This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
Dear Reader,
Many of us have been in one or both of the positions of our protagonists. My hope is that you are reminded of good memories, and that either your Jon was as kind to you, or your Chance was as overwhelming!
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Ceci n'est pas de la chance, mais la destin.
"Okay, kids, that's a wrap. Please finish any tweaks to your notes and get them signed, so I can cosign them tonight before I go to bed, and the hospital will continue to pay me."
I had a job as a hospitalist at a major New England academic medical center, which basically meant I did the day-in-day-out grind of caring for very sick patients, as well as educating the large numbers of residents and other learners who were trained there, all without very much recognition or thanks. I was paid relatively well, and the hours were good (mostly), but when it came to ribbons and certificates, the Institution praised those who published frequently or made names for themselves in the media.
It fit with my personality to fly under the radar, though, and I had built a trusted network of colleagues and friends from the C-suite right down to Miss Beatrice in the cafeteria, who was personally responsible for making my day, every day, with her smile and a kind word. Unlike the Institution, I let her know frequently how much she meant to me, and she always said I was in her prayers, which some days was the nicest thing anyone did for me.
This particular evening had gone relatively well, and I often addressed the residents and medical students I trained as "kids," not only because they were typically fifteen years younger than me, but also out of sheer affection and admiration; I remembered being in their shoes, and that some days were so hard, I would cry myself to sleep.
"Dr. Mendez, are you going to join us tonight at the Black Cat?" a voice chirped.
I stopped typing, recognized it as my precocious medical student Jane, and looked up. "I'm not sure, what is this, again?" When I cut loose, it wasn't typically with the students I trained.
"Team 3A invited us out to Black Cat with them if we both managed to finish rounds and work at the same time. They're done and their attending's coming too, so..." I was never sure if I loathed or adored students like Jane. On one hand she had a lot more gumption than I ever had as a medical student. On the other, that sometimes spelled personality disorder.
I smiled at her. "Tell you what Jane, if you think I should go, I'll go. You made a lot of great calls today on rounds, so I'm willing to trust you with one more."
She beamed, and ran off to finish work.
That's it, Mendez,
I thought,
remember they need
some
bits of encouragement throughout the day. Recall how seldom you ever received that.
Team 3A was the other group responsible for patient care on the ward where I worked, led by my colleague Erica Burns. I liked her immensely but cringed in her presence. She was an incredible physician, and I'd want her taking care of me if I were sick, but I would hate to be one of her trainees; she could be harsh, and she was definitely stingy with praise. She did have a competitive streak, though, and sometimes that came out in fun ways, like a challenge to finish work on time and get my team out to the bar with hers.
TAP-TAP! I looked up sharply, and Erica smiled wryly, having summoned my attention by rapping her knuckles on the computer desk I was using. "Looks like you're almost done, Jonathan. See you at the Cat?" She winked. I smiled weakly and nodded, getting back to my work.
Of my team, one of my two residents had to get home to his wife and newborn, but the other, Catherine, was game. Jane was definitely in. The three of us agreed to meet down in the main lobby in ten minutes and walk the few blocks together. Erica and an unknown number of her team were already leaving; I hoped she didn't browbeat too many of them into going.
The Black Cat was a restaurant and bar a few blocks from the hospital, and it was actually a remarkable place. Styled in tasteful feline-themed decor (sounds like an oxymoron, I know) with moderate lighting, it hosted a fantastically mixed crowd for a "campus bar," from newly-of-age undergrads all the way up through stuffy blazered professors. Because of this, everyone generally behaved, and it was a more-than-tolerable place to get a drink.
The restaurant was a large and many-roomed place, but the bar was a square area with servers in the middle and seats all around. TV screens featured the usual bar mix of sports and news programming, but I always found the people-watching more interesting. A weeknight was a nice time to go, as it was less busy, and a couple of hospital teams like ours could reasonably expect to crowd a side of the bar and hang out, ultimately sorting ourselves into seats as needed.
Erica had seated herself with what looked like her two residents and one of her medical students gathered around, all of them already with drinks. I bought Catherine and Jane their choices, and ordered myself an IPA on the milder end of hops but heavier end of ABV. We stood over by Erica's team waiting for seats and enjoying the company, which had grown by a few other residents who happened to be there.
I checked out Erica's folks: a very short and bespectacled male medical student (to me, they looked more like grade schoolers every year), and two male residents, one blond who I figured was a first-year intern, as I didn't recognize him, and one with darker hair, whom I knew. Both were really quite attractive.
Aaaaand that's enough looking
,
I told myself. I'd had a really unpleasant breakup with my partner of a few years just several months ago, but I was definitely not going to shop amongst the "kids."
The night wore on, as did my IPA; I often became tired of the hoppy beers, and found myself finishing the last quarter with a grimace.
"That one not treating you well?" I heard in my left ear. I looked up; it was Erica's blond resident. He was standing really close to me, probably trying to chat without having to raise his voice too much.
I almost spat out the lukewarm IPA. "Meh. I rarely like the end of a beer, much less a hoppy one."
"What can I get you to make up for it?" he smiled.
I was a bit taken aback. He was already focusing on hailing the bartender, allowing me to look him over a bit. His wavy, sandy-blond hair was neatly coiffed a bit longer on the top, with short sides and a newly-shorn sharp neckline. His eyes were ridiculously blue and glinted in the lights of the bar, seeking attention from the staff. The smile he threw at me before turning away was like a parody of a toothpaste commercial with a diamond flash of light, and his mouth formed an inverted triangle, just crooked enough at the bottom to be utterly disarming.
The bartender came over and my slow-motion drinking in of this boy's features came to an abrupt halt.
