Comfort Zone

Chapter 12

The next morning Miriam pushed herself out of bed at six and raced through her routine, trying as usual to make it on time to the 7:30 meeting, though she never did.

She blasted the AC in her car on the way to the hospital, attempting to annihilate the steam-room hot and humid July weather. In the distance, sounds of thunder hinted at a later deluge. Typical July day.

Besides fireworks on the fourth, the only good thing about the month for Miriam was that the new interns, the doctors who had just graduated medical school, came on service. And though the general belief was that the death rate picked up every year at that time ("never get sick in July" was the rule), it meant there were all these earnest, terrified, awestruck young people walking around the hospital, and you could catch them before their faces became cynical and weary, before the necessity of seeing more patients and doing more tasks than humans are wired to do got to them and ruined their joy. In short, before they got burnt out.

Miriam quickly swiped the box at the entrance to the doctors' parking lot. It flashed a green "accept" and the arm lifted to let her car in. Sometimes it misread the card and flashed a sad, red "reject."

Then there was the time she didn't finish her medical records, and administration temporarily revoked her privileges until the paperwork was complete. She'd been rejected at every checkpoint that day.

She secretly loved the exclusive parking lot, and the private doctors' lounge and elevator. When the swipe box flashed green, she felt like royalty. All her life she'd insisted that no one deserved special treatment, but here she discovered the thrill of being accepted into a privileged society. She would admit to no one how she loved the little elite elevator, and how annoyed she felt when it was broken and she had to use the common one, or when someone unauthorized was using it (having borrowed someone else's badge).

The doctors' lounge was a refuge complete with the cleanest bathrooms, a big TV, and free coffee and bagels. Others grumbled of the excellent food and snacks available at competing hospitals, but she didn't mind the simple fare.

There'd be no time for a coffee stop today, though.

The parking lot had arrows etched into the concrete indicating one way traffic, but Miriam drove against the arrow in order to save time snagging a better spot, preferably one away from the prying eyes of a security camera. What if she had a meltdown, raided the vending machines and wanted to stuff the sweets down in the privacy of her car? No way did she want to end up on YouTube with powdered sugar on her face, the clip superimposed on the video she'd once made on healthy eating.

Careful. She went around the bend, her view partially blocked by a Lexus SUV.

Oops, there's a car. Plenty of room to avoid it though, she thought, automatically smiling out the window at the other driver while swerving away from--

Oh shit. The head of medicine, Dr. Truman, was staring right at her. A brilliant man of few words but many scathing looks, one of which was directed at her through his window. Don't let him recognize me, she pleaded, knowing it was in vain. He'd seen her face many times, and he was known for his superb memory. Miriam could almost hear him say in his precise, aloof way, "It's one way only, Dr. Gotlin, the arrows are clearly marked."

She ran from the garage to the conference room, avoiding still another collision, this time with a group of ibises pecking for food in a patch of grass. Miriam had heard that the bird was a symbol of both danger and optimism: the last to seek shelter before a hurricane, and the first to emerge after.

She slid into the only empty chair, and pulled her hair off her sweaty neck, embarrassed because everyone else in the committee was already seated around the horseshoe-shaped table. Someone slid over the sign-in sheet. Nearly two dozen faces stared at her, belonging to all kinds of health care workers, legal types, and the clergy. They all looked ridiculously awake for the hour. She had no idea how they did it. These were surgeon hours. Morning people and surgeons seemed to her like another species entirely.