or for not being economically efficient simply for the comfort of the patients. He was a hypocrite. Maybe that’s why he punished himself by not allowing himself to address his “human feelings” when he did the exact same for his patients? He hated how much he saw himself in his students. Maybe that’s why he was so harsh on them when they screwed up big time? He was actually trying to punish himself.
In his head, Michael envisioned beating himself black and blue. At night when he was alone in his literally quiet but emotionally loud flat. Where he had three items of food in the fridge and a half-eaten take-out pizza because he was too tired to cook. Where there were (probably) hundreds of books scattered on a broken IKEA shelf, on the coffee table, on the kitchen counter, on the bedside table, propped open next to the sink in the bathroom. Most of them had been there for years, left unopened, collecting dust. He only reread the same ones. The ones which made him feel smart because he’s a stupid man according to his mirror; his medical textbooks from med school, a manual on how to fix various motor vehicles, the harry potter series (because why use magic when you could just shoot each other? [something he has to remind himself he’d never do as a doctor]). A grand total of three different shirts, two T-shirts, two ties, three pairs of trousers, two pairs of shorts, and his white coat from when they used to wear those at the hospital. (His wardrobe was only so “big” from having existed for so long). There was also a rescued stray cat who wandered around knocking over the stacks of books that he had told absolutely no one about because “he was a dog man”.
He laid there at night surrounded by everyone he thought he let down. The dead. The alive. They were egging him on, screaming in delight, cheering, jeering as he punched himself, beating everything bad about himself out of his body. Robby supposed it was ironic how the version of him that was beating up himself was also left with broken fists and bloodied knuckles. It was the only dream that he could use to fall asleep, and when he woke up in the morning, he could feel the bruises littering his body as he stumbled out of bed.
Mel paused when going to respond, not sure if she should bother him with the unimportant details of her “human feelings”. Dr Robby squinted his eyes ever-so-slightly at her pause. He hated himself, yes. He was harsh on his subordinates, yes, but he didn’t want to lead them to envisioning the same dreams -nightmares- that hugged -haunted- him.
They sat there staring at each other in silence, unanswered questions lingering in the air. Dr King could feel his stare, and not just because she knew he was looking at her. He was really looking at her. She felt naked, stood on a stage in front of a large audience, asked to perform. Her chest was heavy, the only thing weighing her down on the chair, chaining her there, pressuring her into conversation. Mel wiggled her fingertips when she could feel them start to tingle, forcing herself to count to ten and stable her breathing. Her whole body felt tight. Her skin was a suit zipped up like a corset used to enhance her best features, when in reality it was just difficult to breathe.
“Would you like me to go first?” Robby offered. Mel’s eyes fluttered again, trying to process everything. The constant imaging of her girlfriend lying almost dead was replaying in her mind like a PowerPoint presentation. More recent photos were being added to every slide each time she looked back over to her girlfriend in her current state.
They were finishing with her brain operation now, slowly removing the cameras and wires from her soft tissue.
The doctor’s eyes were flickering over the scene in front of her, she couldn’t find a singular point to focus on, trying to take it all in. “D’you think I need to cut my nails shorter?” Mel’s eyes snapped back over to the older man, surprised and confused. As her eyes blinked down to his nail plates, Robby continued: “I’m worried I might rip a glove”.
“What? E-erm, um, they-they look fine. Do they feel uncomfortable?” Mel responded perplexed, voice stuttering while she was still trying to gather her thoughts. Since she had sat down, it had allowed her body to slow, and her brain to think. She was suddenly trying to catch up to it all.
A distraction technique. Robby had seen Abbot do this before with overwhelmed patients.
“Hmm. I reckon they could last another couple of days.” Robby held his hand up in front of her face displaying his fingers. Mel furrowed her brow and pulled his hand back down.
“She’s my girlfriend. We’re dating. She’s my-yeah” Mel trailed off, looking back to her. She was unsure where this was going. Nobody from work had ever asked her before about her dating life. Not even in a joking capacity.
“How long have you two been together?” Robby interlocked his fingers in his lap giving his subordinate his complete attention.
“Five months officially.” The woman paused giving herself time to form a small sad smile at all of their shared memories. “I met her last August. She-um-she works at my sister’s supported living. The receptionist. She’s the receptionist there.” Mel slowly pulled her line of vision to her boss, posture a little tense, waiting for the moment where he was inevitably going to shut her down (again), tell her to go home (again), and leave her sitting there alone (again). “She asked me out in July. I asked her to officially be my partner in August. We were having a bake-off.” The Doctor forced her mouth closed trying to scramble together any semblance of dignity she had left. Dr King always did overexplain.
The old man smiled at the thought. “Does she make you happy?” He had tried to make his smile bigger, more welcoming. Instead, his face had morphed from the honest upturn of the corner of his lips to a flat line. His cheeks rested high on his face into an almost grimace.
Mel sighed out an airy “Yeah. Yes, she does.” and looked back through the window.
“You should tell her that when she wakes up. Tell her you’re thankful for her, that you’re sorry for everything, that you love her.” If Mel had looked back at Dr Robby in this moment, she would have seen all of his regretful past memories swirling around his irises.
Instead, Dr King had froze. When they started dating, Melissa King had made it very clear that this was not something she had wanted to rush. She had never been in a relationship before. She was already struggling, juggling her time between the hospital, her studies, and her sister (and time for herself). She is autistic. It will take her time to understand and process information, to identify her feelings, to know where they stood in a partnership.
It should have come as no surprise to King that her girlfriend worked in a home where she would have constant communication with autistic people, with vulnerable people. She is patient. She is kind. She is understanding. All complete sentences. They had -together- created a timetable organising what days Mel would be working, when she would be working, when Mel would visit her sister, time for themselves. It allowed regular, scheduled hangouts with one another. There were no surprises, no unexpectedly long waits between seeing each other, no unspoken expectations. The only times they met “randomly” was during the occasional lunch break at the hospital. Mel would walk out to the front and sit on a bench facing away from the building. She would be joined by a bag of burritos and a smiling face.
Everything -almost- was planned, organised, structured. Mel knew from intensive research online that neurotypical, straight relationships typically lasted three months before they fell in love with one another. But this wasn’t a straight relationship, this wasn’t a neurotypical relationship, this wasn’t that. It is different, they are different, she is different.
How long was Mel supposed to wait before she announced her undying, soul-consuming, earth-shattering love for her? How was she even supposed to know what it felt like? Was she feeling it now? Is that ache at seeing her girlfriend lying helplessly on a surgical table from not being able to be in the surgery, or from that fact that someone she cared for, someone she loved was almost dead, was in pain, hurt?
“I-I’ve never told her that I love her before.” Mel mumbled out into the quietness of the room.
Robby rubbed a palm across his face becoming annoyed with the conversation. His lack of patience was beginning to show. Why couldn’t she just understand and go home? Why was she doing this to herself? Sitting there in silence watching what could be the last moments of her (for what Robby only knew) only family. And now she was finding excuses for not saying what needs to be said, blah, blah blah? It had already been a long day before he had to take care of the emotional distress of his young female staff. “No time like the present.” another flat smile.
“Oh. I guess?” Mel began to shake her head no. “I don’t want to do that. Here, I mean. Aren’t these things supposed to be grand gestures? Do you not think she’d be upset?” there was genuine curiosity in her voice, the same tone she used when asking about procedures where what she had learnt that what was in a textbook was different in practice.
“No. No, not all the time.” Dr King turned her head to look back at the man beside her. At the look on his face, she understood that this advice was genuine. His muscles weren’t tense and his expression wasn’t forced. It was unlikely he even knew how sad he looked; his face was painted with heartbreak. “You just have to mean it. Sometimes the most romantic memories you’ll have with your partner will be in the most unromantic of spaces.” Mel nodded her head again, this time smaller. They sat in another short, contemplative silence.
A deep sigh tumbled out Robby’s nose, nostrils flaring at the large breath. The doctor extended a calloused finger towards the chocolate in her hand. “Make sure to eat that and then go get some real food.”
Robby stood up and awkwardly patted the back of his chair just so that he had something to do with his hands. “You’ll be alright Dr King. And if you’re not, you know where to find Kiara?” Another nod of her head from Mel at the rhetorical question. She was slightly confused at the abrupt ending. With a final head tilt, parting a quick goodbye, Dr Robinavitch left her alone -again- to the silence.
Melissa sat stiffly in her chair trying not to overthink all the possible ways of telling her girlfriend that she was in love with her. Her hands fumbled with the wrapping in her hands. She was feeling a lot. Too many emotions. Her nose scrunched as it did when she was trying to pretend that she wasn’t completely overwhelmed. Putting down the chocolate and water, Mel pulled out her phone from her pocket. The lava lamp app on her phone wasn’t one-hundred percent effective, but it did at least always help a little.
*
“So … are we going to talk about what happened earlier? Because there is absolutely no way that I believe you are just going to be polite and ignore it.” Javadi was sat pretending to chart across from Dr Santos who was currently chugging an ice tea – a painful sight to see. Trinity glanced at her using her peripheral and stuck out her pinky finger from the bottle towards the blank chart sat at Javadi’s desk.
“Carry on with your scribbling Crash.” Came the response after half a litre had been greedily gulped down.
“Do you want some oxygen with your tea, or are we trying to drown ourselves today?” Dr Shen, the other attending on shift appeared standing on the other side of Dr Santos’s desk holding a half-eaten KitKat with a complete look of deadpan judgement covering his face.
Javadi’s eyes widened slightly at the appearance of the attending, picking up her strewn pen in what she thought was a more convincing attempt of pretending to chart. “Wow. Didn’t realise that trying to stay hydrated could be so controversial for a doctor?” Trinity was staring the man straight in his eyes, her head tilted to emphasise her annoyed sarcasm before chugging another large gulp.
“Careful. Sarcasm can also get you in trouble ‘round these parts. At this rate you are going to be drowning your woes in an empty cell instead of fake tea”. John Shen snapped another bite out of his KitKat.
Javadi glanced between the two of them staring at each other in annoyance before interrupting with “Dr Abbot is starting to rub off on you Dr Shen.”
The man in question looked over at her, maintaining his neutral expression. “Dr Abbot is not doing anything on me thank you Javadi.” Victoria’s mouth fell option in shock at his words. Turning back to Dr Santos, Shen pointed his index at her while saying “You should change careers and become an actor. You’d be good at pretending to be a fish with that gulp to breathing ratio.” An offended scowl blinked across Trinity’s face but as she opened her mouth to retort, Shen carried on turning back to Victoria: “Anyway, what is it that we’re pretending to ignore, but definitely aren’t?”
Javadi’s face flushed slightly at being caught gossiping. Santos’s face maintained the scowl. “Oh. Uhm. No, I-I was just thinking that the whole thing that just happened with that patient was weird.”
John had sent a confused, questioning glance towards Santos who at the sight replied with: “You mean that car crash patient who skinned off their leg and half their face and King stared at them dumbly like an egg?”
“Uh. Yeah.” Victoria replied awkwardly.
“What. She just scared or something? Everybody meets a patient at one point in their career makes them want to-” Shen was going to say “throw-up” before he was interrupted with the tutting of Trinity Santos.
“No, it was definitely not that.” Her right eyebrow was raised. “Somebody has a cruuush!” She had sung the last word, a mischievous smirk now lighting up her face as she began to half-heartedly file through the documents on the computer in front of her.
“Wha- you think?” Victoria was staring, unsure whether to let out the snort rising in her chest or not. “Sort of a weird reaction though, no?”
“Weird reaction for weird taste.” Dr Shen had chimed in again. “Not our place to judge. I personally don’t see the appeal in bloodied-up almost roadkill myself, but each to their own I guess.” Javadi let out the snort, this time in astonishment.
Santos looked up from her screen, “I’m not sure I trust the opinion of the man who thinks that ice tea is ‘fake tea’” at the raised eyebrows from her attending, Trinity added “Not that I’m defending being into looking like Vampire food - or our patients - but who’s to say that that was the first time the two had met?” Victoria let out a gasp, processing the possibility.
A loud annoyed huff from behind Javadi from Dana caused Dr Shen to go back into attending mode. Stepping back so he could look at the overhead screen he finished the conversation with “Stop gossiping you two. We’re in a hospital. You must exemplify professionalism.” He had put on a terribly fake English accent in his last sentence nodding his head at them in faux seriousness. Sliding over to the irked nurse with a quieter voice John questioned: “Where is Dr Edward Cullen, anyway?”
Nurse Evan’s face had stretched into an unimpressed flat line. Normally she would be laughing with them, but she had seen personally how much distress this accident had caused the doctor, her scrub top had tear stains over it for Christ’s sake! “Cherry blossom is upstairs. Viewing room for OR2. Robby’s just gone up to check on her.”
Nodding his head, John Shen sanitised his hands as he turned and made his way over to a patient in need.
*
When she was being wheeled out of surgery towards the ICU Dr Melissa King had opted in the opposite direction downstairs towards her locker. Mel meandered in silence, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, her head down to follow the well-worn path to her belongings. Stepping out of the stairwell and back into the ED, Mel was ambushed by a familiar face.
Her silky black hair was styled back into a messy bun, the sleeves coating her arms were a loud shade of purple; it matched the energy of the smirk wired onto her face. Her hands were occupied, holding onto each end of the stethoscope around her neck and if she had noticed the bloodshot eyes, puffy eyebags, and dry face from the doctor stood in front of her she had given no notice. “Didn’t know you had game cherry blossom”.
“What?” Game? Mel glanced behind Dr Santos confused by her words and distracted by the ensuing kerfuffle. It was clear that Santos had just finished treating an emergency call as there were dirtied robes and gloves flying everywhere and people arguing about pushing past one another, trying not to slip on the split blood on the floor. Looking down to her left, Dr King saw a bin. Oh. So, Trinity had not come over to greet Mel and see if she was okay, but to put her gloves in the rubbish. Okay.
“You know … that patient from earlier? The one with the skull fracture? Car crash?” Santos was looking and Mel as if she was missing something obvious.
“Stop. I remember. I know who you’re talking about.” She wasn’t just a patient. Why talk about her as if she’s just another tick box on a list of traumas to fix? “She’s okay now. Stable. They’re taking her to the ICU.”
“Okay? I wasn’t asking for all that. What I want to know is how you’ve managed to hide your secret affair for so long. Scandalous.” Trinity’s eyes had widened at the last word, exaggerating.
“What?” Mel was once again, left confused. Santos huffed and began to turn around. She was still on shift. She had bigger fish to fry. Following her, Mel carried on “No. Neither of us are married. There is no affair.”
“But you admit that you’re together?” a side eye.
“Well … I never tried to hide it-her-us from you guys. You just never asked.” Trinity’s face lost its hard edge as Mel rambled on. It’s not like she’s wrong. Santos stopped abruptly on her path and turned slightly to face her colleague.
After a short huff and two raised eyebrows Trinity said “Look, Dr King, your relationship is whatever.” Mel could feel her shoulders tensing. “Just don’t let it eat you up.” A pause. “Keep the updates on her sitch’ coming if it helps.” A small, surprised smile replaced the tense shoulders. From Santos, this was effectively a big hug. “To Dana though. Not me.” Santos wagged her finger as she stalked off.
“O-okay. Yeah.” Mel replied but Santos had already left. She carried on towards her locker to collect her things.
*
Mel had fallen asleep that night in the hospital. She wouldn’t notice until she woke up, but somebody kind had left a spare blanket wrapped over the two of them. Mel had crawled into one side of the hospital bed, leaning her head on her girlfriends shoulder. She had been very careful not to touch or lean on anything that might cause her further injury or pain.
Between them, their hands laid entwined. Mel had stood there tentatively at first, rambling on about her day and everything chaotic to try fill the silence coating the room. She had even said the words. The big ones. But her partner was asleep, resting. Instead, Mel had written it down on a piece of paper that was crumpled between their tangled hands. This way, if her partner woke up first, she’d see it and read it. She’d know. If not, Dr Melissa King had assured herself it would be the first words to come out of her mouth. No stumbling. No nervousness. Just completely, utterly, surely in love.