Someone Like You

Chapter 4 - Scrotal Laceration

The next few days seemed to pass by in a blur of clinic, ER shifts and sleep. I had the strange sensation every time I pulled the curtain back in Room 3 that I would see my half-Scottish hunk again, but alas, it was not to be.

I moved through the motions at work checking cholesterol, palpating abdomens, dispensing heartburn medication, but I felt like my head wasn't really in the game.

Dr. Kingman was back on shift with me a few days later, and offered to let me reduce a dislocated shoulder, but he could tell that I was distracted, and ultimately had to reduce the shoulder himself.

"What's up with you Parks? You're like a zombie or something," he said, as we left the room with the shoulder patient, who now looked decidedly more comfortable.

"I don't know. Third year of residency doldrums I guess. I've got to figure out what I'm doing next year. Applications are going to be due soon and I haven't really given anything much thought. I'm not even sure if I'm staying in Salt Lake City." I wandered past the main ER board, which was now flashing a new patient in room 3.

"When did you decide what you were going to do after you graduated residency?" I asked, grabbing my stethoscope and putting it back around my neck.

"I always knew we'd stay here," he said, "Barbara's got family and with the two boys, it didn't make sense to move. You'll figure something out."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, it's just overwhelming, you know? Like I'm making decisions right now that will affect me for the rest of my life. Whatever, I'll be fine. So, I guess I'll go see the new one in 3?"

"Sounds good. Come find me if you need me."

I walked over towards the nurse's station and grabbed the clipboard for room 3.

"Bike accident," it said.

I put the clipboard down, pulled the curtain aside and was staring face to face with Andrew Fucking Robertson.

"Dr. Parks, fancy seeing you here again." He smiled for real this time, actually looking like he was pleased to see me again.

"Mr. Robertson, what the...? How's the... I mean, uh... what are you doing here?" I looked instinctively at his groin, which, same as the last time, was covered with a gown and some sort of large protuberance.

I could see the strings of the ice bag and realized that he was holding a bag of ice in between his legs. "It's not, the uh... trazodone again, is it? I mean, the, uh... erection didn't come back?" I asked, tentatively.

"No, no, nothing like that. Well, I mean, it does have to do with that area, but not specifically with that problem." The color was beginning to rise a little bit in his perfect face, and I bit my bottom lip when he'd finished talking.

"It says here that you've been in a bike accident." I lifted up the clipboard to indicate the source of my intimate knowledge of his affairs.

"Eh. Exactly. I was on my bike in Millcreek Canyon, and well, I must've hit something with my front tire, because I pitched forward and landed on the trail, and I think something must've caught because I had this terrible pain, and when I looked down I was bleeding, so my buddy brought me here." He said all of this quite quickly, wincing slightly as he resettled himself on the bed or at the remembered pain of the accident, I couldn't tell which.

It was only then that I noticed the other man standing in the room, decked out head to toe in mountain bike gear. He was a beautiful specimen too; tall, lean, but muscular, with tanned arms and legs. He was staring at me when I looked over at him, and quickly looked back at Andrew sitting on the gurney.