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brought
it into the room. It seemed like a violation of Mrs. Lee's privacy, although
all it showed was her name and address. For all they knew, she could have been
sending me Jehovah's Witness flyers.
    Breathe.
    Count: one twenty-two.
    Better. Come on.
    Even though I still felt sick, I unlocked
the door leading back to emerg and stood just inside it. The acid green walls
of the room seemed to push in on me. I could hear someone flushing the toilet
of the staff washroom across from me. The opposite side of the resident's room
faced the main hospital hallway, so I could hear people talking in stereo, from
the emergency department on one side and St. Joe's passers by on the other.
    "—got to make a phone
call—"
    "I told him, no way. You want to,
you do it."
    "They're going to tap it under
ultrasound. You might want to be there."
    The key to the resident's room dangled
from my hands. It was attached to a foot-long stick painted bright yellow, to
prevent someone from accidentally walking away from it.
    Footsteps approached the residents' room.
"—think she's in here."
    My breath hitched in my throat. I threw
open the door and stepped into the hallway. My favorite emergency doc, Dr.
Dupuis, gave me a quizzical look. He was pointing at the conference room just
beyond both the resident and staff room. It had nothing to do with me.
    I smiled at him and, even though I still
felt nauseous and clammy and like I wasn't in my own body, I pushed past him.
Back to the salt mines.
    First I just took a good look at everyone
to see if hell had truly fallen into a hand basket while I'd disappeared.
    The unit clerk popped her gum as she sent
a fax through. One nurse asked another, "Did you see the old chart?"
as they both stepped aside for a janitor to empty the trash can. Someone had
abandoned a chest X-ray on the light board. Even after a week away, I could
spot the congestive heart failure at twenty paces.
    I heard loud, angry women's voices from
Room 14 before it went silent.
    When Dr. Dupuis passed by me again, he
said, "Don't worry about it" and kept walking with no other explanation.
Still, I felt better, especially when Nancy emerged from Room 14 and said,
"She's calmer now."
    Forty minutes later, after Dr. Gatien had
talked to Reena alone and signed off the chart, he called me into the psych
office. I knew I was in trouble even before he tented his fingers and said,
"Rapport is a very important part of psychiatry."
    I nodded. The less talking I had to do,
the better. I was just grateful the med students weren't around to witness my
humiliation.
    "It is perhaps even the most important
part. Rapport, through talk therapy, preceded the medications we rely on so
heavily today."
    I waited for him to get to the point. He
was French. It might take a while.
    "This is why I want you to consider
very hard what you might have done to alienate this patient. This—"
He picked up the chart and read off the name. "—Ms. Reena
Schuster."
    I squeezed my eyes shut. I wondered if
beads of sweat had broken out on my forehead like in the movies. I resisted the
urge to check. Better not draw attention to it.
    "You may not have done anything, of
course. It may have been a case of transference. However, it is unusual to get
transference from the first moment. I'm not saying it's your fault."
    Like hell you're not. But it was only a
replay of what I was saying to myself.
    "I am simply saying that some
reflection is in order. She's calm now. She doesn't need to be admitted. Nancy
told me a Code was necessary. Nancy is a woman who knows what she is
doing."
    Meaning that I didn't. That was certainly
true. Tucker's voice rose in the back of my mind. Grinding yourself to powder .
    "Dr. Sze?"
    I jammed a smile on my face. "Yes.
Thank you." I started to stand.
    "About Mrs. Lee."
    My heart dropped into my stomach.
"Yes."
    "It's natural to feel sympathy
toward her. However, it is unwise to get involved with patients, if you understand my meaning."
    I paused. "Yes.