I stared and stared, so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice my phone vibrating with text messages and emails beside me.
My door was open, so Atlas walked inside and approached the bulletin board covered with papers.
He was so quiet that I hardly noticed him. My eyes took him in, in another hoodie and jeans. He wore black shoes, the most casual person in the office.
Reminded me of my dad.
I cleared my throat and looked at the papers in my lap. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot…you seem like a good guy.” I stared at the results on the page but didn’t really take them in, waiting for his response.
I eventually looked up.
As if he hadn’t heard what I’d said, he continued to stare at the board.
“Hello?”
He grabbed her chart and sat down in the chair beside me, flipping through the information. “Twenty-five-year-old female…black urine…metabolic panel…” He continued to flip. “This is a metabolic issue.” He crossed one ankle onto the opposite knee, taking up the entire armchair with his height and muscles. The shadow was on his jawline as always, like he shaved in the evenings and the hair grew back that quickly.
“I’ve tested for every metabolic issue under the sun—negative.”
“You haven’t tested for everything because that’s what she has.”
My eyes narrowed, my anger immediately spiking as if I’d never uttered an apology. “You have the papers in your hand—read them.”
“Yes, I see your chart. But you’re still missing something.”
“Then what am I missing, map boy?”
He stilled at the question then slowly turned to regard me. “Excuse me?”
I brushed off the insult. “I’ve tested for every known metabolic disease, deficiency, disorder…the whole nine yards. Every single reading is negative.”
“Then we need to test again.”
“I’m not subjecting that poor girl to all those pokes and blood draws when the results will be the same.”
“You don’t know that they’ll be the same.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” I asked skeptically. “If I ask her to do this, you know what will happen? She’ll lose hope—because I clearly have no new ideas. Not to mention, it’ll cost her a ton of money, and insurance isn’t going to cover repeat labs.”
“Then you’re missing a test—because it’s metabolic.”
“Whoa, buddy.” I held up my hand. “She has been my patient for two months now, and you just started this week. You can’t just glance at her lab work and scans and assume you know something I don’t.”
“I do know something you don’t.”
Both of my eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
He held up the clipboard. “All of her symptoms point to a deficiency. There’s something in her diet that she can’t process, and that lack of proper metabolism is causing toxicity to her system. If this goes untreated, it’ll probably kill her.”
“I’ve never seen a metabolic issue that would cause this much duress to her system. Maybe you’re right, but I think it’s paired with some other disorder she has, whether it’s genetic or acquired, and in combination, it’s wreaking this havoc on her system.”
He shook his head. “She’s clean for everything. MS, autoimmune…”
“Then why don’t you re-test?” I asked like a smartass.
He inhaled a slow breath. “What is your problem?”
“My problem? I tried to apologize to you, and you ignored me.”
“Because I don’t care about that.” He held up the clipboard. “This is what I care about. You’re missing something, and I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me or insult me?”
“There’s no room for ego in medicine.”
“There’s no room for arrogance either. You won’t even listen to me. You won’t even let me give a full breakdown of this patient, whom I actually know. You’re just looking at her charts and assuming you’ve got it all figured out.”
He set the chart on the table between us and pivoted his entire body toward me. “I know you’re used to being the smartest person in every room you step into, but you aren’t anymore. I know my shit.”
“Wow…okay.”
“I’ll reach out to my contacts to see if we’re missing something.” He rose to his feet and turned away. “You can keep staring at the wall in the dark all you want…while I go save her life.”
“Dad, he’s a prick. Super prick.”
He sat across from me, the beer in front of him on the bar.
When I got off work, I asked him to meet me so I could tell him his judgment was totally off. “You’re brilliant and all that, but you are not a good judge of character. I tried to apologize to him, and he said nothing.”
“Did you apologize to show remorse? Or did you apologize for a response?”
“What?”
“If someone apologized to me, I probably wouldn’t say anything either. If it’s genuine, it doesn’t warrant a response.”
I rolled my eyes dramatically. “That’s not even the point, alright? He said I was the arrogant one, then said he’s smarter than me. How is that not arrogant?”