A Rush of Blood to the Head

Stubborn

John's lengthy fingers pushed down on a patient's distended abdomen — a patient who groaned each time he did it. He couldn't help but cringe and shift his weight along with her. Not out of sympathy — although he did care in great excess — but out of his pain. It was a cross between hunger pangs and some other sensation he couldn't quite make out. He could feel a wave of heat, washing over his upper body. There was no hiding his flushed face.

"You alright, Doctor?" asked Haleh.

Through his jitters and mildly elevated breathing, he managed to nod. "I'm okay. Just need to– Is anyone else hot?"

Both Haleh and the patient shook their heads.

Great. Just me then. "Okay, Miss De Mayo, looks like you don't need surgery after all. I think all you have is some trapped wind. We're going to give you some–" With all the fog in his head, his thoughts trailed off. He froze. He hadn't been like this since his first few days here.

"Simethicone?" Haleh jumped in.

"Yes, Haleh. I was getting to it, thank you," he snapped at her. Very unlike him. He breathed deep, then spoke in a relaxed tone. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. Miss De Mayo, we're going to start you on simethicone. It's gonna break down the gas to help you pass it."

Haleh began taking notes. "How much?"

He shifted his blank gaze to the nurse. Her words were like gibberish to him. "Pardon?"

"How many milligrams?"

"Oh! Uh, one-twenty-five."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

She gave him a curt nod and walked past him.

"Wait!" He reached for Haleh, stopping her in her tracks. "Ninety-five."

"Ninety-five?" she echoed, making certain he had it right. "You're sure this time?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, his voice rushed and breaking.

"I was talking about the medication, but good to know, Doctor Carter," she retorted and left.

John offered one of those smiles meant to conceal disdain, even though she had her back to him. "I meant ninety-five, but, yes, I am fine!" he yelled out to her. He glanced over at his patient, who was just staring expectantly at him. A genuine smile then formed on his face but went just as quickly as he produced it. "She'll be back with the meds. Excuse me."

He hurriedly made his way through empty exam rooms and bustling hallways, searching for an ultrasound machine. Finally, he found one up against the wall, beside a crash cart. He wheeled it in, walking backwards into a vacant room.

After peeling off his coat and tossing in on to a bed tray, he hastened to situate himself on the bed and hiked up his shirt.

He eyed the machine with perplexity. "How do you use this thing?" he muttered to no-one but himself. It was his first time.

Doug Ross passed by at that moment, briefly looked into the room but not entirely noticing what was going on inside of it, at first. He stopped, wheeled around and entered. "Carter?"

He cast only the slightest of glances to him before returning to what he was doing. "Oh, hey."

"What are you doing here?"

"Self-exam. What does it look like?" he replied, nervous laughter tucked into the nooks and crannies of his words. He squeezed more gel on himself than he needed and grimaced at Doug.

He was going to reprimand him for leaving the ICU, but he could tell something had him frazzled. He moved closer. "Here, let me do it. What's going on?"