Beautifully Awake(8)

“Good. Let’s move,” Chase barked.

He removed his right hand from his pocket and gestured the team to move forward. The entire time, his eyes never wavered at all, like he owned my exclusive viewing rights. Then without hesitation his other hand found the small of my back, raising my core temperature by ten degrees on contact. It was going to take an early June ocean wave to cool me down. The action was completely unexpected and too intimate for my malfunctioning self-control. And Sierra was worried about my libido ... hell, I was worried about my libido.



This bordered on humiliation. Sam and Guy were already halfway down the hall when my legs remembered how to move. The heat from Chase’s hand lingered on my lower back as we caught up to them. I was completely disarmed by my reaction to this man. My body totally betrayed me, like a star-struck moron who couldn’t remove her eyes from her idol.

This was the part of the movie where you pushed stop or fast-forward, because it was just that embarrassing it made your stomach hurt. Pull. It. Together. There was only one possible explanation: I was having a full-out stroke. What was that term? Cerebral vascular accident. Yep, that had to be it. Either a huge blood clot or a popped vessel spewing blood in my brain caused this sudden hormonal explosion. Good thing my new hot boss was a brain surgeon. Crap. This man was my boss! At least for the next four weeks.

I finally snapped out of my stroke-like state when we stopped in front of the first patient’s room. Guy and Sam both looked tired but focused, all business. Chase nodded, giving the green light to go in.

We semi-circled Kelly Peterson’s hospital bed, Guy on my right and Chase on my left. My libido, which was extinguished three years ago, was just doused with high-octane gasoline without a fire extinguisher in sight.

Suddenly, I was all too aware of my clothes sticking to my body. This was a sick joke. Shouldn’t my early morning irritable bowel have caused dehydration? No such luck. There was even a sheen of sweat in my cleavage. The hospital thermostat never wavered past sixty-eight degrees, but I felt like I was stuck at the beach, mid-August, wearing black ski thermals. I was a hot mess. This man, who I had never laid eyes on until ten minutes ago, and who spoke a total of maybe twenty words to me, completely rattled my core and managed to awaken every hormone in my body with one look.

Kelly struggled to lift her frail body up in the bed to greet us. She softly smiled, recognizing me from my earlier visit. Thankfully, her brave facade pulled me from my internal inferno and reminded me why I was here. This was the only real social-work-like part of my job, and she needed my support. My issue needed to wait.

It was not my place to speak first, so I returned her smile and gave her a ‘hey-you, you-can-do this’ little wave. Being in and out of the hospital enough times in the past few months, she knew the drill. Evening rounds were the attendings’ show, intended for teaching, but it usually turned out to be an ego-stroking session. Where morning rounds were typically the senior resident’s understudy performance of the evening before. Bottom line: it was two hours I wouldn’t mind skipping on a Monday to Friday basis.



Suddenly, Chase’s “six and six” comment rang back in my ears. Fan-freakin-tastic. He obviously wasn’t feeling the once a day rounding idea. This hormonal mutiny needed some control if I was going to see this man twice a day.

Chase stepped up to Kelly’s sterile white bed with his strong right hand outstretched. “Mrs. Peterson. I’m Dr. Chase Colton. I apologize for not getting down here sooner to introduce myself. I was in the operating room all day, not that it’s an excuse.”

Chase shook her hand then enveloped their joined hands. His intensity slowly started to soften, replaced by pliability, or a softness. If I didn’t know any better, I would believe it was true compassion.

“Thank you. I do appreciate that. So … are ... are you as brilliant as they say, or should I be wor-worried?” she said quietly, trying to hide the quiver in her voice.

A knot tightened in my throat. I couldn’t imagine how terrified she must be. I knew how scared I was when I had surgery, and it paled in comparison to brain surgery.

Surgeons were usually very casual when they spoke of procedures; after all, it was old hat to them. I was surprised when Chase steadied their joined hands and squatted, knees resting on his thighs, to be eye level with his patient. I couldn’t recall seeing any of the other doctors do that before or anything so ... personal. All of a sudden he was a little less intimidating, a touch softer, more human. The sharpness faded even more when he parted his lips. His smile was breathtaking, not to mention sincere.