You Can Let It Go [ZARRY]

Two

Zayn:

At seven in the morning, shift over, I threw on my black leather jacket and headed out of the nurse’s breakroom.

Dr. Figueroa was waiting. She reminded me of Holly Hunter:  small, smart, with dark eyes and brown hair cut in a razor straight line at her shoulders and bangs. At 5’9” I towered over her by almost half a foot, but she seemed tall and imposing.

“Want to tell me about it?” she asked. “How hard it’s been for you?”

“Not really, ” I said with a rueful smile. “Growing pains. I’ll get used to it.”

She pursed her lips and we both stopped walking as I realized what I’d said.

“Get used to kids dying in my arms. God.” I shook my head and rubbed my burning eyes that stung with new tears.

“Come on, ” she said. “Let’s get a coffee Down in the cafeteria, the doctor sat across from me, two steaming cups between us on the table.

“I’ve worked here for twenty-seven years,
” she said. “I know your type.”

“My type?” I asked, my hackles starting to rise, but I was too tired to be offended.

“Empathetic. Wanting to help everyone to your own detriment.”

“No, I—”

“You covered for Nurse Gabrielle on Monday?”

“She had an emergency. And we’re shorthanded. That’s not news.”

“You covered for her this week, Peter last week, and Michaela two nights ago. When was your last day off?”

“I don’t know,” I said, thinking through a fog of exhaustion and the cacophony of my brain constantly screaming at me that I needed to be asleep when the sun went down, not the other way around.

Dr. Figueroa was staring at me pointedly.

“No, you’re right,” I said. “I’ll take my time off. I need it. It’s irresponsible not to.”

“It’s not just that. You came highly recommended out of UCSF. You’re brilliant at your job. I’d hate to lose you.”

“Lose me?” My heart slammed against my chest and now I was awake. “Are you firing me?”

“No,” she said. “But I need you to be honest with me, Zayn. You can be the best nurse in the world but if it’s too much,it’s too much.” She put a hand on my arm.

“And I think, for someone like you, it’s too much.”

“It’s not—”

“You have a huge heart. A genuine kindness. And it’s sucking in every bit of misery that comes through those doors every night and not letting go. Right?”

I turned my coffee cup around in circles. “It’s hard. There’s so much pain.”

“There is. But the desire to help alleviate that pain can’t generate more pain for you.”

I started to protest but then imagined a year in the ER. Five. Ten. Hell, I was already dreading next week.

“I wanted this so bad and now it seems I can’t hack it.”

“You might,” Dr. Figueroa said. “But I think you could use some time to evaluate.”

“I can’t take time. I have to work. I need to find a place to live. I need to. . .”
Beg my parents to take me back as their son.

“I know you do, ” Dr. Figueroa said. “Dr. Archie Webb, a neurologist, is a friend of mine. One of his patients is very high profile, if you catch my drift.” She rubbed her thumb over the pads of her first and second fingers.