"No. I just know that's where it is and that's where you would feel pain if it was acting up. But that doesn't have to be the reason," I added quickly.
"I know," she said sadly. "It could be something else. It could be something far more serious."
"Don't get yourself upset. Wait for all the reports. Most of the time, our imaginations make more of it than it is," I told her. I had overheard our doctor say that to Mommy once when Pierre and Jean both came down with a bad case of whooping cough. Sheila smiled, and I fixed her bed and made her more comfortable.
When I turned to go on to my next room, I saw Dr. Weller standing in the doorway, a slow grin forming around his lips. He stepped back into the corridor as I emerged with the juice cart.
"I overheard what you said." He leaned toward me. "If Mrs. Winthrop heard you giving patients medical advice, she would send you right home."
"I didn't give--"
"You let her believe it might be her gallbladder. Uh-uh-uh," he said, wagging his forefinger. Then he laughed. "It's all right. Chances are very good that you're right. Actually," he said, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms, "you did a smart thing deciding to work in the hospital during your summer vacation. You'll pick up a lot just hanging around and listening."
"That's what I thought, too," I said.
"You know, I'm studying and learning every day myself. I'm interning here under Dr. Bardot. He's constantly testing me." He smiled. "I bet you can help me," he said, nodding with a thoughtful look.
"Me? How?"
"You can be my study partner. You know, ask questions, test me on stuff. Do you have a heavy social schedule?" he asked.
"Social schedule?"
"Do you punch a clock with a boyfriend, too?"
"Oh. No, not anymore," I said.
"Good. Maybe you'll give me some time, then. I promise you'll learn a lot too," he added. "And I don't mean just medical information. I can fill you in on what to expect, how to prepare your applications, interviews. Ifs getting harder and harder to get into a good medical school in this country, you know. There are a lot of valedictorians out there competing for the same spaces," he warned.
I thought a moment. Learning about all this was why I had wanted to work here.
"Okay," I said. "Do you study during breaks?"
"Oh, no. We'll do it after work. I don't live far from here. It's a small apartment I took near Tulane University. That's where I attended premed and med school. You expect to go there?"
"I might, yes," I said.
"Fine. I'll fill you in on all the nitty-gritty. What's your shift tomorrow? Same as today?"
"Yes."
"I'm free about the same time. We can start right away--if that's all right with you, that is," he said.
I hesitated. I liked the idea of working with an intern, but why had he chosen me and so quickly? "Wouldn't you rather work with someone who is already a medical student?" I asked.
"They want to study only what they need." He smiled again. "Hey, I won't bite you, and even if I did, I'd treat the wound," he added and laughed. "But if you think you'll be uncomfortable or--"
"No, it's all right."
"Great. And don't worry about getting home afterward. I'll see to that. I'll even make you dinner, if you like. Nothing fancy, of course. I'm not living on a doctor's salary yet. Fact is, and you better know it now, interns are medical slaves. But we all gotta pay our dues. See you later." He winked and walked down the corridor.
I wondered if I had agreed too fast to help him. He
was already an intern. I probably wouldn't understand half the questions. Surely I would just be wasting his time and my own, I thought, but then I thought, He should know that, and yet he still wants me to help him.
"This isn't exactly a place to daydream," I heard someone say. Mrs. Crandle was standing in the doorway of my next room.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said and hurried on.