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There is an invisible boundary in this world. On one side of it rests a world filled with people living their merry lives and celebrating a holiday. For some there is a larger meaning to July the fourth, but for most it is a day without obligation of the work, without the routine that feeds the family – a freedom from the working day, and people get to escape it briefly. Unless, you found yourself on the other side of the boundary.
The PMTC always rests on the other side of the boundary. It buzzes everyday not just on a holiday. A constant thrum of bodies—tired, bloodied, battered, sick, recycle through the doors hour after hour. Some of them in scrubs.
Dr. Trinity Santos, a little tired, a lot emotionally battered steps out of the ED doors and starts making her way to her car. She had made a habit of parking on the farther corner of the lot and use the long walk to decompress. She would review her day, where she had aced, where she needed to improve – a work habit that served her well since she was a kid competing professionally. But today her mind refuses to commit to the postmortem, decides to take a leave of absence instead. Grand.
Trinity drags a tired palm across her face, and starts to hop a bit to shake off the lethargy. The dreadful fluorescent lighting of the parking lot gives everything a sickly pallor. The rows and rows of cars, the odd garbage on the pavement, the sparse plants – all sickly. A smell of cigarettes and gasoline lingers in the air. She is almost at her car now. Just one more turn. It is quiet, except for the wind. Or it was. Loud voices make the night take a turn.
Trinity’s body senses before her mind recognises. Another old habit of hers. Her body always attuned to threats in a way her mind refuses to confront. She trusts her body, she respects it’s instincts. It kept her alive in more ways than one. And her body is moving quickly towards a car, engine still running but stationary. That car is blocking at-least two others.
Raised voices belong to a man and a woman and continue to pierce the quietness of this night. Santos starts walking faster. The chaos was supposed to be contained within the ED walls, or at the celebrations outside and faraway. But in this nowhere space, something unpleasant had slithered in. She gets closer, she notices the man is of much larger stature and the woman instead of putting distance between them is still engaging with him. Too close. The gestures are getting animated, their words being fired are quick and loud. A small professional part of her mind seems to awaken in recognition, the loud words are familiar in a way that are sounding wrong to be released out of the confines of an ED.
Her body is buzzing, it is aware, and very alert. Trinity starts jogging, and closes the distance quickly.
“Sorry am late, Angie. The others are already at the park, let’s not keep them waiting!”
She shouts her trusted line, one she had used with so many girls and women, too many times than she would have liked. It breaks the conversation, like it did every other time. At other isolated parking lots, at other ominous nights. The interruption causes both the man and the woman to shift a bit. They are now out of the shadows and into the yellow light cast by the overhead bulbs. And Trinity realises, she miscalculated.
Trinity recognises the faces, the strangers are not strangers. She miscalculated. Terribly. And her body locks in on itself. Her usual fight, flight, and freeze options recycling through her nervous system.
“Dr. Santos,” says the now calm and tired male voice, the one she heard everyday for the past year. Dr.Robby briefly looks at the ground, shaking his head and then with a tired look asks her, “Angie?”
And that brings her focus to the woman, her other attending. Al-Hashimi had turned towards the car and away from them both, a palm to her forehead.
“Just a line I use Dr. Robby. Didn’t realise it were my bosses, shame.”
Trinity quips but her heart is not in it. Her heart is recycling between the threat it perceived moments ago and what her mind is telling her right now. Safe, not safe? Safe, not safe? She doesn’t know, so she joked. Habits are good and dependable.
“I wouldn’t mind knowing pitt’s inside jokes like these”, says Dr. Al-Hashimi, who by now had turned back around to look her across Robby's shoulder.
Trinity sees her, hears her, and listens to her. Safe, or not safe. Her body decides again. She steps closer, and slides herself between Robby and Al-Hashimi.
“I can buy you a drink, and tell you all about it”, she plays the flirty part on automatic, all the while her body placed to fully block Al-Hashimi from Robby. She turns her face just a little bit to look at him from the corner of her eye.
“Jesus Christ Santos,” Robbie throws his arms in the air and turns away. He takes the bait, thinks it's just Santos being the usual inappropriate self. He keeps walking, briefly stepping into the shadow as an overhead light flickers and goes out.
“I will see you on Monday, Baran” he says, his parting words cutting through the quiet night like a bloodied whip.
By now Santos had turned fully to watch him, she takes a step forward to put some distance between her and Al-Hashimi.
“I don’t think I am in a mood for a drink tonight Dr Santos, but thank you for the invite.” she hears Dr.Al-Hashimi's voice, a bit monotone.
Santos hums, waits another second to watch Robby walk past her eyeline and turns around. She finds Dr. Al-Hashimi is observing Robby’s retreat as well. She lets her watch a moment longer and clears her throat. Al-Hashimi’s intense eyes finally turn their focus as her gaze fixes onto Trinity.
“Don’t let me keep you from your plans, Dr. Santos.”
Dismissed. Santos takes a quick inventory. Her body seems to be okay with walking away now. So she nods, does a two finger salute, and starts walking forward to her own car parked near by.
In the background, she can hear Al-Hashimi's car restart. But it stops just as quickly. Trinity unlocks her own car, drops her bag in the backseat first. With an arm on the door, she look back to assess. Damn it. Trinity starts her car, and makes her way back to spot where Al-Hashimi’s car is still parked. Santos pulls into to the empty lot by the side and notices the cab light is on in the attending's parked car. And because it has been a miserable fucking day so far, instead of knocking her window like a decent person, she sits in her car and she honks.
Through the lit window she can see she definitely jolted her attending, Dr.Al-Hashimi turns, her face deeply frowning, bordering on anger. Trinity suppresses a chuckle. Dr.Al-Hashimi quickly relaxes her face to telegraph mere displeasure instead, a professional chiding look. Trinity Santos is impressed, the only other person she knew who switched emotions that fast is her dear old mother. Trinity might have competed for nationals but her mother could win Olympics at masking distaste and turning it into polite condescension, of hiding her fear as maternal care, and one memorable time fixing her shame into the shape of anger. Lightning fast.
These childhood thoughts washed over her. The entire day had slowly chipped away at the careful wall she built between different memories. Sectioned off deliberately. But the world is porous today.
“Can I help you, Dr. Santos?”
Al-Hashimi was holding her phone and casting a reflection on her window. Santos can see a ride-sharing app open. She seems to realise it as well and dims the screen down.
“I will give you a ride, Dr. Al Hashimi. There is no Uber coming tonight of all days.”
It takes a minute for her to decide, and another to transfer her bag and bottle. Dr. Al Hashimi checks that she parked her car and locked it properly, twice. She carefully gets into Dr. Santos’s car, and opens a navigation app.
“Thanks, Trinity”
Santos just nods and pulls out of the parking spot. She drives them out of the hospital grounds and into the city, the one with the civilians, and their fireworks, and their drunken revelries. At-least an unlucky dozen would cross the boundary tonight and head back into their ED, Santos is sure of that. As the two doctors wait for the light to turn green and let them out of the PTMC's shadow, Santos' mind decides to cross another boundary.
“So, seizures?”
* * *
Baran Al-Hashimi had lived a lot of lives. She is a mother to a precocious 5 year old. She is an expert in her field. She is the custodian of patients, residents, and nurses day in and day out. But first, when she was born, she was the greatest hope and dream of two lives in exile. Her parents though of her as their little miracle. A miracle for whom time skipped and jumped – and she never knew how much she had. That was their family's legacy, Baran would think, one cold morning in Afghanistan. Our time will always be stolen away. By political coups, by terror attacks, by medical conditions. Spirit, body, mind, time abandons it all. So she learnt to live as if tomorrow might not be guaranteed. The Al-Hashimi's have to be fast, and quick, and efficient. To find a way to stretch a second to fill a minute.
So that is what Baran does. She reins back in the look of betrayal and anger from her face, she turns away from Santos, and tackles it head on.
“Dr.Santos, Dr. Robinavitch should not have been discussing that in the out and open. I hope you can extend better discretion than your mentor.” To the point - fast, quick, efficient.
“Sure Dr. Al-Hashimi. You are the boss”, and the words are bookended between a snort and sneer by the resident.
Baran reminds herself she cannot afford her justified anger tonight. Not here, not yet. She lets her mind revisit the facts that would aid her.
Dr. Santos' reputation was that of a resident who mistook commands as to be more of a suggestion, until pushed. Of not being a great team player. Of being eager. While Robbie had called her strong patient advocate, and fearless – knowing what she knows of the man now, she had to wonder what is the real version he kept from her. She continues the dialectic in her mind. On the other side is Samira’s quick assessment of Santos. The week prior to her transfer here, Baran put aside time to catch up with peers familiar with PTMC and get a lay of the land beyond the official party line from the administration. Her former VA colleague had helpfully given a quick rundown of most of the ED staff, including of one freshly minted R2.
Santos is stubborn, rushes into things. But also has good instincts, medically. And is actually quite brave.
Baran had asked only one follow-up, brave medically you mean? And Samira had a faraway look in her eye for a moment before she responded.
No. I meant as a person, Dr.Al-Hashimi. She is brave. And good to have in your corner.
Baran had been prioritising getting sense of the senior staff that day, so she didn’t spend too much time on Mohan’s statement. But now she has to wonder, what could a R1 have done to get such a strong endorsement from Mohan. Mohan was not one to exaggerate, she was actually quite economical with her praise considering the high standards she set for herself and others. But she said that unequivocally. Good to have in your corner.
Stubborn residents with defiance of authority are a small nuisance when they decided to be not in your corner. What a mess, Baran thought. She had worked in literal war-zones that still had more operational and organisational coherence than the pitt.
They were 13 minutes away from her home now. A midway point. Almost. It is a 25 minute drive and she has to lean one way or other without a true mid point, unbalanced.
“Dr. Santos my condition as is, is something I have been managing since I was 5 years old. Which means I have known how to do medical school, residency, MSF, and all my attending roles alongside it.”
Baran’s anger is slowly transforming into bone-tired sadness. How many times in her life will she have to bare her soul, un-consented. She takes a deep breath, Santos is frustratingly still and focused on driving. She pushes herself from the emotional midpoint and slightly back into anger.
“And while Dr.Robby seems to have unfamiliarity with accommodations in place exactly for this reason, and decided a parking lot is a good site to air his misplaced fears, I would recommend as a resident you would do well to err on side of caution with how you share medical information.”
Santos right turn into the lane is sharp, deliberately sharp. Baran sucks in a breath.
“Sorry”, a perfunctory utterance from the resident and she continues a moment later, “You know what Dr.Al-Hashimi, I have seen the light. I would like to be left out of this. Believe me, have enough secrets to last a lifetime or two. Whatever happens on this is between you, Robby, and...Allah I guess.”
Baran closes her eyes, she can feel a headache develop. Something cold touches arm. She opens her eyes to see Santos push a ice pack to her, insistently while her eyes remain firmly on the road. Straight ahead and not looking at her.
“I like to carry one during summers, it gets stupid hot some nights”, she says fighting through a long yawn.
An olive branch or medical care as a habit? A half-formed picture of the resident she has in her mind keeps transforming. Baran takes the pack to her forehead. She decides there is one way to capture the silhouette properly. But for that she would have to push
They are in her lane and at the end of it rests her destination. Her Home. A sanctuary. She sets aside the icepack, her head less pained.
“Thanks for tonight, I would really appreciate it I if can send you off with a hot cup of coffee.”, she turns to look at Santos' face directly. It shifts between darkness and light as they slowly drive under the street-lights. A stifled yawn leads to a nod.
* * *
Baran Al-Hashimi lived a full life. From her place in the living room, Trinity can see plenty of evidence of her full life. Pictures with friends, family. Colleagues in places familiar and far away. Degrees and Certificates of her skills. Santos lets out a whistle, impressed. And there nestled between her MSF plaque and an university degree is a child’s spelling bee participation certificate.
The wall shows a full life, filled with love, with talent, with hope. Trinity feels an ugly tendril of jealously shoot out in her mind. She tamps it down immediately. This is a familiar exercise. Happy families trigger her. She can control it very well now.
Dr. Al-Hashimi is making coffee, the good kind in the kitchen. Trinity rests her head on the back of a couch that looks like it would fit right in the middle of some fancy movie set. The grinding and hissing sounds finally cease. She gets up and walks towards the kitchen. It is better to catch your opponent unexpected, another good lesson from her training days.
Dr. Al-Hashimi is placing a cup with steam rising out of it onto a serving tray, a small pack of cookies on the side, and another mug with a tea bag in it. She is focused on the task, efficient movements. Santos waits until her hands are free of the hot beverages and moves fully into her line of sight.
She gets a quick lift of head and a sharp gaze. Yeah, a friendly attack over a hot beverage alright.
“So Dr. Al-Hashimi, what’s on your mind”, she prompts as she takes the cup out of the tray and takes a sip. One thing about Trinity is, if her body decides there is not threat then her mind chooses to be the asshole who goes on offensive first.
Baran chuckles. As if she being this surprised warrants a chuckle. One time, Trinity was surprised by Dennis walking behind her and he almost got a punch to his stupid farm-boy face. Different strokes.
Baran removes the tea bag from her mug, walks towards the sink in the back and disposes it. She leans by the sink for a second. Distance, smart.
“Can I ask, What is the actual nature of the disagreement between you and Dr. Langdon?”
Trinity stills. Al-Hashimi is asking her this, in the middle of her fancy kitchen. As if this is a nice conversation over biscuits and tea. As if this isn’t an interrogation. Or a crucible to get a measure of the soul of one Trinity Santos. Because that is what a clever woman like Baran Al-Hashimi is actually asking, what kind of threat are you resident doctor Trinity Santos. And Trinity is fucking furious kind of threat right now.
“Oh I don’t know Dr.Al, What did Langdon tell you?”, she takes a sip, the coffee tastes like ash in her mouth.
Dr.Al-Hashimi moves back to the table, takes a languid sip of tea.
“I am not asking him, I am asking you”, she says all collegial. Trinity seethes. But underneath it all, a small wisp of fear tickles at back of trinity's dark mind.
“Ah but you must have asked him first, or asked Robby. Am I wrong?”, she pushes. That’s all she can do.
Baran Al-Hashimi sighs, as if this is taking a lot out of her. Trinity is the one about to bleed, and her attending is the one sighing.
“I worry they gave me a partial picture. But Robby informed me that,” a brief pause, “that you were responsible for reporting Langdon.”
Fucking Robby. Fucking Langdon.
“I guess that must be that, Dr. Al. No one tells me much else, I just say Aye Aye and be on my way”, she says all blase. Santos is getting tired of this conversation already.
“Hmm,” Dr Al-Hashimi holds her gaze in the intense way she is known to, “Tomorrow I would put things in place, and inform Shen & Abbot as well. You would not be directly supervised by Langdon, it would be others like Mohan or us attendings.”
Santos who had an angry quip on the ready, who had the 'seizure secret' locked and loaded, is unprepared for this. This kindness, or what appears to be so. Baran has more to say.
“And while it won’t be official it would be implemented. Even if I am around or not. That much I can do, Dr. Santos”, she nods and goes back to drinking her tea.
And Trinity, re-calibrates. Hard, Fast.
“And it won’t be official because you are planning on telling no one else?”, she probes, she needs clarity. She needs solid ground to land on.
Baran Al-Hashimi speaks precisely, each word chosen carefully. And this time, she spoke it to deliver full honesty.
“I haven’t decided yet. I did not have time to even process it all fully. But as of now, all I can say is that Dr. Robby had put us all in a very difficult position with his choices on this. He endangered, well he gambled a lot and it was not his to gamble. As much as it pains me, I probably will have to accept that I cannot pursue this further, I cannot hurt the pitt.”
And that is the truth of it all. The solid truth. It doesn’t matter what Santos wants, it doesn’t matter what Baran wants, hell it doesn’t even matter what Langdon wants. Robby had tied all their wants into a bundle and attached a trigger to it. You want to unlock it, you blow up Robby, and Pitt with it. Fucking aces, old man.
Trinity's fear and jealousy have long receded, and the storm in her mind cleared, she is left to examine the picture actually in-front of her. She glances at Dr. Al-Hashimi. This was her day 1. Trinity feels an overwhelming sense of sadness. This was her first day as attending, Jesus. With great clarity, she sees it. Her dedication, her struggles, her bravery. She had the worst day of her life and here she is doing something good for her rude resident. Alright then.
“I am going to tell you the actual nature of it, okay? And am not sharing this because I want you do something, I need you to understand that. I want you to hear me, because sometimes you lot don’t. I am not saying this to make you do something. I am going to tell you because I know there is absolutely nothing else to be done,” she waits for a nod from Baran.
And she tells her. She tells her about her first day. About Langdon stealing pills from the jovial drunk. About Langdon diluting meds. About Langdon playing russian roulette with patient medication, a seizure patient. She tells her about Langdon’s outburst and using her as a emotional punching bag. She tells her about his attempts to distance her from the attending. About planting narrative about her being a stubborn, non-team player with her heart not even in the Emergency medicine. She tells her all the important lies, and all the impotent truths. And then she is empty. Unburdened, weightless like she can float away.
Dr.Al-Hashimi utters a quite fuck, and then rests her palm on Trinity's clenched ones. With the tender weight of a single calloused palm, Trinity is grounded.
“I do not know what will happen on Monday, I have a good shot at getting the admin to do double coverage but I admit, as much as he antagonises them, Robby has a lot of clout as well. Built on years of competence and his singular dedication to the ED. So it is a gamble. But tomorrow, I will make sure that irrespective of it the accommodations I create for you around Langdon will remain in place. I think that is something I can do, Dr.Santos. That is something someone should have done for you Trinity. And I am sorry they didn’t. I am so sorry.”
Well, there is nothing say to that, is there.
They finish their drinks, and Santos walks out. On her drive back she thinks of all those achievements of Al-Hashimi, and of memories overflowing on that wall. She did live a full life, but seems she also lived a honourable one.
* * *
Baran watches her drive away, and then moves from the window. She heads back to the kitchen to put the empty cups in the sink. She takes a shower, picks up a book. And hopes.
She hopes she has not read Santos wrong. That unlike her mentor, Santos would let Baran handle her life on her own terms. She then lets herself feel the anger. Anger at her body for betraying her today. Anger at Robby for taking her vulnerability and attacking her. Anger for Santos, for the young woman who had to carry this injustice for a year. And let's herself feel it for a moment, and then, she let’s it all go.
She decides she will sleep in Azar’s room tonight. She is slowly making her way across the corridor, and she considers one last thing. Everything she learnt about Santos will mean she will do one of two extreme choices – she will either keep the seizures a secret forever like she did with Langdon's, or she will immediately raise concerns around patient safety also like she did with Langdon. She will know in a day or two. Irrespective, Baran will fight - for her career, for her dreams, and for the dignity she is owed. She always did. She slowly rests on Azar’s bed, hugging his favourite plushie. She thinks of her life, all the good in it, and all that is worth fighting for - and she sleeps. Little did she know Santos had a third option and would detonate it come morning.
* * *
Robby is already seated at the cafe by the time Santos rushes through the door. She had her alarm set for her usual time forgetting she has this a whole hour earlier. The city is just waking up. Trinity’s body is buzzing already.
“What can I buy you, Dr. Robby,” she asks as she places her work bag besides the empty seat.
Robbie pushes a cup towards her, he had already ordered two black coffees. Okay then. She sits down.
“This is a very unusual request, Santos”
“But something you probably knew was coming since last night,” Trinity leaves the cup untouched and instead pushes her arms into the pockets of her jacket.
“Yeah, I suspected,” and then he does that Robby stare, the one where he is trying to get you to focus on what he is going to say next that is meant to put matters to rest, “Santos, whatever me and Dr.Al were discussing has nothing to do with you, okay?”
Santos nods, and then her shoulders relax.
“You love the pitt, Dr.Robby. You really do. I don’t love it. But I loved another place just as much. The gymnast floor. I loved it a lot, I think as much as you loved the pitt.” She has his attention. Okay.
Robby gets that delightfully surprised look that he gets when an interesting person accidentally walks into the ED
“Shit, really? How good were you?,” he asks.
Santos smiles, he asked how good was she, not were you any good.
“Yeah, I was good, really good. So I get it, Dr.Robby. And I think Dr. Al-Hashimi doesn’t love the pitt.”
Robbie exhales and does that dark chuckle of his, “yeah”
Trinity nods in sympathy and continues.
“She doesn’t love the pitt, Dr. Robby but she would do good. Actually No, she doesn’t love the pitt AND she would be good for it. Do you get it?,” She is rushing now, she can feel her words getting faster and hushed at the same time. “Not all that passes for love does good, Robby. You know right? So let Dr.Al-Hashimi be in the pitt even if she doesn't love it, because she doesn't love it like you do.”
“What the heck are you saying Santos?,” his voice is a little loud, a little confused.
“I am saying I don’t love the pitt, I can just go and tell the right folks the entire Langdon situation. I don’t care either way. But you do. So the two of us, can finish our coffees and just walk away. And do nothing, the two of us. And let Al-Hashimi do her thing at pitt. Let her do good.”
When she was at the height of her gymnastics career, she would be hurtling up in the air, making her body shoot this way and that way. Her body, her mind, her spirit, were a precision weapon. And she would shoot down competitors. She would cut past bigoted judges. And blast away all doubts her parents had. She felt her life was powerful. In a year she would realise, between therapist appointments on beige coloured couches, and grey skies on funeral days, and with the sounds of a gavel – her life is a loaded gun with power to kill.
She can see the moment she lost Robby. The fondness in his eyes dies. Whatever weight of the world he carries it doubled, she tied a cement block to his feet. She has this intense urge to hug him and say, but don’t worry Robby there is a tiny scalpel that touches my legs that matches the weight on yours. She remains seated, she remains spent. She is relaxed, like a firing pin that has done it's job and can now relax with no tension.
“Fuck Santos”, he stands up angrily and then resigns himself. His head does the thing where he shakes no for a bit and finally a nod of yes. And he walks off.
Santos sits there for a moment longer, and grabs a bagel to go. She bites into it as she crosses the road to head back to the bounds of the ED. She catches a glimpse of Al-Hashimi ahead of her. She slowly clenches her hands. Her mind is screaming at her on loop, what did you do, what did you do. But her body is steady, and calm. She shoots forward and into the chaos of the pitt.