Doctored Vows - Chapter 27

“Eventually, the long hours, lagging sleep schedule, and massive student loans will be worth it, right?” An interim doctor I’ve not yet met slumps onto the bench wedged between lockers before she carefully commences peeling off her stiletto.

“And the blisters. We can’t forget the blisters.”

I hiss with her when the removal of her shoe unearths a massive blister. She’s either never worn high heels while working or forgot to run her new shoes in before undertaking a double shift.

“Here. This will help.” She stares at me peculiarly when I hand her a condom. “Condoms have many uses that don’t involve the prevention of STIs and unwanted pregnancies.”

She stares at the foil disc for a few seconds before seeking instructions.

“You just slip it over your foot.”

“Over my entire foot?”

Her shock is understandable. Guys often pretend they can’t wear a condom because their penis is too big. They’re lying. You can wear a condom as a knee-high sock if latex is your jam.

When I nod, the intern I believe took my position on the surgical rotation last week twists her lips. “Interesting.”

“The latex will stop any nasties from getting in the wound when your blister pops, and its natural lubricant will eliminate the rubbing that’s causing the discomfort.”

With her curiosity as high as her manicured brow, she slides the condom over the toes that are aching and red. When it offers instant relief, she shoots her eyes to me.

“You wouldn’t happen to have another condom, would you?” She gestures her hand at her right foot. “I went with this foot first because I wasn’t sure I’d get my heels back on if I were to free the beast I feel growing on the big toe on my left foot.”

I smile, loving the ease of our conversation, before opening my locker to hunt for another condom. “I should have another one here somewhere, but if I don’t, there are condom dispensers in all the washrooms in the ER.”

My rummage through my locker knocks out the credit card Maksim gifted me last week.

The still unnamed intern collects it off the floor before handing it to me.

“Thanks.” Her curiosity is expected, and so is the unease of my reply. “It’s not mine. A… friend gave it to me.”

She waits for me to return the credit card to its rightful spot on the shelf—next to my rings—before asking, “If your friend has a brother, let me know.”

I laugh like that introduction wouldn’t encourage a heap of trouble in her life, before handing her a second condom.

“Who knew something so simple could offer so much relief.” After ripping open the foil disc with her teeth, she peers up at me through a mop of curls. “Eva Mahoney.”

I accept the hand she is holding out in offering. “Nikita.” My pause to evaluate which surname I should use makes it seem like I am impersonating James Bond. “Nikita Hoffman.”

Eva’s dark brow shoots up high. “Hoffman?”

Either my stumble confused her or she paid more attention to the name on the credit card than she made out. It isn’t in my maiden name. “It’s a long story, and I’m already ten minutes into my miniscule thirty-minute break.”

She smiles like she knows I’d rather cut off my arm with a blunt object than have the discussion she is trying to open. “Perhaps another time? I could bring whiskey-laced coffee. I’ve heard that’s a hit with some medical officers around here.”

My smile is genuine for the first time today. “It is, and honestly, I’m not sure I blame them anymore.”

“It will be worth it… eventually,” she murmurs again.

“It will,” I agree.

I farewell her with a wave before exiting the locker room with more spring in my step than I entered it. Our conversation was awkward in places, but it was more enriched than any I’ve had the prior five days.

I’m still viewed as a leech by my colleagues, and Zoya’s assurance that I am not isn’t as well received over FaceTime.

I’m meant to be going to the cafeteria to rehydrate my veins with caffeine, but raised voices in the ER alter the direction of my steps.

Angry patients are nothing new in the emergency department, but this is the first time they’ve centered around a child.

“Mr. Petrovitch?” I ask when the side profile of the man shouting at the ward clerk to help his daughter registers as familiar.

My heart launches into my throat when Lev spins to face me. Yulia is cradled into his chest. Her cheeks are bright red, and her breathing is tachycardia. She looks seconds from collapse.

After checking her pulse and the reflexes of her pupils, I lock my eyes with the clerk so she can see the seriousness in them when I say, “She is going into ventricular fibrillation.” When she stands there, gawping at me, my panic increases the volume of my voice. “She needs to be admitted, now!”

“She can’t be assigned a bed. Her insurance has expired, and our previous claim was denied. She will not be admitted here today.”

While Lev assures the clerk that his new medical insurance will commence next week, I snatch Yulia out of his arms, race her to the nearest gurney, and then wheel her into a cubicle with the equipment needed to assist a patient in severe cardiac distress.

“Dr. Hoffman, you can’t do that. This patient has no insurance.” As I commence placing defibrillation pads onto Yulia’s chest, the clerk says, “A free medical clinic is five miles away.”

“She won’t make it five miles. If we don’t restart her heart and achieve normal rhythm within the next few minutes, she will die.”

Dr. Eiland enters the cubicle. She is the chief medical officer of the ER department.

Eva is close on her tail.

“Stats?”

Memories flash through my head when my reply mimics one I’ve heard previously. “Her pulse is over three hundred beats a minute, and eupneic breaths are present.”

As Dr. Eiland gloves up, she asks, “Protein?”

I shake my head. “She hasn’t been tested yet.”

“Because she can’t be admitted,” the clerk interrupts. “She has no insurance, and her account is already tens of thousands of dollars in debt.”

Dr. Eiland’s wide eyes shoot to me. “Is that true?” I’m sickened when she steps back after I nod. “Dr. Hoffman, we’re not⁠—”

“I’ll find a way to pay,” I shout, too furious about profits being placed before a child’s well-being not to yell. This is what happened to my sister.

She got sick and needed an operation, but since we had only recently moved to Russia, we didn’t have insurance, and her surgery was postponed. She died the following afternoon. “I will pay her debt and for any services we use today.”

“That could be in the thousands.”

Dr. Eiland appears seconds from announcing she knows that is an expense I can’t afford, but Eva, who is assisting me in prepping Yulia to have her heart rhythm reset, endeavors to set her straight.

“She has the means to back up her pledge. I saw her credit card. It has no limit.” When her confession only pulls Dr. Eiland partly over the fence, she asks, “Do you know who her husband is?”

Dr. Eiland nods, her wordless acknowledgment matching the bob of the clerk’s throat. “Yes.”

“Then how about you stop fucking around and help us save this little girl’s life.”

Dr. Eiland is as shocked as I am, but since fear is the one emotion that can triumph over greed, she barks orders at the nurses and doctors surrounding us until Yulia’s heart is returned to its normal rhythm and her life is saved.

“Thank you,” Mr. Petrovitch praises me, mistakenly believing I deserve the credit for restoring the life in his daughter’s eyes.

I don’t.

It is the man I am already severely indebted to—the same man whose murky dark eyes and lazy smile popped into my head when I realized my private pledge to pay him back could be delayed by at least three years.

“We still have a long way to go.” I guide Lev out of the cubicle and to the side of the nurses’ station, where I am stunned to see Nurse Kelley working behind the desk.

She hasn’t been seen in the pediatric ward since our heated conversation. I assumed that was because Maksim had… Nope. My heart still can’t put him and murder in one sentence.

“Dr. Hoffman?” Mr. Petrovitch dips his head, bringing his wet eyes to align with mine. “Is my little girl going to be okay?”

Even knowing I shouldn’t give him false hope, I can’t help but nod. “To return Yulia’s heart to its normal rhythm, we had to shock her.”

“Which made her better?” He struggles to speak in English but understands it is easier for me to explain his daughter’s condition.

“Yes. But her improvement will only be temporary if we don’t unearth the cause of her recent spike in illnesses.”

When he appears seconds from collapsing, I move him to a line of hard plastic chairs. Once he is seated, I give him a few moments to settle his panic before explaining the tests Yulia will need to endure to expose the cause of her sudden cardiac episode and the possible procedure needed to correct it.

“Bypass surgery?” His cheeks whiten as tears well in his eyes.

“That’s the worst-case scenario. It could be as simple as administrating anti-arrhythmic medication, but we won’t know until further tests are conducted.”

“Okay.” He takes a moment to sort through the facts before asking, “Will they be done here?”

“Um…” I wish I could give him a straightforward answer, but that is outside my means. Only a week and a half ago, I was barely getting by after paying for my grandfather’s medication.

Yulia’s condition could end up being more costly than the end-of-life care of a stage four lung disease patient and over the amount I’ve been stashing away for three years to buy my grandfather a better ECOM machine.

“I will try my best to have her admitted at Myasnikov Private, but⁠—”

Again, he cuts me off with praise I don’t deserve.