“I’d like you to meet Betsy Lou Osborne,” Linda Brown said, introducing Alex to an overly buxom woman with a long, plain face that hadn’t benefited from either her excessive make-up or her frosted blonde hair. Her white blouse was tucked into tight white jeans. White socks and white running shoes completed the ensemble.
Linda had nabbed him beelining to the stairwell for a quick trip to the hospital to discharge two post-ops. He held his hand out to the new hire. “Welcome aboard.”
Smiling, she shook his hand warmly, holding it a few seconds longer than necessary. “Nice to meet you, Doctor Cutter. Linda says you’re one of the top docs here. I look forward to working with you.” Smiling, she primped her hair.
He felt something off-putting about the way she looked him in the eyes. Wanting to stay on schedule, he shrugged it off. “I’m heading over to the hospital to discharge two patients. Tag along if Linda’s done with you.”
“I am. As of now, she’s assigned to you full-time.” Linda glanced from Alex to Betsy and back again before walking away.
Alex headed toward the stairwell. “I prefer to take the stairs. Saves time.”
“Typical surgeon.”
They started down the stairs to the second-floor sky bridge. “You from around here?” he asked in an attempt at small talk.
“Born and raised in Little Rock, where I attended nursing school. As soon as I graduated, hubby and I moved here. Been here ever since.”
He pushed open the fire door onto the sky bridge, Betsy keeping pace. “Where have you worked before here, Betty?”
“It’s Betsy. Worked here and there. My first love is pediatrics, so for five years I was with Brett Hoagland. Know him?”
He waved at a referring physician heading in the opposite direction. “No. Don’t do any peds, so probably haven’t run across him.”
“Oh, well, he’s been dead a couple years now.” She was on his left, matching him stride for stride. “Tragic.”
They reached the bank of elevators and Alex punched the “up” button. “Sorry. What happened?”
Another hair primp. “T-boned his Corvette into an eighteen-wheeler while crossing an intersection outside of town. The car’s body went right under the rig, completely demolishing the top of the car and decapitating him.”
Alex shivered at the thought. “That’s awful.”
She touched his arm. “But his nurse survived without a scratch,” she said with a conspiratorial smile. “How do you suppose that happened?”
Aw, Jesus. He stepped away from her. “She was extremely lucky, I guess.”
The elevator arrived, they entered, and he punched “7” while making sure to stand well away from her.
Am I being paranoid?
“Neuro’s on seven,” he explained. “Except for my ICU post-ops, this is where all my patients are.”
As they exited the elevator, Steve Stein stood next to the nursing station writing in a chart. He saw Alex and closed the chart. “Morning, Doctor Cutter.”
Alex introduced him to Betsy.
“Got that information you asked about,” Steve said.
“Oh?” He knew Steve was smart enough to defer any further conversation on the topic until they could arrange a more private situation.
“The answer is yes,” Steve said with a knowing glance.
“Okay, good. We can discuss it more detail later. When you have a minute, drop by the clinic. I’ll be there all afternoon seeing patients.”
“Let me see your orders,” Betsy Lou said, moving next to Alex at the 7 Madison nursing station. He was writing orders in the chart after she had listened to him verbally instruct the patients. The sooner she learned his routines, the more scut work he could begin to delegate while he was in the operating room. Linda was great when she had time, but she was overloaded with covering Garrison and managing the other clinic nurses.
“I close every scalp in two layers. Deep layer with tight inverted sub-cutaneous Vicryl followed by skin staples.”
“I notice the dressing’s off and the wound exposed. That seems unusual.”
What a relief. She knows a few things.
“A properly closed wound forms a protein-rich seal within 24 hours. Long as the patient doesn’t pick at it and break it open, it’s better left exposed to air than all covered up with goop that makes a perfect culture for bacteria. Unless there are specific reasons for the staples to stay in longer, I remove them at five days. Produces less scar that way.” She seemed to listen closely, which he appreciated.
“Why staples? Most surgeons I know use nylon.”
“Less tissue reaction, less inflammation, less scar.” He resumed writing discharge orders.
Her right breast pressed against his left arm. “Oh, I see.”
Shit. He stepped back and locked eyes with her. She glanced away, flustered and blushing.
Let it go at that. If she’s smart, she got the message.