The Devil Wears Scrubs (Dr. Jane McGill, #1)

by Freida McFadden

it’s

People who are that big must have a disease, just like the patients with pancreatic cancer or multiple sclerosis.

No matter how thorough a history I think I got, she always comes up with something. What’s the patient’s shoe size? What did he eat for dinner last night? What was the middle name of his best friend in third grade? Alyssa demands a very thorough history.

Because they’re books. How can you get rid of a book? That’s like throwing away knowledge

Aside from my clothes, the only other thing that’s mine is Jack. He’s my skeleton. Because you definitely can’t be a doctor without a three-foot-tall skeleton in your room. Also, right now, Jack is the closest thing I’ve got to a boyfriend. If it gets any more serious, I may have to introduce him to my mother.

So I took the fork. I swear, I washed it after I used it. And I put it right back where I found it. But apparently, I was supposed to put it back facing North or some weird thing like that. I have no idea.

Dansko clogs,

If there’s ever a seat available, there exists a very clear hierarchy of who may sit. First, the attending gets to sit. Then if there’s another seat, the senior resident can sit. Then if there’s another seat, someone can put their purse there. Then if there’s another seat, a homeless drug addict who wandered into the building can sit there. But after the attending, the resident, the purse, and the homeless guy are all settled, any available seats are all mine.

Dr. Westin’s “My” Scale is renowned hospital-wide: One My: Patient is mildly ill, likely discharge in next day or two Two My’s: Moderate illness. Patient probably needs some sort of invasive testing. Three My’s: Severe illness. Possibly close to ICU level of care. Intubation is imminent. Four My’s: Call the coroner. When he finishes looking over the list, he beams at me. “All right then, let’s pay this young man a visit!”

Illness is a treacherous dragon, breathing fire on innocent patients, and as a physician, I want to be the shining knight who battles that dragon and saves my patients’ lives.

edentulous, which means he has little to no teeth—where his teeth used to be, there are only gaping red holes.

Emesis: Puke Epistaxis: Nosebleed Stool: Poop Dyschezia: Hurts to poop Hematochezia: Blood in poop

I dial the number on my pager. “Hello, this is ‘Doctor’ McGill,” I say. I really need to stop doing those scare quotes.

Before our modern-day computers, people used calculators, and before that they used slide rules, and before that they used the abacus, and before that, they probably used this computer right here.

I call Dr. Reilly’s pager number again, but this time instead of leaving a callback number, I leave a voice message. “Dr. Reilly,” I say. “This is Dr. McGill with Medicine. I have been calling you the entire night to talk to you about a patient who has an abscess and is extremely ill, and you have not had the courtesy to call me back. Apparently, you have absolutely no concern for patient welfare. I want you to know that I am going to report this behavior to your attending. If anything happens to this patient because you were unwilling to do your job, I intend for you to be found personally liable. Thank you very much.” And then I hang up. Holy crap. I didn’t really say all that, did I? Yet there was something cathartic about it. It felt good taking out my frustrations on another person. No wonder Sexy Surgeon enjoys it so much.

Ryan snorts. “You wouldn’t even believe it. She left this really bitchy, completely inappropriate message on my pager. About how she was going to hold me personally responsible for her patient or some bullshit like that, just because I didn’t return her page the second she snapped her fingers. I mean, she’s a freaking intern. Can you believe the nerve?” He shakes his head. “You haven’t seen Dr. McGill around, have you? Someone told me she was on this floor.”

As I slide into an empty seat, the guy on my left, who has a mustache that makes him look a little like a sex offender, says to me, “That message? That was epic. Reilly’s deserved that for like a year.” The other resident, who is very skinny with a huge Adam’s apple and a bit of a Southern twang, says, “I think we’re going to play the message at graduation.”

Ryan Reilly, who has slept with every female in a ten mile radius, is about ten feet away from my bedroom and I am (let’s face it) practically salivating over him, and what does he do? Nothing! He doesn’t ravage me—he doesn’t even try to kiss me. I don’t get it. Maybe my breath smells? Maybe he decided my butt looks big? Maybe between the bar and here he turned gay?

Mrs. Jefferson is what’s known as a “rock.” A rock is a patient who will be on your service forever, who will never ever leave. Mrs. Jefferson is the rock to end all rocks. She’s a rock star.

Hours Awake: 12 Chance of doing something else dumb in the next 18 hours: 110%

Hours awake: 21 Chance of sexy time in near future: 25%

In medicine, there is something known as the ROAD specialties, which is an acronym for the four specialties that have the best reimbursement to hours ratio. Basically, great lifestyle with lots of money. ROAD stands for: Radiology Ophthalmology Anesthesiology Dermatology

“Doing a guaiac”: Stick your finger in the patient’s rectum so you get some poop on your finger, smear the poop on a special card, and see if it changes color when you put a special solution on it, which would indicate the presence of blood.

The phone is sitting on Mr. Sanchez’s night table, the speakerphone filling the room with the music of Taylor Swift, the same song over and over. I am starting to believe that we are never, ever, ever going to get that translator on the phone.

“Puedo tener un vaso de agua?” Mr. Sanchez asks. “Huh?” I say. How do you say “slower” in Spanish?

Hours awake: 20 Chance of Sexy Surgeon ever growing the hell up: 1%

I love you, Mr. Sanchez. Just for that, I’m giving you a few tablets of Percocet to go.

One thing I’m learning from working at County Hospital is that nobody ever admits to taking drugs. Even when confronted with the results of a positive urine tox, they will stare you right in the eyes and swear on their life they never snorted cocaine. If that’s true, then how did it get in your pee, huh? A visit from the cocaine fairies?

Immediately, I brace myself. Whenever someone starts a sentence with “no offense but,” it means they’re going to say something really offensive. I hate that phrase. No offense, but if you say that, you’re a jackass.

She nods. Thomas Jefferson is a true American hero. First he helped found the country and now he’s getting me out of a conversation with Alyssa.

“That pie won a contest once!” Thomas Jefferson argues. “What contest was that?” Mrs. Jefferson shoots back. “Pie most likely to give you the runs?”

I have literally checked every orifice of Mrs. Rogers’s body and I can’t identify where that smell is coming from. And it’s not going away. If anything, the smell is growing in intensity. It seems like a distinct possibility that in another 24 hours, the whole hospital will smell like Mrs. Rogers. In 48 hours, the entire city. In 72 hours, the entire world.

The nursing home is a dreary place with the dirtiest front steps I’ve ever seen. It looks like at least one animal and/or person has peed on them. The awning of the building is covered with bird poop, and has long rips in it. The lettering in the sign “Nursing Home” is worn away at the edge, so that it just says “Nursing Ho.” Nursing Ho. Heh.

“I promise you,” I say again. “Okay,” he finally says. “I believe you, Dr. Jane.”

Don’t make promises as a dr. Has anyone seen greys anatomy?!

For the first time all month, the call is going smoothly. It’s a miracle.

You can’t say that lol

“You need to go apologize to her, Jane,” he says. I nod. I can’t believe he finally got my name right. And now he’ll remember it forever.