Comfort Zone

Chapter 1-Early summer

"I lost my oxycodone," Miriam's last patient said. "I opened the bottle in the bathroom and the pills fell in the toilet. Can you replace it, Dr. Gotlin? The pain is so bad."

"Did you lose your blood pressure pills too?" she asked. "Or your diabetes medicine?"

"No, just the oxycodone."

The man had been under Miriam's care for years, having followed her from a prior practice. One of the few patients she called by his first name, Angel.

I can't believe his parents named him Angel. They must've had a great sense of humor.

Miriam forced her jaw to relax, and patiently explained what Angel already knew: oxycodone was a potent narcotic, a controlled substance. Using and prescribing it required a delicate balancing act, because it was a double edged sword—effective for pain but also potentially dangerous—and it couldn't be easily replaced if lost or given to a family member or friend. But just this once...

After he left, weary office staff at his heels, Miriam tackled her notes, shrinking the conversations, exams and decisions of the day into concise and tidy computerized entries. She was determined to finish all the check-off boxes and other tasks before leaving the office, thus avoiding another midnight tryst with her electronic health record.

She reached into a bottom drawer for a snack to last her through hospital rounds, wanting something sweet and satisfying, but also loaded with nutrients and low in calories. Her hand found a bag of gummy bears and she gobbled it down. It was definitely not the sort of snack she counseled her patients to eat.

Ignoring her still-growling stomach, Miriam gathered her things and navigated the path from her office building to Miami Health hospital. Within minutes, she was sweeping past the ornate plaques that lined the walls of the hospital corridors.

The plaques gave the hall a solemn, funereal tone, which would hardly be the feeling you'd want to inspire in a hospital except everyone knew it was all about money. Bigger plaque, better location, greater sum of money.

"In honor of my wonderful doctors." That was a patient who knew which side his bread was buttered on, she thought, though it was even smarter to honor your nurses. They were the ones who had your back 24/7.

"With endless love and devotion to my wife." A husband with a guilty conscience. Her thoughts shot to her ex until she jerked them back.

"A life well lived, taken from us much too soon," she read. Sure hope the hospital wasn't responsible or they'll be paying a lot more than the cost of the plaque.

Once in the elevator, Miriam watched a family rush out on the fourth floor, pink and blue balloons trailing in their wake. The doors closed on the sound of laughter, and she was left alone with her thoughts.

Fourth floor people are the lucky ones, she decided. Women with huge bellies and nervous looking men in tow, doctor hurrying to deliveries, and light-hearted, gift-laden visitors. People filled with hope, which at least temporarily crowded out their darker emotions.

She, on the other hand, was heading upstairs to the intensive care unit, where at best her patient would survive and learn to cope with more losses.

I'm definitely working the wrong floors, Miriam thought as she exited on the fifth.

"You're here late, doc." One of the social workers joined her, high heels clicking on the polished floor.

"Glad to have company," Miriam smiled, unable to resist a quick glance down at her own no-nonsense flats.