To streamline the instruction process, I had a habit of printing double-sided handouts, and during morning rounds, the sound that I waited for and enjoyed most was that of my eight-person team, the pharmacist included, turning their pages in unison and on cue. The sound reminded me of the wind, which reminded me of being outside, which I currently was not.
At my first-year review, the director asked if I liked my new role here.
I said I did.
Did I respect my team?
I said I respected them on more days than not.
He commended my honesty again. Anything else he could help me with? Anything at all?
As part of my hiring package, I’d been given my own private office. But I didn’t like how it echoed, or how far I had to walk from unit to office, cafeteria to office, office to another office, wasting time.
A smaller, more centrally located space comes with people, the director warned. As in you would have to share it with your colleagues, and is that what you want?
I said I would like to try.
Soon I was relocated to a shared office with other attendings. The hospital had hundreds of doctors but only ten or so for three ICUs. To my left and right sat Madeline and Reese. Before I moved in, they had heard things about me, all true.
The private office went to an older cardiologist who also wrote philosophical books about death. I tried to read one but put it down. The books were too thick, with indexes alone of a hundred pages. Death was inevitable, I didn’t know what else there was to say.
* * *
—
HOW WAS CHINA? REESE asked Monday morning when I had returned. He was heading up to the surgical ICU, as I was going into cardiac. We were passing each other in the corridor meant for equipment.
I relayed my cousin’s message that the country has changed. Buildings were taller and fatter, as well as the people. Obesity would soon be a problem, since food was ubiquitous, along with very high-tech phones. Everyone had a phone, and everyone paid with their phones. The economy was cashless.
But how’s your family, I mean.
I asked why he wanted to know that.
You never talk about them, he said. And then this terrible thing happened. I keep wondering if you and your father were estranged. Was there a small, teensy generational or cultural gap?
To illustrate how teensy, Reese brought his pointer finger a centimeter away from his thumb.
I said my father was entirely supportive of my path.
And who wouldn’t be? said Reese, standing with both hands on his waist, above the belt, in a pose that he called his “power stance.” Great paths, both of us, not many people can do what we do, but put another way, what’s your fondest memory of him? Your father.
I started to say something but then forgot the memory and the rest of my thoughts.
No wonder, Reese said.
No wonder what?
He didn’t tell me and then quickly changed topics.
How long have you been single? he asked.
All of my life.
No boyfriends ever?
I shook my head.
Fascinating. No crushes in schools? No one-night stands in college?
I said I was busy.
But you weren’t studying all the time.
In fact, I was. I asked if he thought my singleness could have something to do with my personality.
Your personality is fine.
Maybe my looks.
You’re a vision.
I laughed because I knew the kind of women Reese liked: they usually had lashes. He was the vision and handsome enough to have his picture grace three of our hospital brochures for critical care. It has happened before: a family member comes in from the waiting room and flaps one of our blue leaflets around. Is this doctor in? they ask, pointing to the picture, because they want only the best, only this stately face of medicine for their unconscious and sedated loved one.
Don’t take this the wrong way, Reese added, but you’re a catch and you shouldn’t have to look that hard. Any guy would be lucky. Not me, unfortunately, we know each other too well and I’m madly in love with Madeline. But let me know how I can help.
* * *
—
HERE WAS OUR MOTTO, as it was in any ICU: Are you suffering from ARDS, sir, madam? Because, if so, we can help.
What is ARDS?
Yes, sir, madam, we understand. Too many acronyms, not enough time.
ARDS is acute respiratory distress syndrome or severe inflammation of your lungs.
* * *
—
EACH ICU HAD PERSONALITY. The cardiac ICU had its cardiologists, lots of men coming in to talk about electrophysiology and tiny gadgets to put in the heart.
The surgical ICU had its surgeons and anesthesiologists, doctors who wrote the shortest and most indecipherable notes. The notes reminded me of haikus, and because I wasn’t a literary person, I called my time in this unit difficult poetry.