“If I don’t get to the next patient fast, my life will be changed. I’ll be fighting a lawsuit. Can we make this quick, Tony?”
“You know Santa visits the children’s ward every Christmas?”
“I didn’t, but I do now. That’s great. I’m sure the kids love it.” It was a world far removed from the one he inhabited.
“They do. Santa is—” Tony glanced around and lowered his voice. “Santa is actually Rob Baxter, one of the pediatricians.”
“No kidding. And I thought he was real.” Ethan signed a request that an intern thrust under his nose. “That’s the last of my illusions shattered. You have broken my heart. I might have to go home and lie down.”
“Forget it.” Susan was passing again, this time in the other direction. “No one lies down in this place. Unless they’re dead. When you’re dead, you get to lie down and only after we’ve tried to resuscitate you.”
Tony watched her go. “Is she always like this?”
“Yes. Comedy is all part of the service. Laughter cures all ills, hadn’t you heard? What did you want, Tony? I thought you said it was an emergency.”
“It is. Rob Baxter ruptured his Achilles running in Central Park. He’s going to be off his feet until after Christmas. This is close to a crisis for the pediatric department, but even more of a crisis because he is Santa and we don’t have a backup.”
“Why are you telling me this? You want me to take a look at his Achilles? Ask Viola. She’s a brilliant surgeon.”
“I don’t need a surgeon. I need a backup Santa.”
Ethan looked at him blankly. “I don’t know any Santas.”
“Santas are made, not born.” Tony lowered his voice. “We want you to be Santa this year. Will you do it?”
“Me?” Ethan wondered if he’d misheard. “I’m not a pediatrician.”
Tony leaned closer. “You may not know this, but Santa doesn’t actually have to operate or make any clinical decisions. He smiles and hands out presents.”
“Sounds like my average working day,” Ethan said, “only here they want you to hand out MRIs and prescription pain meds. Gift-wrapped Vicodin is this year’s must-have.”
“You are cynical and jaded.”
“I’m a realist, which is precisely why I’m not qualified to deal with wide-eyed children who still believe in Santa.”
“Which is exactly why you should do it. It will remind you of all the reasons you went into medicine in the first place. Your heart will melt, Dr. Scrooge.”
“He doesn’t have a heart,” Susan muttered, eavesdropping shamelessly.
Ethan glanced at her in exasperation. “Don’t you have patients to see? Lives to save?”
“Just hanging around to hear your answer, boss. If you’re going from Scrooge to Santa, I need to know about it. In fact, I want to be there to watch. I’d work Christmas just to see it.”
“You’re already working Christmas. And I’m not qualified to be Santa. Why would you think I’d agree to this?”
Tony looked at him thoughtfully. “You get to make a child’s day. It doesn’t get any better than that. Think about it. I’ll call you in a week or so. It’s an easy and rewarding job.” He strode out of the department, leaving Ethan staring after him.
“Dr. Scrooge,” Susan said. “How cute is that.”
“Not cute at all.” Surely Tony couldn’t be serious? He was the last person in the world who should play Santa with wide-eyed believing children.
He noticed one of the interns hovering. “Problems?”
“Young woman with an ankle injury. Badly swollen and bruised. I’m not sure whether to x-ray or not. Dr. Marshall is busy or I would have asked him.”
“Is she on the hunt for Vicodin?”
“I think she’s genuine.”