“I gave the nurses on the floor a list of your names to put on the charts in order to divide up the patients among you. You’ll be paged for all the blood work and other fascinating scut.”
“It’s going to be strange getting used to being called Doctor,” said Susan looking around for the nearest phone.
“You’d better get used to it because that’s the way you’ll be paged. It’s not meant to flatter you. The idea is to make it easier on the patients. You shouldn’t hide the fact that you’re students, but don’t advertise it either. Some of the patients wouldn’t let you touch them if they thought you were med students; they’d yell and scream they were being used as guinea pigs. Anyway go answer the page, Dr. Wheeler, and then catch up with us. After we finish here we’ll be up in the conference room on ten.”
Susan walked over to the main desk and dialed 938. Bellows watched her cross the room. He couldn’t help but notice that under the white coat lurked a sensuous figure. Bellows was being attracted to Susan Wheeler by quantum leaps.
Monday, February 23, 11:40 A.M.
It gave Susan a feeling of unreality to answer a page for “Dr. Wheeler.” She felt transparent as if she were an actress playing the role of a doctor. She had on the white coat and the scene was melodramatic and appropriate. Yet on the inside she just didn’t feel like the part, and there was the thought that she would be exposed at any moment as a charlatan.
At the other end of the phone line, the nurse was matter-of-fact and to the point.
“We need an I.V. started on a pre-op. The case has been delayed and anesthesia wants some fluid in him.”
“When would you like me to start it?” asked Susan twisting the phone cord.
“NOW!” answered the nurse before hanging up.
The other members of Susan’s group had moved on to another patient and were again huddled about the desk, straining to see the chart Bellows had pulled from the rack and had in front of him. No one looked up as Susan traversed the half-light of the ICU. She reached the door and her left hand wrapped around the upturned stainless steel handle. Turning her head slowly to the right she chanced another glance at the immobile and lifeless-appearing Nancy Greenly. Once again Susan’s mind stumbled through a painful identification. She left the ICU with difficulty but also with a sense of relief.
The sense of relief was short-lived. Hurrying along the crowded corridor, Susan began to prepare herself for the next mini-hurdle. Susan had never started an I.V. before. She had drawn blood from several patients, including her lab partner, but she never had started an I.V. Intellectually she knew what was required and she knew that she could do it After all, it only involved punching a razor-sharp needle through some thin skin and impaling a vein without going all the way through the vessel. The difficulties arose from the fact that frequently the vein was only the size of thin spaghetti with a corresponding smaller lumen. In addition, sometimes the vein could not be seen from the surface of the skin and had to be attacked blindly with only the help of the sense of touch.
With these difficulties in mind Susan knew that even something as mundane as starting an I.V. was going to be a challenge of sorts. Her biggest concern was that it was going to be very apparent that she was new at the game, and perhaps the patient might rebel and demand a real doctor. Besides, she was in no frame of mind to have to put up with any exasperated ridicule from any of those bitchy nurses.
When Susan arrived at Beard 5, the scene was unchanged. The bustle of activity was as hectic as ever. Terry Linquivist gave a fleeting look at Susan before disappearing into the treatment room. One of the other nurses, whose cap had a bright orange stripe and whose name tag read “Sarah Sterns,” responded to Susan’s arrival by handing her the I.V. tray and a bottle of I.V. fluid.