Since im almost done with the first part of my Kingdon fic ‘Someone to Spend Time With’, here’s 3k words worth of a snippet!
“Is everything okay, Dr. King?” Mel’s patient pulled her out of her thoughts.
Mrs. Patterson was a sixty-six-year-old woman who came in with a severe headache, along with heart palpitations and intense sweating.
Lifting her eyes from the exams, Mel forced a smile. She’d been so proud of herself today for not letting this grief smack her in the face. It was something she’d told herself to work on since her first deposition — to not let her feelings flourish too much. Even if they didn’t disrupt her work performance and abilities, because they messed with her head anyway, which often somatized through a headache at the end of the day.
Her neck was already tensing, all the way up to the back of her skull.
“Everything’s fine.” Mel gave Mrs. Patterson a nod, rolling the stool closer and sitting next to her to be at her eye level, keeping her tight-lipped smile etched on her face. The only mask she’d had since her shift started.
On days like this one, it was particularly hard to leave those heavy feelings outside the hospital. What helped her, most of the time, was to think of this chaotic place as her own personal bubble. She liked this bubble now; a few of the people she liked the most and cared about worked here, too.
Mel cleared her throat and continued: “Your exams showed what I had thought. You have a benign tumor on your right adrenal gland. It’s called pheochromocytoma.”
The lady’s eyes widened. “So it’s not cancer?”
“Fortunately, no,” Mel said. “Only ten percent of this kind of tumor is malignant. You are in the ninety percent where it’s… benign.”
Unlike my mother’s, came as an afterthought.
Letting out a relieved breath, the woman held tighter onto her husband’s hand. Their golden wedding bands aligned. Mel’s gaze darted back up to her patient’s face, and she zoned out a bit when explaining the treatment options Mrs. Patterson had and what she should expect with each of them, and the more Mel talked, the calmer her patient seemed to be.
“… I think it’s best if I have the surgery,” Mrs. Patterson said when Mel was done, looking at her husband for approval.
Mr. Patterson nodded. “I think so, too.”
“I agree.” Mel’s tone turned slightly chirpy at their decision. “That is your best option, so we’ll refer you to a specialist and…”
As she continued with the indications, the knot in her throat grew tighter, which made it harder to speak confidently. She stumbled over a few words a couple of times, and her voice shook by the end, so after hearing the twentieth ‘Thank you, Doctor ’ of the day, she excused herself rather fast.
Only two more hours to go, then she could finally let this all out.
Hey.
A firm chest stopped her in her tracks, paired with a faint manly scent she could recognize anywhere. His hand settling on her upper arm was gentle — like everything about him — and at the same time, his blue and always worried eyes came into view.
“Hey, you okay?”
Dr. Langdon, of course.
It seemed like he — Frank, as he insisted she called him multiple times by now — had some kind of radar within him that snitched on her and told him exactly when to (and not to) ask her that. Just hearing his voice shook all the feelings she’d been trying hard to bottle up, so she didn’t spare him a glance, or else she’d break right there.
“Mhm.” She nodded, tight-lipped. “Just need five minutes.”
Okay, he softly said, then Mel continued her determined strides to the break room. Dr. Langdon said something else behind her, and normally she would’ve stayed to listen, but the so-familiar tightness in her throat just kept on growing.
The ER chaos faded behind her as she shut the door, then with her eyes glued shut, Mel stood in the middle of the room, fisting both hands to her sides for a moment and letting out a shaky breath. Her eyelids began to sting, then her chin quivered.
Not right now, please.
She breathed in and out a couple of times — breathe in for four seconds, hold it for four seconds, breathe out for four seconds — holding onto each end of her stethoscope now to self-regulate, and at the same time, a Megan Thee Stallion song played in her head, which usually helped her to anchor herself here, in the present. She would’ve recited the lyrics out loud, if her mouth didn’t feel so dry as she swallowed.
The alarm that she had set specifically for hydration had gone off a few times during her shift, and she kept snoozing it because, well, things kept happening all the time. So she took this moment as her chance to drink as much water as she could — at least three mouthfuls, she planned — even though she knew she’d have to take a bathroom break soon.
She cleared her throat. Blew out a harsh breath, sniffing her nose then gathered another deep breath. Move. Her legs reacted, walking to the sink and reaching for a glass on the top cabinet.
Next thing, the glass had slipped from her hand, and her own sudden yelp startled her. Because of the sound that came out of her, yes, but mostly because of the sharp stab and amount of blood that started to come out of the side of her wrist.
Her eyes widened.
Oh.
This… wasn’t good.
It took her a few fast blinks to think about what the logical thing to do here was while blood slithered its way to her elbow. All she managed to do was press the nearest cloth within reach to the wound and take a step back from the sink to keep the blood out of all the coffee-stained mugs stacked there.
The blood started to drip to the floor.
Oh, this wasn’t good at all.
The ER buzz whooshed inside, and she flinched again, facing the door.
“Shit, Mel.” Dr. Langdon stood there scanning this… mess, up and down. Must’ve heard the glass clatter. He rushed next to her and hastily assisted her, lifting her hand up with his natural confidence. His hands were cold. They usually were. “That’s a lot of blood.”
“The glass slipped,” she started to explain, and her voice gradually faded when continuing, “I tried to catch it but- it bounced back and-“
“Here, let me—” Frank guided her back to the sink with a palm on her upper back and turned on the tap while removing the already blood-soaked cloth from the cut.
With her other hand, Mel moved the mugs out of the way because she couldn’t stand them being contaminated with her blood.
“Are you in any pain?” He asked.
She wasn’t, until he put her wound under the water stream. She hissed between her teeth.
“A little,” she admitted.
“From one to ten?”
“Um, four? I think?”
“This is probably gonna hurt more, okay? I’m just gonna take a look to see how deep the cut is.”
Mel nodded again, then he examined the cut from up close, slightly moving the skin. Mel bit back a groan and looked away, pressing her lips together. For some reason, whenever it came to herself being injured, the whole room started spinning.
“Fuck, I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He softened his voice. “It doesn’t look too deep. No muscle or tendons in sight, but you’re gonna need stitches.”
Right as he said that, the door opened again and the ER buzz snuck inside once more.
“What the hell happened?” Dana said from there.
“She’s gonna need stitches,” Frank said over his shoulder while never tearing his attention away from Mel.
“We’re full outside,” Dana added.
“I can do it here,” he replied.
“Nono, they need you out there.” Mel shook her head. “I- I can wait.”
“And we need you out there.” He tried to search for her eyes. “You can’t treat patients with an open wound.”
“No but-”
“I’ll bring some supplies,” Dana said before leaving the room.
The fridge started humming. Mel held back the urge to mimic it to soothe herself.
“It won’t take long,” Dr. Langdon assured her. “Seven stitches, at most. Don’t you think so?” He raised his brows, gesturing at her wound so she’d look at it.
Seven was perfect. Mel nodded, and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, but with her good hand she scooped them out of her eyes before they had the chance to show.
“It must hurt really bad.” Frank scanned her face up and down.
“Mm-mm,” she mumbled, shaking her head and averting her eyes. It didn’t embarrass her to cry in front of him, but she still wanted to explain, “It’s not that.”
As she didn’t elaborate, he asked: “Did something upset you out there?”
She made a sound — between a hum and a groan — and the sound stretched in her throat for a bit until she could speak again, all while Dr. Langdon kept assisting her wound. He must’ve reached for the paper towel at some point and was now pressing gently on the cut.
“It’s my mother’s death anniversary today,” Mel started, “and the lady I was treating reminded me a bit of her. She doesn’t look like mom at all but—” her chin quivered “—she has the same kind of tumor my mom had, except hers is benign so she’ll be fine—”
Frank gave her wrist a gentle squeeze as if to say ‘I’m sorry’. He didn’t speak for a few seconds, then said:
“You need a moment alone?”
Mel snapped her head and looked up at him. His eyes were glued to hers, and his dark brows slightly furrowed with concern.
Now that he was here, the last thing she needed was to be alone.
“No. Right here is fine.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “Let’s- let’s sit down. It’s not bleeding as much now.”
They moved to the table just in time when Dana came back with everything they needed to get Mel some stitches.
“How you doin’, sweetheart?” She asked Mel and went to prep the table. She laid a blue sterile drape over the table and every other tool over it in perfect order.
“‘M good.” Mel nodded.
“Okay. You’ve got her, kid?” Dana laid a hand over Frank’s shoulder.
“I’ve got her,” he replied, looking at Mel.
Mel nodded at him, then at Dana. Yeah, he’s got me.
In silence, Frank started to work. He cleaned with saline, then with a needle, numbed the area. Just a barely-there pinch.
“What was she like?” Frank asked after a moment. Mel tilted her head to the side in question. “Uh, your mom- what was she like?”
Mel’s lips flickered into a smile.
Most people, when she mentioned her dead mother, just limited themselves to saying sorry and looking at her with an apologetic look, so his questions caught her off guard.
Still, the first thing that came to her mind was:
“She was so beautiful.” She breathed out, and tears welled up in her eyes again. She cleared her throat to relieve the haunting knot. “She had this beautiful greying hair. Had a big, toothy smile like Becca’s and a soothing laugh that turned into a sort of scream when she found something incredibly funny,” Mel laughed a little at the memory. “Which was pretty often.”
Just saying that brought vivid images of her mom to her mind. It hasn’t happened in a while, but she was still so clear. Her smile, her little wrinkles around her eyes, and the mole under her right eye Mel also had.
She could almost hear her laugh.
“She kept her hair long?” He asked casually.
“Not much.” Mel reached the end of her braid. “Like mine, maybe. But even after, with chemo, when she wore a scarf on her head, she was beautiful.” Frank had seemingly already done one stitch. “She had a great singing voice too. She didn’t sing professionally, but um—“ her face lit up at a sudden memory “—she was in our church choir. We used to go all the time as kids, but then as teens we didn’t go as much and…” she trailed off, then shut down.
Too much unnecessary information, she realized.
As she didn’t continue, Dr. Langdon asked:
“What did she do?”
“Oh, she was a history teacher.”
Frank chuckled a bit and shook his head as if something had just clicked, and not once did he stop stitching her up. She struggled with that. Stitching up and talking at the same time. It was one of the endless things she admired about him.
“What?” She mirrored his smirk.
“Nothing just… your love for history makes more sense now, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Mel’s lips twitched into a small smile. Everything she knew and loved about history was because of Mom. “I guess so.”
A third stitch.
“And, um, do you visit her grave often?”
“She doesn’t have a grave. Her wish was to be cremated.” The lilt of her voice wavered from put-together to unsure about whether to share this information or not. But he was Dr. Langdon — Frank. She knew whatever she said, he wouldn’t judge. “And so she’s… at home with me. I kept her urn in my closet for a very long time.” Mel made a guilty face. Sorry mom. “But um, when it started to hurt less, I found her place on my bookshelf, by the window.” Frank looked up at her. He wasn’t really smiling, but there was something close to amusement in his eyes. A bit of heat rushed to her cheeks. “It’s ridiculous, I know.”
“I think it’s nice.”
“Yeah?” She rested her chin over her palm, ready to hear anything else he was about to say, but—
The door swung open, and the ER chaos snuck in. This time, Dr. Santos stood there, widening her eyes at Mel as if to say ‘what the fuck happened?’.
Then, clearing her face of any emotion, Trinity spoke:
“Dr. Langdon?”
He didn’t lift his eyes from Mel’s wound as he casually replied, “Yeah.”
“The labs from your patient in Nineteen are back.”
“Thanks. Can you… Do me a favor and tell her I’ll be there soon?”
“How soon?” Santos rolled her eyes and mouthed at Mel, ‘What the fuck?’
All Mel managed to give her was a shrug. They’ll have the chance to talk about it later.
“About ten minutes.”
“Sure.” Santos huffed and left.
Mel couldn’t help but get flooded with joy at their interaction. As brief as it was.
“You guys are doing better,” she commented.
“What? With Santos?”
“Mhm.” Mel nodded.
He shrugged and shook his head in some sort of agreement.
“I guess, yeah,” he exhaled. “I just think she’s been better at ignoring my existence, so that’s been making it easier.”
In Mel’s perfect world, he and Trinity — two of her favorite people here — got along. Well enough to at least carpool together before or after a shift. Dr. Langdon always offered; Santos always passed.
There were times where she felt cornered — when the three of them ended up in the same room at the same time, as if she had to choose like a puppy who was her favorite human.
At this point, she knew both versions of the story, and she decided it was none of her business, and that she didn’t have to choose nor be a mediator, because truthfully, she had a soft spot for both of them. And they were adults who could decide if their issue was worth talking about or not.
So now, whenever she felt cornered and awkward glances were exchanged in silence, she just walked out of the room without saying a word.
“Are things easier at home, at least?” She changed the subject.
Frank’s delicate hand movements paused ever so slightly.
“Not really, no.”
“Oh.”
“But there’s still hope.” He tied a fifth stitch already. Last thing she heard (or rather, accidentally eavesdropped on a conversation he had with Dr. Garcia), he and his wife had been going to couples therapy for a while. She’d tried to get some information about his marital situation a few times, just to get to know that side of him better, but he was always politely vague with his answers. A nod with a tight smile or a weak shrug or just an ‘I guess so’. So this blunt ‘No’ was new. “Happy kids. Happy home.”
A small smile twitched on her lips. It’s not always the best to stay together for the kids, she wanted to say, but she just watched his hand movements.
One last stitch and he was tearing his gloves off.
His wedding band twinkled, and she wondered then: when was the last time his ring aligned with his wife’s?
Mel shook the thought away.
While he dressed the wound, Mel changed the subject yet again.
“You know, I thought I was ready for an oncology fellowship,” she started. “I’ve been treating cancer patients for a while now. I asked Dr. Al-Hashimi a few months ago, if possible, to hand me those cases, and she has, whenever it’s possible, and I felt ready. But after today…” she trailed off.
“It hit too close to home,” Frank finished her thought, searching for her eyes.
She granted him a quick glance, then stared down at her injured wrist.
“Yeah, I kind of lost it.”
“It hit too close because of the date, though,” Frank said. Mel met his gaze and held it as he continued, “Think about how many times you've treated oncology patients already, and you’ve been just fine.”
All the time, right? that brow raise of his said. Mel smiled in response. Exactly, his barely-there smile reassured her.
“You are ready, Mel.”
“But today-”
Frank breathed in through his mouth, like he was carefully crafting his words.
“It might be good if, from now on, you ask for this particular day off, or at least take it easier.”
“No.” Mel shook her head. “I don’t want it to paralyze me.”
“It’s not about that,” he insisted. “It’s about what makes you a better Doctor. We lose it all the time. And you’re lucky now to know what made you lose it today. It’s the date. It’s… Your grief.”
“It’s been four years already.” She frowned to herself. “I should be doing better.”
“No, you shouldn’t. No healing process is linear, and this grief… it will stay with you, probably forever, and you need to allow yourself to feel it whenever it comes to you. Because it will again, at some point. I’m sure this isn’t the first time that’s happened.” He waited for an answer, and all Mel could give him was a glance through glassy eyes. It has definitely happened multiple times, out of nowhere, too. “Sometimes the date will trigger it, like today, and sometimes it will come in random moments. In little things that you or Becca say or do naturally that remind you of her.”
Her eyes started to burn again. Mel nodded, and Frank, after finishing up her bandage, wrapped his fingers around her wrist and stroked with his thumb soothingly a few times, and it surely felt like the hug she really needed.
She looked up at him again. And he stroked again.
“You are ready, just… take it easy on this day from now on, and maybe in the future you will feel like you can handle it and you will, but for now… take it easy.”
“I am ready,” she echoed him in a murmur.
Slowly, he released her wrist, and she missed him already.
She cleared her throat to erase that sudden thought.
He cleared his throat, too, and started to put everything away while commenting, “PTMC has a great oncology fellowship.”
“Yeah! I’ve been doing some research. I’d really like to stay here. I don’t wanna-“ Stop seeing you, she thought. Intrusive, intrusive thought. Or anyone, really, she then forced herself to think. “I don’t want to get used to a whole new hospital and people. At least not in the beginning. So I’d like to stay here.”
They shared a glance, like he was maybe going to say or ask something else, but the door swung open again.
Took an online test about occupational burnout and the results were "significant presence of high levels of exhaustion", then they told me to find a therapist and a psychiatrist
my cousin turned to me today "you know how to write, right?" and i was like "i guess?" and she said "i have an idea for a book, i have the inspiration but i cant write wanna do it together?" so we have been brainstorming for the past 5 hours we have pinterest boards a playlist on spotify and a folder on google drive I HAVE NEVER FELT SO ALIVE
