Compromised, page 14
part #1 of MetroGen Forbidden Love Duets Series
“There were things I could have done. Gone back to cardiothoracic surgery, gotten a left ventricular assist device.”
“And she’d have died on the table—whether or not she bled out or had a stroke. Pregnancy was her terminal condition here.”
“Heart transplants are successful in half the cases,” Angela protested.
“Let’s be realistic here. Her ejection fraction was in the floor, below twenty percent. She had superimposed Wolf-Parkinson-White syndrome. How many cases of pregnant patients with those combinations exist in the literature?”
“Like two, maybe.”
“And how many of them survived?”
“Zero.”
“Supposing Tiffany made it to transplant. What is the death rate one year post transplant?” Feldsher pressed, PIMPing Angela like a medical student.
“Twenty-five percent.”
“And how long does the average heart transplant patient survive?”
“Nine years,” Angela said, understanding where Feldsher was going. If they’d delivered right away, it was unlikely Tiffany would have lived to see the baby grow up. As a micro-preemie, the infant had a ninety percent chance of needing a huge amount of support. When the mother died, it would have been a ward of the state, at the mercy of the system.
“Then we made the best decision for the baby, who was the only one we ever had a realistic chance of saving.”
“So, I was right from the start?”
“There was no good outcome from the start, only choices we have to learn to live with.” Feldsher continued, “I do not think it was wise of the cardiology division to wash their hands of this and leave you on your own. They lack the foresight to understand what it will cost them in the future.”
“It cost them nothing,” Angela said bitterly. Her division head should have been the one checking on her, not Feldsher.
“It cost them your loyalty, which cannot be bought. You’ll complete your training here, but you will never be theirs.”
“Why would they care? I’m replaceable with a new fellow every year.”
“You don’t recognize your own worth and talent? Have they convinced you are doing a poor job?” Feldsher asked.
“Well, these last weeks have been hard. I feel like I failed everyone, Tiffany the most.”
“You saved the baby. She named her Victoria Ahuva, which means love in Hebrew. You did what you came to do.”
“And now?”
“And now you move forward and don’t turn back. You do not require anyone else’s approval except your own,” Feldsher said. “‘Perfer et obdura, dolor hic tibi proderit olim.’”
“‘Be strong and endure, someday this pain will be useful to you.’” Angela recited the words of Ovid in English.
“Exactly. Chin up, young one,” Feldsher said and walked away, melting into the shadows of the hallway.
Chapter 24
“Why are you in Kayla’s office?” Angela entered Kayla’s office in March and found someone who didn’t belong.
“Hiding from my guys.” Stella was sitting in Kayla’s chair behind her desk. For March, Angela was in the cardiac ICU, so she and Kayla tried to meet up once a day. “I’m cutting my call down soon, so until then, I have to hide in the last places they’d ever go. Internal medicine gives most surgeons hives.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier for you to figure out which one of them is the father and move on?” Angela suggested, deciding to deal with Stella’s problem rather than her own hidden broken heart.
“But then they’d have to agree to give DNA samples, unless we’re gonna go full As the World Turns and steal a sample. If my best lady friends aren’t willing to have sex with one of them, how about a fake blood drive?”
“We are not doing a fake blood drive. It’s three more months till your due date, and you can’t hide forever.” Unlike Angela, who was now an old hat at burying her romantic problems.
“I enjoy hiding. Besides, if anyone should take responsibility for hiding, it’s you.”
“Me? I’m not pregnant with one of three different guys’ baby.” Nope, merely in love with a medical student and lacked the pride to move on from being dumped by him for the second time.
Not to mention the way her skin crawled any time she walked by Labor and Delivery.
“You hide here at the hospital behind those awful clothes. You want to appear dumpy and mousy and weak under yards of fabric. No one will respect you if you look like you’re trying to blend into the scenery. I might not want to talk to the dads, but I’m still living my life out loud,” Stella countered.
Angela crossed her arms in front of her chest. It was possible Stella was on to something. “If I agree to get new clothes, will you get the DNA tests done?”
“I don’t mean a new pair of shoes. I expect a full head to toe makeover. I get to confiscate your entire old wardrobe,” Stella countered.
Guessing she might regret this, Angela said, “Fine. I’ll do it. Nescit vox miss reverti.”
“How about in English?”
“The words cannot return. Deal?”
“Deal. I have been dying for this.” Stella called up the text paging system and spoke as she typed. “Ladies, fashion emergency. ICU.”
Stella’s phone rang almost immediately, and she answered, “Not a ‘fascia’ emergency, Eliza. Fashion emergency. Yes, Angela has agreed to let us put her in clothes that admit she has boobs.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
Stella covered the receiver. “Elizabeth wants to know when your next golden weekend is.”
Angela named a date two weekends away.
“Awesome. Not this weekend, but the next. Ha-ha. We’ll make sure to do that. And that. And that too. I’m gonna need a blank note. Tell your scrub tech he can wait a few minutes to stop the bleeding while we deal with this.”
“Stella,” Angela warned her.
“What? She’s scrubbing, and her medical student is holding the phone to her ear. Everything is fine.”
Kayla hurried in, her arms full of charts. “Stella? Are you having a pregnancy emergency? OB, please.”
“Not me. Fashion emergency. We’re bringing Angela’s fashion sense back from the dead.”
“Oh. Well, okay. I think this is good news,” Kayla stuttered.
Stella snagged a blank hospital note off the top of the stack. “Internal medicine, you write as I talk.”
“I’m not a scribe,” Kayla said.
“It’s your office. Besides, I’m pregnant. I can’t think, talk, and write at the same time. Half of my energy goes into growing a new body. And Angela is doing this because I agreed to invite the guys over for a DNA test party.”
Kayla immediately changed sides. “A March miracle. Steadman will throw a parade if we can narrow it down to one.”
“Two, three, or none, he’ll never be happy unless it was a virgin conception, which it was not. But who cares about him? We’re going to combine our lady doctor super powers to bring Angela’s hotness to the surface.”
“You aren’t getting her a dominatrix outfit, right?” Kayla asked.
“I suggested it one time for you and Steadman, and you won’t let me live it down. You could have at least considered it.”
“This is why he thinks you are crazy,” Kayla mumbled.
“He thinks I’m crazy because he has a bug up his ass and is no fun,” Stella retorted and then spoke to the phone. “Sorry, Eliza says to get back on topic.”
“What should we shop for first?” Kayla started a numbered list.
“Bras and underwear. Sexy with no more of this functional crap she has going on.” Stella flipped the edge of her scrub top down, displaying a lacy purple bra. “See, even maternity wear can be attractive.”
“Hey, my bras are flattening,” Angela said.
“Flattening and flattering are not the same thing,” Stella retorted. “If I can find multiple pairs of these, you should have no problem finding something nice that celebrates those titties instead of tortures them.”
“She’s right. Not about the titties, but the idea.” Kayla sounded almost like she couldn’t believe she was agreeing with Stella on this.
“Trip to Nordstrom’s. Stilettos, garters, jewelry, skirts, blouses, evening gown.”
“Evening gown?” Angela’s last evening gown had led her into Lake Erie and Michael’s arms.
“Yes, evening gowns. One of us had sex often enough to get pregnant. It was me, so you will take my advice.”
“Cocktail dress,” Kayla suggested. “An evening gown might be an overkill, though two or three cocktail dresses should work. And all of her shoes don’t have to be stilettoes.
“Tory Burch kitten heels, Margaux block heels, Cole Haan wedges should be fine for work.” Elizabeth suggested, now on speakerphone.
“Sensible, whatever. You’re handling that part. After the shopping, we’re taking her to a bar and getting her a date.”
“I’m not doing this to have a date.” Angela needed this line of planning to go elsewhere.
Stella twisted the chair and her belly to face Angela. “Of course you’re doing this to have a date. Unless you started swinging for the ladies.”
“No ladies.”
“Everyone does this for guys,” Stella stated breezily. “Tell her, Eliza. You’re on speakerphone now.”
“No, we don’t,” Kayla protested.
“I want to get respected as a professional. I might not have been cultivating that very well,” Angela said.
“And whose respect do you need so badly? You have our respect. I’m a superstar, and Kayla’s pretty good.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“What about me?” Elizabeth chimed in.
“Okay, I think you’re good, too. The point is, we already respect you. You can wear oversized scrubs, and we respect you. It’s not us who’s respect you feel you need to earn. It’s guys,” Stella said.
Kayla nodded. “Right again. Do I have to agree with you? Why can’t you stay in your usual wrong?”
“You can’t handle the truth. We are going to save Angela from herself.” Stella had a huge grin.
“She needs a haircut,” Elizabeth said. “Book her at my favorite salon for brown highlights.”
Angela grabbed her hair. “Brown highlights?”
“Amateurs. They’re not called highlights; they’re called lowlights. I think we should do a full dye job. Add that to the list,” Stella said.
“Dye job.” Kayla wrote it down.
“Make it hair and spa treatment. Get rid of her nasty split ends that scream ‘I’m an overworked cardiology fellow and need to get laid. You are one rom-com away from having worn a pair of glasses we need to throw away to notice you’re pretty underneath.”
“This is not helping my self-esteem.” Angela sat on the edge of the desk. “Contrary to your feelings about getting the respect of guys, it’s not just that. I feel like… something needs to change. I’m having a hard time getting past Tiffany Wickwire’s death. She was the pregnant patient.”
She couldn’t tell them it wasn’t solely Tiffany. Feldsher’s words stuck with her days later. How could she move past how she felt about Michael if she carried on as she always had—same old Angela hiding behind her big clothes? Either she accepted who she was and the choices she made, or she’d never believe in her strength again.
Kayla put her hand on Angela’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. She was the Kobyashi Maru.”
“The Kobi what?” Stella said. “I’m sorry, but I’m not fluent in that level of geek.”
“It’s a test on Star Trek of the unwinnable situation. You’re supposed to evacuate a bunch of civilians, except every single choice results in all the civilians dying and your ship gets blown up.”
“Unless you cheat,” Angela remembered from the newer movies.
“You said the ship always blows up no matter what you do. How can you cheat?” Stella asked.
“You change the rules by reprogramming the computer,” Kayla explained. “Also, eat an apple really loudly so everyone knows you’re an asshole.”
Stella thought about it. “When we do this, I’m totally bringing an apple.”
Chapter 25
In true Kandal-Varma form, nothing says ‘let’s hold a baby daddy meeting’ like going shopping first.
For Angela’s weekend off, they’d hit the mall and then the salon for a good eight hours. The three ganged up on her like she was a giant paper doll. They dragged her from store to store, raiding the petite sizes of every unsuspecting shop. They had replaced her heavy fabrics with curve-hugging light sweaters and flattering pencil skirts. The high end bra shop saleswomen were overjoyed when she spent almost five hundred dollars on new bras.
Angela had gone with the flow, feeling her confidence grow as she allowed herself to enjoy the novel feeling of sparkling new clothes. Still, she drew the line on Stella’s new plan of sexy brown haired librarian in faux glasses. It had taken haggling, but Angela had agreed to a professional application of semi-permanent chestnut brown hair.
For the first time in her life, Angela wasn’t a dumb blonde. She was a smart brunette. Or she would be for at least thirty washes.
Part of Stella’s desire for permanent hair color was also a near transparent attempt to avoid her men. Before going to the mall, they’d led the morning off with an invitation to the three possible fathers to meet them in the evening at Eliza’s house.
The two kids had been shipped off to sleepovers for the evening, so they didn’t have to witness the visitors. Even Taussig was hiding upstairs, sensing the tension.
The three guys arrived at the appointed time, none of them happy.
Angela had the most contact with Doyle from the ER. Casserty in Neurosurgery had struck her as a nice guy. Glazier had been pretty unapproachable and gruff, which made Angela happy to have dealt with his resident Dr. Navarro in the past.
“None of you get to talk. Only Stella gets to speak,” Elizabeth said after letting the men sit in three chairs on the opposite side of the coffee table. Kayla, Angela, and Eliza flanked either side of the couch.
Kayla handed each of them an envelope labeled with their name. Angela passed out consent forms for genetic testing.
Stella waited a few seconds before speaking. “I get you’re pissed off at me. I don’t care. I didn’t plan this. I thought we were actual adults and knew how to handle ourselves. I wasn’t in a relationship with any of you when I found out I was pregnant, so I don’t owe any of you anything.”
Doyle seemed unbothered by the entire thing. Casserty flushed, and Glazier looked ready to spit nails.
Glazier opened his mouth, and Elizabeth called out, “No talking!” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“I’m not asking any of you for help. Frankly, I don’t want any of your help. I’ve got my people. I can afford to raise a child without any of you. But some of you may want to know who the father is. There’s only one way to know that,” Stella said.
Casserty raised his hand and waited.
“Yes, you may speak,” Stella allowed.
“You want us to give you some of our DNA and then the lab will tell us who the father is?” he asked.
“Not exactly. I will find out who the father is. And I will tell the father when the baby is born but not before.”
A wave of tension swept through the room.
Angela tightened her grip on the consent forms. Stella hadn’t told anyone this was her plan. She and Kayla shared a glance, silently communicating the problems with Stella’s plan.
No matter how tempting it was, they would have to sit back and let Stella handle this in her usual Stella way.
Glazier spoke without being called on. “We can petition for a genetic test after the baby is born.”
“You can,” Stella acknowledged, “but you’ll probably lose. None of us are married. You can’t make me or my child do anything. You have no legal rights yet, and it will be harder to compel a paternity test if you don’t cooperate now.”
“This isn’t fair,” Glazier said. “How can you expect any of us to—”
“You’re right,” Stella cut him off. “It isn’t fair to anyone, but I’m looking out for me. I don’t want to be with someone who tolerates me because he is the father of this baby. Up until the ER, none of you were dying to be in a relationship with me. If you knew you were the father, you would act differently toward me because of the baby. I want you to decide how you feel about me without that guarantee of being the father. It’s a big ask, but you need to fish or cut bait.”
Despite her misgivings, Angela had to admit Stella had a point. In her mess with Michael, she’d have never wanted him to come back because of a baby. She wanted him to want her, no caveats, no conditions, no emotionally painful sex.
Angela remembered the next part was hers. “Inside your envelope is a buccal swab. You swab your cheek and put it in the specimen bag. I’ll take the sample and the consent form. I will also draw Stella’s blood, since it contains the fetal cells. I’m in charge of sample handling and mailing because I’m not related to anyone here.”
“Will you tell us the gender?” Doyle asked.
“No,” Stella answered. “I don’t want that to factor into your decision about me. And as long as two of you participate, I don’t need a third.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Casserty said. He pulled out the swab and scraped his cheek from the inside. “I’m in.”
Doyle didn’t hesitate. In his position, he was an old hat at this.
“Seal the envelope yourself, please,” Angela said. It was absurd, like this was a chain of evidence that had to be preserved. Angela went to draw Stella’s blood.
The mom-to-be glanced over at Glazier, who was sitting sullenly. “You can go if you want. We already have what we need.”
“Do we?” he inquired, face fierce. Looking like he’d swallowed a frog, he swabbed his cheek. He dropped the envelope on the table and stalked out. The two others left without nearly as much stomping.
“Well, that was great,” Stella said. “I’m walking back to my house. I need a nap.”
