This Heart Is Not Mine to Take

I yawned and then checked my watch; one a.m. Well, that was the end of my shift! I made my way across the hospital to the locker rooms. I shouldered off my coat and spun the dial, clicking each number and then pulling the handle. My Converse fell out of the locker and landed on the tile with a rubbery thud. I sighed.

“Shoes attacking you again, Frank?” a voice called from the entrance.

I looked up at my colleague and smiled. “As they always do,” I replied.

He chuckled. “You going home?” I nodded. “Do you…wanna go get a drink?”

I laughed. “James, I’m not interested. Still.”

“When will you be?” he asked wearily.

I took the few steps across the bench to James’ open locker and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “James, you’ve seen me in my underwear and we haven’t even had dinner. Besides,” I said, taking my hand off his shoulder, “I don’t do ‘office’ romances.” I walked back over to my locker and picked my Converse off the floor.

James sighed loudly. “Just a chance?” he pleaded.

“If you don’t work here, then I’ll have a drink with you.” I turned to him quickly. “And don’t think about quitting here just so you can have a drink with me. You’re better than that.”

James smiled lightly. “Thanks, Frank.” He stepped up to me, kissed my cheek, and then hurried out the door.

I chuckled again as I threw my coat over my arm and checked my wallet was in my back pocket, and grabbed my car keys out of the locker. I just wanted a cigarette and my bed.



“Frankie, is that you?”

“Yeah, Ollie, it’s me.”

“Come to bed, yeah?” Ollie rubbed his eyes and laid back down. “What time is it?”

“One-thirty.”

“Are your hours ever going to get better?” he groaned, his voice partially muffled by the pillow.

I chuckled lightly. “Not at this job, honey.” I climbed into bed behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “You should’ve known what you sighed up for when you started dating me.”

“Oh shush. Go to sleep.”

There was a smile as I fell easily asleep.

When I awoke, there was a note on Oliver’s pillow instead of Oliver’s head.

Good morning Frankie!
I’m downstairs, or out running a few
errands. If I’m out when you wake,
I’ll be back soon. I love you!
-Oliver

I grinned; he was adorable. I pulled on a short from the floor and politely made the bed before going downstairs. Doing small things that Oliver never asked me to always increases my chance of getting laid. Plus, I wasn’t on call tonight.

I started down the stairs and turned the corner to see an empty house. My smile faded a bit, but there was another note on the refrigerator door.

Hi Frankie,
I’ve stepped out to run a couple
errands. I’ll be back by three.
There’s a cheese sandwich for you
in here. I love you!
-Oliver

He is such a sweetheart. I opened the fridge and saw the sandwich. I took it out, along with a water bottle, and plopped down in front of the television. I was just in time for the afternoon news.

Oliver came home at two. He gave me half of the sandwich he picked up on his way home, and we cuddled to the movie I had been watching.



“When is your shift over?” Oliver asked.

“One, again.”

“Okay. Well, I have an interview tomorrow morning, so I’m going to be going to bed early. I love you.” Oliver kissed me.

I smiled and kissed him again quickly. “I love you, too.”

When I arrived at the hospital, it was bustling. I tugged my coat on over my shoulders. It was going to be a long day. My pager went off at my hip. I checked the number and then started toward the chief’s office.

“You paged, chief?”

“There was a three-car crash just two hours ago. The four victims have been brought in and examined. The third victim, the driver of the third car, had a heart attack due to congestive heart failure, which caused him to crash his car. I need you to look him over and fix his heart so he can live as long as possible. Go,” the chief explained.

“Yes, sir.” I turned to go, then turned back to the chief. “Where is the patient, sir?”

“Second floor trauma ward. Get moving.”

“Yes, sir,” I repeated. I left the office and headed towards the second floor. “What have we got here?” I asked the nurse as I entered the patient’s room, slinging my stethoscope around my neck.

“Twenty-nine-year-old with congestive heart failure. Had a heart attack pretty much out of nowhere.”

“What medications is he on?” I asked.

“Here’s the list,” the nurse said, handing me the patient’s chart.

I perused the list. “Well, here’s the problem,” I said, pointing at a medication on the list. “He’s taking two conflicting medications. He was a time bomb. Take him off that second medication, multiply the dose of the first one by one and a half, and find me the doctor who prescribed that second medication, because I want to slap him upside the head.” I gave the chart back to the nurse and smiled at her, walking out of the room. I heard the nurse laugh as I left.

I walked next door to one of the other victims, and he was animatedly chatting with the nurse. He smiled broadly when I entered and showed up at the foot of his bed. “Hi!”

The nurse handed me his chart. “William Resden, yes?” The man nodded. “Well, you’re lucky, Mr. Resden, nothing’s broken, but you do have considerable bruising and a multitude of small cuts. I’d suggest you take a few days of R&R to let the swelling go down and the scarring to be minimal,” I said to him.

The man nodded again. “Alright, I shouldn’t have too much trouble getting a few days off work. Thanks, Doc.”

“Of course.” I smiled at the man and gave the nurse back his chart before leaving the room.

I was about to go to the next room and check in on the third victim, when the nurse from the previous victim’s room came dashing out. “Doctor, the first victim is having another heart attack!” she gasped.

I followed the nurse quickly back into the victim’s room and grabbed the paddles off the crash cart that had already been called in. In the background, I heard the ECG go flat. “No, I am not losing you,” I muttered to myself. There was just something about this one patient that I just…I just didn’t want him to die. He was special in some way, I felt.

The paddles charged up and I pressed them to his exposed chest. The ECG remained flat. I swore loudly and charged the paddles again. “You’re not going to die on me today!” I yelled. I pressed the paddles against his chest again. The ECG continued flat for another moment; I went to charge the paddles for a third time, but then the ECG began to beep again. I looked up at it as the heartbeat continued to steady. You could feel everyone in the room relax, and the loudest thing in the room at the moment was the patient’s resumed breathing.

I turned to the nurse who had originally been in the room when I had been to see the patient and glowered at her. “Take him off that second medication and double the dose of the first one,” I growled.

“Yes, Doctor,” she said blankly. As I walked out, her voice resounded in my head for some reason; her tone was one who had experience dealing with angry doctors.



The next day, the hospital was calm; well, it was calm for the hospital as I knew it. I made my rounds around the first three floors, and then made my way back to the second floor to check in on the congestive heart failure patient. I didn’t know what it was, but there was just something special about him…

He was awake when I entered the room. I picked his chart up from the end of his bed and looked it over. “Mr. Way, is it?” He nodded and smiled weakly. “This says here that you were born with congestive heart failure?”

He nodded again. “These heart attacks are relatively new, though,” he said.

“How new?” I asked, pulling the pen down from my ear.

He shrugged. “Six months?”

I jotted his time estimate down on a spare square in his chart. “Hmm, alright. Anything else you’d like to mention, anything unusual?” I asked.

The man thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he said.

“Alright then.” I returned his chart to the end of his bed and smiled at him. I went to leave, but he called out to me as I reached the door.

“Uhm, Doctor?”

I turned back to the patient and walked up to his bedside. “Yes?”

He took a deep breath. “I just…wanted to thank you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “For what?” I asked, leaning slightly on the small banister.

The man turned slightly pink. “For saving my life,” he said.

I felt my face burn bright red, and I looked away from the patient. I only looked back to murmur a thank you and go to rush from the room, but before I really knew what was happening, the patient seized my wrist and pulled me back toward him. I was pulled backward with such force that I landed on top of him, and our lips crashed together. It didn’t actually click in my mind what was actually going on right away until the patient pulled back from me and I stumbled back several paces.

He licked his lips as I stumbled back. “Mr. Way – “ I stammered, thunderstruck.

“Please,” he said. “Gerard.”

I staggered out of the room without another word to the patient, and just barely managed to close the door, because all my focus was on trying to keep my flaming red face under control. I was on my way down to the staff room, but ran into James, who noticed my bright red face. “What happened to you?” he asked, looking me over.

“My patient just thanked me for saving his life,” I gasped.

He laughed. “And that made you go that red?”

“No, that was after he pulled me down on top of him and kissed me.”



The next day, I was determined to set things right with the congestive heart failure patient, Gerard. I had told Oliver what had happened, and he was angry that I didn’t try to stop him or anything. He assumed that I knew it was going to happen and that I wanted it to happen, but that’s complete bullshit, because in no universe did I ever expect any patient of mine ever to pull me down on top of them and kiss me, so of course I couldn’t stop him; I didn’t even know it was happening until it was over!

I paid attention to no one as I made the straightest way possible to the patient’s second floor room. He was reading a book when I entered, and looked quite engrossed in it. I walked up to his bedside and placed a hand on the banister.

He put the book down open in his lap, looked at my hand, and then looked up at me, a wide smile blooming on my face at the sight of me. “Hello, Doctor,” he said brightly.

I forced a small smile. “Good evening, Mr. Way.”

“Gerard,” he corrected.

I shot him a dark look that he didn’t seem to catch. “Mr. Way, I didn’t come to converse with you. I came to speak with you about yesterday’s events.”

The patient grinned. “Come back for more?” he said in a low voice.

I sighed and pressed my index finger thumb to the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “No, Mr. Way,” I said irritably.

“Gerard,” he corrected again.

“Mr. Way,” I said angrily. “I have no intention of calling you by your first name while you are in this hospital, so stop trying to make me do so.” The patient’s face fell and became more serious as he sat and continued to listen to me.

“Secondly, what happened yesterday was highly inappropriate. You have caused serious damage to my current personal relationship, and I came here tonight to implore you to not let it happen again, or anything similar to it. If it does, I will have you put under the care of another doctor. Do you understand?”

He looked terribly forlorn, but nodded anyway. “Yes, Doctor,” he murmured, quietly enough that I just barely heard him.

“Thank you.” I made to leave, but he called out to me.

“Doctor, wait.”

I hesitated before turning around this time. “Yes, Mr. Way?”

I could see in his face he was trying not to correct me into calling him by his first name. He said, “Have you ever seen The Notebook?”

I chuckled lightly. “Yeah, my mother loves that movie,” I said.

The patient smiled slightly. “You know that part when Rachel McAdams becomes a combat nurse and James Marsden is one of the injured men who asks her out, and she says maybe when you’re better, and then he gets better and he asks her out and they get married?” he asked.

I sighed. “That’s a movie, Mr. Way,” I said, now annoyed that this was what I was called back for.

“Well, I’m James Marsden,” he said.

I just sighed again and left the room without another word to the patient.



After the ordeal with the congestive heart failure patient, Oliver found any excuse to be angry with me or become angry with me if he wasn’t already. For a month afterward, Oliver was bitter and unforgiving; it was nothing like him, and after six weeks, I had had enough.

There was a huge, loud fight between the two of us when Oliver came home from work one afternoon, and we even got complaints from the next-door neighbors. Seeing as this was the least of my problems, I kicked Oliver out of the apartment, because even if we rented this apartment out, Oliver only recently got a job, so he hasn’t been paying his half of the rent we agreed on in the beginning. He never even contributed a penny, because he insisted he was saving his pennies for the next big thing he wanted, whatever it was. I told him to go live with his mother and help her take care of her fifteen cats in her old age.

Shortly after my separation from Oliver, I got promoted to head cardiologist at the hospital, and also received a significant pay raise. With the surplus of money I now had, I bought myself a dog.

One night, I was out getting drunk by myself after a particularly aggravating shift, because I am a loser, and someone approached me and said, “Doctor Iero?”

I whipped around to where the voice came from. I was already considerably tipsy, so it was debatable whether I had complete control of my brain, or the rest of me for that matter. I didn’t recognize the face that the voice that had called to me belonged to, so I said dismissively, “Yes? I’m not on duty right now, so I can’t help any ailments you have.”

“No, you already treated me. It was about two months ago,” the man said.

Then it clicked in my foggy mind. “You’re the congestive heart failure patient that had a heart attack and got in a car crash!” I exclaimed.

He grinned. “Yeah, it’s me.” He paused. “So how about that date?”

I sighed. “Just because you’re not my patient anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t still think of you as my patient,” I said.

His face fell almost exactly the way it had done when I had told him off the first time in the hospital. “Well I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said, sounding both angry and annoyed, and walked out of the bar.

I drained the rest of my beer and then thunked my head down on the wood of the bar counter. “Dammit,” I muttered to myself. I wanted a cigarette right then, so I left a few bills on the bar and pulled my coat on to go stand out in the cold.