Speaking of ghosts. One of my interns, Collins, was hiding in the corner. Again.
I sighed as I walked up to him and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Follow me.”
6
BLAKE
I tried to ignore my buzzing pager as I guided Collins into an empty office. The harsh fluorescent lights highlighted the exhaustion in his young face. God, had I ever looked that young?
“I know you care about your patients,” I started, choosing my words carefully. “But this is the second time this week I’ve found you crying in the halls.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“This job is hard,” I assured. “But you need to find a way to manage your emotions. If you can’t, you might not be cut out for this. This might not be the right career path for you.”
His shoulders rolled back, a look of offense rolling over him. “What else would I do?”
“You could consider research or pathology. Or even anesthesiology.”
“Those specialties don’t interest me. I want to work with patients.”
“Your patients rely on you to stay sharp and focused.”
“I am.”
“Crying in the halls is not focused,” I reasoned.
Freaking hell. The kid’s waterworks reactivated right in front of me, tears welling up in his eyes like some kind of emotionalsprinkler system. My hand twitched toward his shoulder before I caught myself. Comfort wasn’t my strong suit, and it wouldn’t help him in the long run. Instead, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my lab coat, ignoring the familiar ache in my chest that came with watching another bright doctor learn this lesson the hard way.
Collins looked at the floor, shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry.”
“Look, I get it. Every case hits hard at first. But you need to find a way to channel that emotion, or it’ll burn you out. The best doctors don’t allow emotions to cloud their judgment.”
“I’m an excellent doctor.” His attention snapped to my face, a spark of defiance in his wet eyes.
“You are,” I agreed. “But you’re getting too emotionally attached to patients and their families.”
He blew his nose, the tissue crackling with snot and awkwardness. “He just graduated college, and his dad?—”
My pager buzzed again, and this time, the vibration seemed to travel up my arm and into my skull.
“All patients are important, Collins. Moms. Dads. Brothers. Sisters. Only children, the only living caregivers to someone who needs them. None of that changes how we practice medicine. We give each patient the best medical care we can.”
He wiped his eyes with the same booger-laden tissue. Had the kid not attended Harvard Medical School and taken the course on germs and fungus?
“What if I don’t want to be like you?” His voice found its strength and apparently he found his balls, too, based on his tone. “You’re known as the Iceman.”
“And my survival rates are among the highest in the department because of it.”
Another buzz against my hip, the pager alerting me that a car accident patient was inbound.
“You’re the most emotionally detached doctor I’ve ever met.” He flung the accusation at my face like his job didn’t depend on attendings like me.
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
“Not all of us want to live that way.”
