5

Estina

Many of the patients who'd come in after that explosion at the restaurant were still at the hospital the following day. Burn victims would be lingering under intensive care for a while. Several stubborn men left against medical advice, though.

Fatima shrugged at the nurses' station as we caught up on patients and what would need to be done next, which tests and diagnostics were necessary to follow up with. "Hey, I won't cry when people like that wanna get out of here." She huffed with the specific exhaustion and annoyance only long-serving veteran nurses could earn. "I'd be handing out AMAs like they were Halloween candy."

I shot her a look that I hoped conveyed a mixture of patience, amusement, sympathy, and mild consternation. All of us, from the LPNs and nurses at the lower range all the way to the attendings and residents, were expected to provide care without judgment. Yet, like what I'd witnessed and experienced last night, some individuals were just that much harder to handle.

"I know, I know." Fatima set her tablet down on the counter and sighed. "I shouldn't judge..."

"But you are."

She nodded and smiled. "Hell, it's hard not to. Mobsters like that think they can be lords out on the street with their thugs and armies." Another exasperated exhale left her lips. "They wanna shoot each other up yet not care when they overcrowd this place? Normal, ordinary people need emergency care too."

"Of course they do." While the differences between the UK and US healthcare "industries" were different animals to wrangle, it was all fundamentally the same. It was no different from a drunk driver being deserving of the same care that victims of a car crash caused by them would be. One willingly caused harm and expected to be taken care of, while others were innocents caught in the mess and needing help as well.

"But those assholes..." she muttered, shaking her head. "I've had enough of them for a good while."

I could see how fed up she was. Curious and realizing I could get the scoop from her, I set my tablet down and faced her fully. "Are they really 'mobsters'?" I asked.

She smiled widely, her bright white teeth a contrast against her dark skin. "Oh, Estina..." She patted my hand, almost maternal about it. "You're so sheltered and naïve."

I furrowed my brow, hating that claim. "Perhaps I am a bit unfamiliar with the crime scene endemic to this city but⁠—"

"No, no." She shook her head, still kind and smiling about it all. "It's not just that. I bet you've had your own brand of violence back home and all. Hell, any big city on the face of this earth is bound to have some bad guys."

I crossed my arms. "Then what?"

"You're just so..." She narrowed her eyes, as if scrutinizing me and trying to figure out how to describe me accurately. Lifting her hands to frame me, she smiled wider. "I don't know. Delicate."

I raised my brows. "I held two halves of a man's femur in place last night while not one but three med surg techs almost passed out from the sight of such a compound break."

She laughed lightly. "All right. I'll give you credit where it's due. You've got grit. You've got a tough stomach to handle this job. But it's clinical. You've got that grit when it applies here, in the hospital. Outside of here, I bet you're just sort of, well, sheltered. Too good and pure and delicate. It's just your personality, the vibe I get from you."

My mouth hung open. "Delicate?" I wasn't sure why I was reading that as an insult. But I did.

"Maybe just too polished." She shrugged, cringing a bit. "This is only my opinion, but⁠—"

"No. No. Go on." It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. Who didn't want to know how they were perceived in the workplace?

"A goody-goody. Prim and proper and untouched by the harder side of life."

I blanked my face. "The harder side of life? I've watched patients code and die on the table. I've had to tell family members awful, sobering news. I've⁠—"

"I know." She held up her hand. At a call for help down the hall, we both moved, yet she kept talking as we walked. "But that's all here. On the clock. I'm just saying you, as a person, seem a little stuffy and proper. Like you've never learned how ordinary people try to make it in this thing called life."

She moved forward to assist the other doctor with a patient who was seizing. We weren't able to talk while we assisted, but once the situation was under control, I snagged her attention near the nurses' station again.

"Listen, Doc." She sighed. "I'm not talking trash about you. You asked for my opinion, and I gave it."

Nodding as I walked with her, I cleared my throat. "I did. And I appreciate your candid frankness. I understand why you might think I'm like... that."

"Well, from the sounds of it, you fall in the Silver Spoon Club." She smiled, and it took the sting out of her words.

She was right, anyway. I had been blessed to be born into my wealthy family. Before my parents passed away in a car accident just months ago, I had wanted for nothing.