Griffin

The sterile scent of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of machines hang in the air as I stride purposefully through the bustling hospital corridors. I’ve been working at Mercy Hospital for almost six years, and I’m the lead doc in the emergency room on my shift again today. Burnout is high here because once our shifts start, we run like crazy. Sometimes, people think I got here because my family is one of the wealthiest in Canada, but I work hard, and I’m very good at my job. I also never let anyone forget who’s in charge.

It’s been a long three days on this rotation. I started the week on New Year’s Eve, and it’s been extra nuts. The holidays always seem to bring people to the emergency room.

“Dr. Martin?” Nurse Shelly Sabel, the NIC or nurse in charge this shift, calls for my attention. “We’ve got a patient presenting with severe abdominal pain and a high fever. Blood tests are inconclusive so far.” Her voice is barely audible above the cacophony of noise in the ED.

I flip through the chart she hands me, and the slightly elevated numbers in the blood draw give me pause. “Prepare them for a CT scan immediately,” I reply, not sparing her a glance as I continue on my way to the next patient. “I’ll review the results myself.”

I pull back the curtain in the next examination area, and I’m met by two new “white coats,” as we call them, who are visibly anxious in my presence. They have every right to be. They’re residents, and I can cut them from the program if they don’t perform. I’ve done it many times before.

“Report,” I demand, my gaze fixed on the patient lying on the gurney.

“Male, late forties,” one of the junior doctors begins, stuttering slightly. “Came in complaining of dizziness and shortness of breath. BP is elevated, EKG is showing some abnormalities, but—”

“Cardiac tamponade,” I interject, my eyes narrowing on the patient’s distended neck veins and mottled complexion. “Call surgical and get him prepped for pericardiocentesis. Now .”

As the two doctors scurry off to follow my orders, I’m ready for my next case. During my twelve-hour shift, I’ll see almost seventy patients. This isn’t a job where we sit back and rest. We run from the minute we get here until we go home.

“Dr. Martin,” Eleanor Thompson, the head of the department, approaches me with a warm smile. She was in my brother Davis’s graduating class at med school and is three years ahead of me. She’s climbed the ladder quickly, but she has no life. “That was impressive. Good catch.”

“Just doing my job, Eleanor,” I reply tersely, avoiding eye contact. “There’s no substitute for it.” She and I have been going round and round about how things should be run here in the emergency department—ED for short. We don’t agree. She wants us to be super friendly and get to know our patients. But I disagree. That’s the job of their general practitioner. In the ED, it’s an emergency, so we need to cut to the chase. The lines are long, and people just want to know what’s wrong and get it taken care of. They don’t care if I know they have four kids and three grandchildren or that they’re in fourth grade at one of the local elementary schools. No, they want an excellent doctor who moves everyone along, and that’s what I am.

“Experience helps, but don’t forget that there’s more to being a doctor than just making diagnoses and farming the patient off to a surgeon,” she says gently, her blonde highlights reflecting the fluorescent lights above. “Compassion and empathy are just as important.”

“Perhaps,” I concede, although my icy demeanor remains unchanged.

I have trouble listening to Eleanor’s perspective on anything because we disagree so much. Her rule barring dating among ED staff goes above and beyond the hospital’s policy, and that seems excessive to me. I understand that the last thing we need in the ED is more drama or distractions, but sometimes, what happens between coworkers is more letting off steam than actually dating. And when we spend thirty-six hours a week here, it doesn’t leave much opportunity to meet people other places.

Whatever. I’ve dated a few women from the hospital, but not anymore. Though not because of anything Eleanor says. It just seems best for me.

The shrill sound of an ambulance siren pierces the air, announcing yet another trauma case. A few moments later, I watch as paramedics wheel in a young man on a stretcher, his face contorted in pain and blood oozing from a deep gash on his forehead.

I pull on rubber gloves. “What have we got?”

“No driver’s license, and the guy drove his car into one of the old oaks on West Twelfth Avenue,” the paramedic says. “Jaws of life got him out of his car. He’s inebriated. Blood alcohol two-fifty.”

Jeez. How is this guy alive?

“I needta get hoooome,” the patient slurs.

Ignoring him, I check his eyes. They’re dilated, and he smells of beer and tequila. “What’s your name?”

“Wiiiillllson.” His eyes close.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” I ask as I run my hands over his limbs and torso, watching his face for reaction to any pain. Nothing.

He opens his eyes but isn’t focusing. “Nooo.”

I’m not sure he’d feel anything at this point regardless. “Okay.” I turn to my staff. “Let’s cut his clothes off and see how he looks.”

Nurse Kate Campbell hooks up an IV while Nurse Tori Marston begins cutting off his clothes, announcing the injuries she uncovers. “Swollen left knee, will need ortho to look at it. Significant hematoma on the left hip.”

I notice that his stomach is beginning to distend. I feel it, and it’s firm. “Okay, let’s get this guy up to surgery ASAP. Internal bleeding.”

Nurse Marston steps away to alert surgery that we’re sending him up.

As he’s rolled out of the room, I’m grateful that all he did was injure a tree. How someone let him get behind the wheel will be up to the police to figure out. They’re already standing at the door, ready to arrest him when he’s alert enough.

“Dr. Martin?” a timid voice calls from behind me. It’s a young nurse, new to the hospital, her hands shaking slightly as she holds a syringe filled with medication.

“I’m unable to read your writing for the morphine for the patient in curtain four. Is this correct?” she asks, her eyes darting between my face and the syringe in her hand.

“Give it here,” I say, my voice cold as I snatch the syringe from her hands and walk over to the poor woman moaning in pain. I check to make sure we have the proper dosage before administering the medication myself. The nurse watches, a mix of awe and fear in her eyes.

“Next time, ask one of the nurses if you can’t read my writing. You don’t have to come to me,” I snap, turning back to the patient.

“Y-yes, Dr. Martin,” she stammers, retreating.

My reputation for control and precision has earned me both respect and unease from my colleagues. When it comes to saving lives, there’s no one better than me, Dr. Griffin Martin. So, they refer to me by my title, keeping their distance lest they incur my wrath or disappoint me with their inadequacy.

“CT results on your car crash victim are in, Dr. Martin,” Nurse Marston announces, pointing to my computer.

If it seems too urgent and he won’t make it upstairs, it’ll be up to me to do the surgery here. Dr. Mitchell is competent. But I’m better. I study the images, calculating the best course of action, aware of the eyes on me—watching, waiting for my decision. “Make sure these go up with the patient,” I tell her. “His spleen has ruptured.”

My gaze shifts from the CT scans to Eleanor, who stands nearby with a concerned expression. I can see the unspoken question in her eyes. Is this about more than just the patient? The realization that she’s seen through my fa?ade irritates me. Showing weakness would only undermine my authority, and I can’t afford that.

“Dr. Mitchell,” I say curtly when he appears from upstairs. I hand him the computer with the patient’s chart. “Looks like the surgery is all yours. I have another case to attend to.”

“Very well, Dr. Martin,” he replies, his voice steady despite the surprise on his face.

“What an ass,” I hear one nurse say.

The corners of my mouth turn up. “I’d rather be an asshole than a whole ass,” I say loudly.

“Dr. Martin,” Nurse Marston calls softly as she approaches. “There’s a patient in room twelve asking for you.”

Tori Marston is one of the newer nurses. She’s been on my team for the last three months, though she’s been at the hospital for a while, I think. She was in the temp pool before she moved to the ED. Once I saw how she worked, I wanted her for my team. She’s bright, beautiful, and good at her job. The last bit being most important.

“Is it urgent?” I ask, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

“No, but…she’s scared, Dr. Martin. I think she could use some reassurance.”

I hesitate, my jaw tightening. I don’t have time for this. “That’s your job,” I say coldly, brushing past her without another word. I can’t make time to care about a patient’s disappointment or their fears. My job is to triage and send them on their way.

“Dr. Martin, she asked for you specifically,” she hollers after me.

I pull the chart from my computer and look at who this is. Elizabeth Montgomery. She’s a friend of my mother’s. I sigh. I suppose that’s different. “I’ll go talk to her.”

Nurse Marston gives me a single nod, and I walk down the corridor to room twelve.

“Mrs. Montgomery. What are you doing in my ED?”

She gives me a tight smile. I can tell from her chart she’s been having a tough time. Her heart is slowly failing, and no matter how much money she has or how good a person she is, there’s no way to cheat death. “Griffin, I’m so happy to see you.”

I reach for her hand and pull her in for a hug. “Where is Dina? Is she coming?” Aldina is her daughter. She’s the same age as my oldest brother and is married to some poor schmuck.

“I didn’t want to bother her. She’s busy.”

I flip through the pages of her file on my computer screen. “What brings you in today?”

“I was really tired, which isn’t usually me.”

I nod. “Your blood pressure is low. What meds are you on?”

“That pretty nurse put them in my chart.”

I look at the medication tab, and sure enough, Tori was on it.

“I think we need to get Dr. Frost down here.” Benjamin Frost is her cardiologist. He’s the best in the city and probably all of western Canada.

Mrs. Montgomery gives me an irritated smile.

“What is it?” I reach for her arm and give it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m ready to die,” she says.

I sigh. “Betsy, how am I going to explain that to my mother?”

She can’t look at me.

I take her hand. “Growing old sucks. I know that, but it isn’t your time yet.”

“Says you,” she says, her voice laced with anger.

I nod. “Yes, says me. I think we need to call Dr. Frost. He’s fantastic. The best in the entire province, except for my brother, but he just works in pediatric cardiology.”

She holds on to my hand tightly. “I want something to put me to sleep, permanently.”

I shake my head. “I can’t do that.” I sit down on the edge of her bed. “You know you’re in one of my first memories.”

She tilts her head to look at me.

“You came over to meet with my mom about one of the fundraisers you’re always doing. You had on the most beautiful emerald-green dress, though when I looked at it from the side, it was black.”

She smiles. “I know exactly the dress you’re talking about. That was vintage Chanel. I can still fit in that dress, you know.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

She gets to talking, and when I look up a little while later, Dr. Frost pulls the curtain back. “What is my favorite patient doing here in the emergency room?”

“I was tired,” Mrs. Montgomery answers.

He looks at her chart. “Well, I can see why. Let’s get you some pep in a bottle. I’ll be right back.”

He steps out.

“It looks like you’re in good hands,” I assure her. “I’m going to call Dina, so she knows where you are, and my bet is you’ll get a room upstairs tonight. I promise to stop by before I go home.”

She reaches for me. “Thank you, Griffin.”

I kiss her on the forehead. “Any time.”

I walk out to find her doctor waiting for me.

“Thank you,” he says.

I nod. “She’s tired of feeling tired.”

“I’ll get her covered.”

“I’ll call her daughter and let her know. And I’ll call in the cavalry, so she feels better.”

“Thanks.”

He disappears down the hall, and I walk down to the nurses’ station, feeling the walls of the emergency room close in on me a little as I review the new files. While I was helping Mrs. Montgomery, we had a flood of patients arrive.

Nurse Marston scurries past, and when I call to her, she stops and comes over. “I assume you were behind calling Dr. Frost?”

She nods.

“Next time, wait until I give you the go ahead.” She has an unnerving sense of what I’m going to ask for, but she can’t decide to run the show on her own. I’ve got to stay in charge. It’s important to maintain order and accountability.

She nods and quickly steps away.

I sigh and call Dina, letting her know about her mother.

“Oh, Griffin, thank you,” she says. “She has been in this funk. I can’t get her out of it.”

“Let me call my mom, and at the end of my shift, I’ll stop by her room.”

“I think she’d like that. She’s struggled so much since my dad passed last year. I think she just wants to be with him, playing tennis in heaven.”

I text my mom, asking her to come by to visit with Betsy. In seconds, she responds that she will.

I look up as Leo Gallagher, a paramedic, enters the ED with a new patient, trying to crack jokes to lighten the heavy mood. As he wheels the stretcher past me, my gaze remains fixed on my paperwork, making no attempt to acknowledge him. There’s always something to be done around here, and I don’t have time for fun at work.

“Dr. Martin?” Nurse Marston says, catching my attention. “Mrs. Ramirez in curtain eight is concerned about her test results. She’d like to speak with you.”

“I’ll send Dr. Thompson,” I reply.

“Griffin, don’t you think—” she starts, but I cut her off.

“Dr. Martin,” I correct sharply, finally looking up to meet her bright eyes. “And it’s not up for discussion.” The hurt on her face is evident, but I push the guilt aside and return my focus to the files in front of me. I don’t have time to make nice. I gave Mrs. Ramirez her test results. That’s the information she needs. If there’s something else, she can speak to Eleanor, who actually wants to bond with the patients. I’ve wasted enough time with Mrs. Montgomery already. There was no way out of that one.

“Dr. Martin,” Nurse Nina Jacobs chimes in, her voice a mixture of annoyance and concern. “You’ve been on shift for almost eight hours without a break. You should at least grab something to eat.”

“Thank you for your input, Nurse Jacobs,” I say coldly, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of managing my own schedule.” My team can’t take a break if I’m not taking a break, and there are too many people here today for everyone to go get lunch. That’s the job, and if people don’t like it, they can transfer somewhere else.

As I continue to comb through the files, I can feel the tension in the room thickening. I know my behavior drives a wedge between me and my colleagues, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay to maintain control. Feelings don’t help me in the ED, and vulnerability is weakness. There’s no room for weakness in my life.

I move down the hallway to check that all my patients have been sent where they need to go, passing a distraught young woman at her mother’s bedside. The older woman’s face is pale and drawn beneath an oxygen mask.

“Excuse me, doctor,” the girl pleads, her voice breaking. “Can you please tell me if my mom’s going to be okay?”

I hesitate for a moment, then continue past her without breaking stride. “I’m not your mother’s attending physician,” I reply curtly, avoiding her gaze. I can’t step on someone else’s patient.

As I approach the nurses’ station, I hear murmurs of concern.

“That family could really use some reassurance,” Nurse Marston says.

“She’s Dr. Thompson’s patient, and I won’t step on her toes.” I turn away, dismissing her concern, as my thoughts churn.

“Thank you, but sometimes a little compassion can go a long way,” Dr. Thompson counters, appearing from nowhere. “Your medical expertise is unparalleled, but we’re dealing with human beings here.”

“Thank you for your input,” I respond flatly. “She’s your patient.”

Forcing myself to focus on the task at hand, I pick up a computer and find my next patient’s medical history front and center. My eyes skim the lines of text, my mind processing with lightning speed. My brow furrows. It’s pretty standard. The boy is eleven years old and has a spiral fracture.

“Should I call Child Services?” she asks.

Normally, that’s what I would recommend, given that this is his third trip to the emergency room in less than six months. But she asked before I said anything. She’s so receptive. Damn it. Now, I need to call myself. “I’ll handle it,” I tell her.

I page the attending social worker and look over at Nurse Kate Campbell, who is hitting on Leo, the paramedic. No surprise there. “When the social worker calls, give him the update on the boy behind curtain two. I’ll send him over to ortho to a get cast, but I need him here quickly. This is his third visit in less than six months, and I have a feeling once we bring it up, they’re going to run.”

“Why can’t Nurse Marston do that?” Kate whines.

“Because I’ve asked you.”

As I walk away, I can’t silence the nagging feeling that Nurse Marston may be a force I’m not used to reckoning with. She’s quick and efficient, and that should be a strength. That’s why I brought her to my team. Yet she somehow makes me feel out of control, like I have to keep her in check. It’s ridiculous, and I don’t like the distraction. In the demanding world of emergency medicine, there’s no room for weakness, and I’m determined to remain strong.

The hospital lights cast an eerie glow over the empty hallway as I walk to the break room. The rhythmic tapping of my shoes against the linoleum floor echoes through the corridor, announcing my presence long before I arrive. As I approach, faint whispers and laughter emanate from within, only to be silenced as the door swings open.

“Dr. Martin,” a young nurse stammers, her eyes wide as she hides a half-eaten sandwich behind her back.

“Carry on,” I say curtly, avoiding unnecessary eye contact. My colleagues quickly return to their tasks, their movements tense and deliberate now that I’m here to observe. Conversation resumes in hushed tones, no one daring to raise their voices or address me directly—unless it’s absolutely crucial.

“Griffin, have you seen the latest test results for Mrs. Johnson in curtain twelve?” Eleanor asks as I make myself a coffee.

I take the printed pages from her and review quickly before tossing them onto the table. “Yes, I’ve made the necessary adjustments to her treatment plan.”

“Would you like some input?” Dr. Kent Johns asks, his voice laced with a subtle challenge. Kent is another physician on my rotation. He’s good, and he’s in a similar position to mine. His father is the chief medical officer of the hospital, so he walks a tight line. His sister is also a pediatrician here.

“Thank you, but I’m more than capable of handling it,” I reply, turning away and walking towards the door, coffee in hand. I can feel the weight of their collective gaze on my back, a mixture of fear and disdain that’s become all too familiar.

I ignore them all. I’m not here to make friends. I have patients to see and people to heal.