Resuscitate My Love: Episode 2 – Deion
DEION
As soon as I turned into the hospital’s parking lot, the roar of my motorcycle’s engine echoed in a hollow song around me.
I ripped through the open space, leaned into the turn, then eased off the throttle and squeezed the front brake, guiding the bike into a smooth slide into my reserved parking spot.
Through my helmet’s visor, I spotted a group of nurses who made me their focus in their huddle.
I called them the smokers’ circle. They were often gathered in the same spot every night I arrived for my shift.
Coincidence? Nah. It never was when it came to me and nurses.
Once I turned off the bike’s engine and kicked down its side stand, I pulled off my helmet and glanced their way, running my palm over my fade and short locs.
“What’s up, ladies?” I said, stepping off my bike.
A couple of them giggled, all but one. Rya Mendes.
She was the one who showed me the most attention but pretended not to. It was cute.
“Aren’t you tired of being a stereotype?” she teased, a smile playing on her lips as I walked past, headed for the elevators.
“Yeah.” I licked my lips, then smirked. “But somebody’s gotta do it, right? And don’t I look good doing it?”
I watched as she pushed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, fighting for her life not to smile back.
“Have a good day, y’all,” I said, tossing Rya another glance.
I was pushing through the glass turnstile doors, headed for the elevators, when I heard their giggles and voices fade behind me.
Another day at BBMC. I’d only been here for a few months, but already it felt right.
Felt right when I decided I wanted to make this my new home for my residency program.
When I finished my clinical rotation at Columbia-Presbyterian, I ranked Langford University Medical Center first. LUMC. Totally not a choice motivated by just me.
I did it for my dad. I knew he would be pleased. But shit, I wasn’t.
I stepped off the elevator and inhaled the smell of sterilized anxiety.
I chuckled to myself as I made my way to the residents’ lounge to clock in.
If BBMC was a fragrance, it would have notes of bleach, antiseptic, too-hot coffee, and the kind of air that’s been recycled through too many vents for too many years.
It was the kind of real I could get behind, the reason I wanted out of Langford University Medical Center.
After almost four years of polished, structured bullshit. Something my ass should be used to given my upbringing. But that was just it. I wanted nothing like the Greene life. LUMC was the kind of place my father would brag about at golf with his associates. BBMC was a place he wouldn’t even mention by name.
After tapping my badge in the residents’ lounge, I pulled open the door to the locker room, zipping down my hoodie and peeling the sleeves down my arms.
Now this place was the kind of hospital that made me remember why I loved being a doctor.
At LUMC, I was learning with the best, but I felt like a machine. Clock in, nod like a robot, return fake smiles, accept an invitation to sip expensive liquor at a nearby bar lounge. I felt like I was literally going from imported coffee to fine wine every damn day. Worst of all, I didn’t feel like I was really helping people. I felt like I was just protecting a brand, the Greene family brand, by being a resident at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world.
At LUMC, you’re shadowed by protocol. At BBMC, I could make a call, trust my gut, actually be a doctor.
I glanced over my shoulder to give a quick check of my patient list for my shift, and when I did, I spotted her name.
Whitney Bishop.
Licked my lips at that, nodded, then focused on setting my things in my locker.
Langford University Medical Center was stifling, true. But the real truth about me leaving there for here?
I knew Whit was here.
I knew BBMC was her hospital. When we’d got involved while completing rotations at Columbia-Pres, she and I continued seeing each other after we started our residency programs at our hospitals. Stayed connected for a couple of years but never gave our thing a name.
Which made it easy to split when we did… when she decided to.
So, yeah, I knew this was her hospital. But I told myself that didn’t matter. I was over it, and after seeing her these past few months, she was too. Whit was just a ghost in a chart now… one that haunted the shit out of my heart.
Because even when she wasn’t around, she was still around, and that was partially my fault with my lying ass.
“Aye,” Kenny greeted as he stepped into the locker room. “Just got in?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I answered with a nod. Pulled down my white coat and positioned it to slide my arms in. “How’s it out there?”
“Quiet tonight.” Kenny nodded. “Nothing too crazy.”
“Yet, right?”
He chuckled.
Kenny was one of the first fellow residents I met when I started my program at BBMC. We’ve grabbed breakfast a few times at the diner across the street after our shift, and like I’d expected, conversations felt real. Authentic. That was the case with a lot of my interactions with the other residents and doctors at BBMC. All except you-know-who.
Despite that, I knew I was right where I needed to be.
“You got that sickle cell beauty in Obs?” he asked. “Or am I back on GI bleeds tonight?”
“GI bleeds, my guy.” I patted Kenny’s back as I made my way to the exit. “See you out there.”
On my way to the residents’ lounge, I grabbed my electronic medical records—what we all called the EMR—skimming through details. There were a few doctors in the lounge, speaking, exchanging updates.
At the coffee bar, I was pouring out a quick pre-round coffee when my phone buzzed in my white coat’s pocket.
The moment I pulled it out and saw the name on the screen, my heart picked up in pace a little.
My heart always did that these days whenever I got a call from my mother.
“Hey, Ma,” I answered, setting my coffee and the EMR on the counter. “What’s up? Everything all right?”
She snickered. “Everything is perfect, take a breath.”
I did just that, swallowing hard before inhaling again.
Phone calls from my mother have been a little on the stressful side. Especially after her diagnosis.
Multiple myeloma. Early stage. Cancer of plasma cells in the bone marrow. It was manageable, thankfully, but not curable. Despite that, many patients live for years with treatment, and I prayed every damn day my mother was one of the many.
“You know,” she started, “every time I call you shouldn’t be a moment of panic, Deion.”
I scoffed, lifting my coffee again to sip. “I think it’s grounds to panic when you’re calling me right before my shift starts, and you never do that.”
“I had to make the exception,” she replied, and through her words I could tell she was smiling.
Despite all she’s been through these past few years.
I’ll always remember the day she told me her diagnosis. It was any other Sunday, but before she said anything, the air felt different. But she seemed the same.
So much the same that she revealed that she had been diagnosed with, as she put it, “something called multiple myeloma” like she was talking about the weather.
Knocked the wind out of me, but I couldn’t show that. Studying medicine has taught me to keep a cool exterior when discussing stuff like this, but shit… this wasn’t just any patient. It was my mother. The most important person in my life. And I hadn’t been the same since.
“So why the exception?” I asked, taking another sip of my coffee.
“I’ve got tests tomorrow morning. Early. Around 6 a.m.,” she said. “I’m coming to your hospital, Brooklyn Bay Medical Center. It’s time we get serious about local treatment.”
I nearly choked.
I placed the cup of coffee down in haste, the cup tipping over and spilling what was left inside.
“Shit,” I hissed. Couldn’t decide if the reaction was to the coffee spilling or her plans for tomorrow.
“And I can’t wait to see Whitney,” she added, not at all helping the hammering of my heart. “She’ll be there, right? I know you said you two have the same shift, right?”
So remember when I said that Whitney was always around even when she wasn’t, partially because of my lying ass?
Well… this was it.
“Tell her I’ll stop by after they pull my blood,” my mother added, totally unaware of the panic she’d unleashed in me.
I should’ve told her the truth right then. That Whit and I hadn’t spoken. That the one person she was excited to see wouldn’t even look my way. But then I remembered the way she smiled when I first said Whit’s name… and I couldn’t take it back.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, dabbing at the spilled coffee, tossing the soiled napkin. “Ma, I have to start my rounds.”
“Oh! Of course, my love.” She giggled. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Can’t wait!”
I squeezed my eyes closed as I tossed another napkin and ended the call.
Couldn’t even tell my mother bye, because my head and my heart were at war over which muscle would give the fuck out on me first.
After cleaning my mess, I left the lounge, eyes scanning the area as I made my way to the workroom.
The workroom was my team’s shared workspace. There were multiple workstations, a whiteboard with patient statuses, and of course, phones. I usually came here to document charts, review labs, or huddle up with other residents or my attending. But in that moment, it was a place I needed to think.
Because, fuck, why the fuck didn’t I think this far.
While my mother has remained upbeat about her diagnosis, there had been days—months—when she’s felt defeated too. Those days we don’t talk about how she’s really feeling much, but I remember them. It’s when her smile isn’t as bright, when her talks about the future are dismal.
It was one of those talks—the one when she worried that she wouldn’t be well enough to attend my wedding or to even see me settle down with someone special—that I told her something I really shouldn’t have.
“I just want to be around long enough to see you loved right, Deion,” she told me, eyes watering. “To see you settled, you know? I want to meet the woman who makes you take love seriously.”
I froze. My heart broke because I was nowhere near that. I’d left this amazing hospital my parents were so proud to say their son was a resident in. I was at this brand-new hospital in Brooklyn, where the only girl I’ve ever known who has ever made me feel something other than lust wouldn’t even look at me.
Even so, my dumbass said, “Actually… funny you mention that. You remember Whitney, right?”
A smile that was missing on my mother’s face appeared.
Fueled by the sight, I added, “We… uh… we reconnected. She works at Brooklyn Bay Medical Center. She was there before I got there.”
“She‘s there?!”
My mother lit up. Like really lit up. I hadn’t heard her sound so damn happy in months.
So… I kept going. Kept on telling her about how Whit and I had been catching up and decided to give our thing another try, but for real this time.
A real relationship, just like my mother had been hoping for. I told her Whit was my girlfriend now and that I didn’t tell her anything because things were still new.
And my mother bought it.
For months, I’ve been lying, promising that Whit and my thing wasn’t a situationship this time. It was real, and that I finally understood what love could look like with her.
Lying out my fucking ass to my mother.
Yes, I know… I’m going to hell.
I ran my hand down my face slow and grunted.
Because now my mother was coming to the hospital expecting to catch up with Whit—who’s supposed to be my girlfriend—and she and I have not spoken a single word since I’ve arrived.
“Yup,” I mumbled, squeezing my eyes closed. “I’m fucked.”
And I’m gonna die in this white coat before I ever make it to attending because my mama is gonna kill me for lying to her when she finds out.
A New Episode Of Resuscitate My Love Will Be Posted And Sent On Monday, July 21st!
