Chapter 3.2 - My Favorite Patient
Two days later, I sat curled up on the couch, sick. I woke up on my day off with a cough, went out that night, and only made it worse. My temperature was 99.8, which meant I could not be around our immune-compromised patients. I was forced to stay home with Netflix, counting the hours I would have to comp later in the week.
“There’s some leftover soup in the freezer if you want some! Feel better, okay?” Rebecca said as she rushed out the door. The busy life of a budding lawyer. How we managed to spend any time with each other still amazed me.
In her rush, she left me to lock the door behind her. I got up to do that and grab some soup, but when I opened the freezer, some ice cream screamed my name instead. Screw my diet, I feel like shit. I took it back to the couch with me and curled myself up in my three softest blankets.
I had just pushed play on my episode when I got a text.
I didn’t recognize the number.
Who is this?
I stared at the screen until the message came through.
Your favorite patient
I knew exactly who it was without asking, but I played along.
You will need to be more specific
I giggled to myself before a call came through from the same number. Why is he calling me?
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hey, you.” It was him, just as expected.
“Hi, Ziggy. How did you get my number?”
“I stole it from Denise’s phone when she wasn’t looking,” he explained nonchalantly. “Just making sure you weren’t playing hooky.”
I giggled but ended up coughing. “That’s a little creepy, Ziggy.”
“It’s not creepy. You know you love me.” I could hear his cheeky smile through the phone. “I’m just so bored without you here,” he whined.
“You can survive a couple days without me.”
“How do you know? I could die any minute.”
“Well, I hope not,” I said hoarsely.
“You do sound sick.”
“It’s kind of sexy.”
A deep cough came out of me. “No, it’s not.”
“You could literally cough up a lung in front of me and still be hotter than the cows you left me with.”
I gasped to keep from laughing. ”Cows?”
“You know damn well what your coworkers look like,” he scolded me. “What am I supposed to drool over when you aren’t here?”
“You’re such an asshole.” He laughed with me until I coughed over and over until my throat hurt.
“You should get some rest and fluids or something.”
“Oh, should I?”
“Yes. They scheduled me for exploratory surgery tomorrow afternoon. They’re about to find what’s wrong with me and let me out of here.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him exploratory surgery was usually a sign of worse things to come. “So . . . you’ll have to come back and hang out with me before I leave and never come back.”
“I’ll try my hardest to get better soon.”
“Okay. Good,” he sounded relieved. “I’ll let you get some rest.”
“See you later, Sabs.”
We hung up and I felt a sense of dread. Surely he knew they wouldn’t cut him open unless they thought it would be more dangerous not to do it. Something must have come back. Something had to be wrong.
I got up, shoved the ice cream back in the freezer, and dropped the soup into a pot. I was going to do everything I could to be there tomorrow night.