Clinical Distance.

by Maria V. Ciletti.

Dedication.

To my aunt Lucille Redmond. It has been such a privilege to have shared my life with you. I have learned so much from you about life, love, compassion, and family loyalty. You taught me how to live with grace, perseverance, kindness, and understanding. Thank you for your support and encouragement. At age eighty-four, you trekked to Las Vegas with me for my very first book signing. I can't begin to tell you how much it meant to me to have you there. And remember, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Acknowledgments.

To my Dad, Tom Ciletti, my only regret is that you aren't here to see this. To my Mom, Donna Infante, without you, I never would have gotten this far.

To my brother Mike, for allowing me to interview him about his medical residency experience. I love that we get to work together each day.

To my sister Traci, for her support, acceptance, encouragement, and ability to make me laugh even when it's hard to find anything to laugh about. I love that we are so close.

To my aunt and godmother Patty DiEugenio (from Arizona), your encouragement and love mean so much to me.

To Kayla, Sara, Jacob, and Katie, you are all truly amazing and the brightest lights in my life.

To Helga Schier, Ph.D., my first reader who taught me a lot about writing and encouraged me when I thought things would never work.

Special thanks to Sheri Payton for giving me this opportunity and to Verda Foster, Kate Sweeney, and everyone at Intaglio for all your help getting me through the publishing process.

In special recognition of my partner's mother, Pauline Marsco. You are the sweetest, kindest person I've ever met. It has been such a privilege to have known you.

And last, but not least, to my partner, Rose (my Rosetti). Nine years together and not a minute of it was boring. You are my superhero and truly the love of my life.

CHAPTER ONE.

"What is her name?" I looked over at the figure lying next to me. The room was strange, dim, and hazy, much like the state of my mind lately. Stealthily, I slid out of the bed, which was no more than two lumpy mattresses stacked on the bare hardwood floor. The figure stirred. I could see her face now; it was the face of a sleeping angel, and suddenly, I realized that she must be all of nineteen years old.

The red numbers on the digital alarm clock glowed 6:07. I had to be back on duty at the hospital in less than an hour. I rummaged around the room, frantically looking for my Calvin Klein sports bra when I slammed my foot into the blue plastic milk crate that served as a nightstand.

Jesus, I need to start dating women with real furniture. I rubbed the stinging pain out of my throbbing foot. The figure stirred again, turned onto her side, and pulled the crisp white sheet over her smooth tan shoulder. I watched her intently, catching flashes in my mind of the previous night. Remembering the taste of her skin, the softness of her touch... Sandra, Sara, Sharon... I just couldn't remember her name.

The glass doorknob creaked as I opened the bedroom door and slipped into the kitchen. Sunlight glinted off the stainless steel of the sink and made my head throb. We drank two bottles of wine the night before, the remnants of which lay in the sink.

I stepped outside into the thick morning air and breathed a sigh of relief. I'd made my escape without the awkward morning-after confrontation.

This was definitely turning into a pattern for me. At least that's what Rosetti told me.

"I did the same thing ten years ago," Rosetti said one night over coffee and cheesecake. We'd both just finished grueling twenty-four-hour shifts: me in the ER and Rosetti on a stakeout with the police drug task force. "When my first love dumped me, I went on a rampage dating every woman that would have me. Unfortunately, many of my dates were like a lesbian version of 'The Gong Show.' Some of them barely lasted though the main course."

Rosetti was my best friend. Her first name was Rosemary, but she didn't like anybody calling her Rosemary, so I didn't.

"Half the time, I wouldn't even give those girls my real name," Rosetti said. "I was too embarrassed by my bad behavior and didn't want them to find me afterward."

As much as I'd hate to admit it, Rosetti was right. Ever since Regan left me, I'd been on a mission to find with someone else what I'd lost with her. I dated a lot of women, their faces and names all a blur to me.

Regan Martin was the love of my life, but our six-month relationship ended abruptly a few years earlier when my husband found out about our affair. I know that sounds bad, but before I met Regan, I hadn't known I was gay. Well, maybe I knew, but I didn't want to admit it, least of all to myself. I'd been living a lie. Ending my six-year marriage was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do, but when all the shouting was done, things between me and my now ex-husband came to an amicable conclusion.

Unfortunately, I can't say that for Regan. She left the state, apparently trying to get as far away from here and me as possible. She just couldn't handle the lifestyle. She swore up and down that we weren't lesbians but never could come up with a credible explanation as to why we made love like two starving people at an all-you-can-eat buffet. I loved her, I missed her, and I wanted to get back what we had together. It had been over five years now, and in my heart, I knew that the chances of us reconciling were pretty slim. But I couldn't quite give up hope that Regan would come back.

I pulled into the hospital parking lot and grabbed my stethoscope and lab coat out of the backseat and headed for the emergency room. It was only seven in the morning, but the temperature had already risen to a sweltering eighty degrees. Summer's last hurrah before the cool crisp air of fall would settle in.

"Thank God for air conditioning," I muttered as I swung open the glass door that led down the hallway to the physician's lounge. I hadn't showered or brushed my teeth yet and needed to get cleaned up.

"Paging Dr.Caselli, Dr. Mina Caselli" came over the paging system as I entered the hospital. I grabbed the nearest house phone to answer the page. "This is Caselli."

"Dr. Caselli, would you be so kind as to join us for morning report?" Dr. Morrison's baritone voice boomed over the phone line.

"Yes, sir...I'm on my way...I had a little car-"

"Save it, Caselli. Just get your butt down here."

I got to the ER conference room just as night shift finished giving report. I felt Dr. Morrison's disapproving gaze on me.

Dr. Roy Morrison was chief of emergency services at CityHospital. Although Dr. Morrison was a competent physician, he had the supervisory skills of Attila the Hun. Dr. Morrison had been appointed to the position three years before after the untimely departure of the well-loved chief, Dr. Sam Veritek. Dr. Veritek, a dedicated and compassionate physician, had received his private pilot license and purchased a Cessna Skyhawk airplane. The unthinkable happened during a practice session of touch and gos when the single engine plane clipped a line of treetops with its landing gear sending Dr. Veritek to a fiery death.

"Caselli, here's your patient list." Dr. Morrison handed me a printout of the current patients. "You're covering pediatrics today."

Great. I hated pediatrics. It wasn't that I didn't like kids-I loved kids-it's just that when you're covering pediatrics, your day is filled with vomiting, explosive diarrhea, and high-pitched screaming. I've been bitten, scratched, kicked, and punched by numerous youngsters. And if all that wasn't bad enough, when something was seriously wrong with one of them, it was difficult to keep your emotions under control. Especially with the abuse cases, those were the toughest.

"Hey, glad you could make it," Page said as I rounded the nurse's station on my way to the locker room.

"Morrison's pissed at me already, and it's not even eight o'clock."

Page shook her head and smiled.

Page Burkland and I met in medical school. Like me, she was a non-traditional medical student, a registered nurse who went on to medical school to fulfill her dream of becoming a doctor. I spent many nights at Page's house, poring over textbooks on anatomy and physiology, microbiology, molecular chemistry, and histology, while her three kids and husband buzzed around us.

Page and Steve were great sources of support for me. Medical school was tough. My divorce and losing Regan hadn't helped matters much, either. If it hadn't been for Page, I don't think I would have made it through.

Steve was pretty good about watching the kids during our cram sessions. He made me feel welcome in their home, especially after learning about my divorce from Sean and my relationship with Regan. Although Page told Steve about Regan and me, she was reluctant to share any of the details with him.

"He doesn't need to know any more than what I told him," Page said. "Besides, I don't want him to get any ideas...you know what I mean?"

"Oh, Page, no...I...I don't know what to say," I said, feeling like an intruder. Is this how it was going to be from now on? Husbands not trusting me to be around their wives? My heart sank into my stomach.

Page waved her hand in front of her face. "Don't be ridiculous. Really, everything's fine. It's just that men have a different outlook on your situation," Page said tentatively as she rubbed her face with both hands, trying to cover up the unwelcome blush that had flooded her cheeks. "Steve just has a tendency of putting his foot in his mouth on occasion. I'm just giving you a heads-up."

Later that week, Page and I were studying at her kitchen table for our anatomy final. After putting the kids to bed, Steve came into the kitchen with a magazine and plopped it down in front of me. It was Penthouse. My heart froze. Here we go, I thought as I watched him flip open the magazine to one of the pictorials of two women fondling each other's shaved genitals. "Have you ever done this?" Steve asked with a smirk.

I looked at the glossy photos and cringed at the sight of the women's long red fingernails, thinking, Ooh...that's gotta hurt. Embarrassed by the pictures, I mustered up all my nerve and said, "Yes." I knew Steve wasn't doing this to be malicious. He was probably curious and feeling a little insecure about his wife spending so much time with a lesbian. Two can play this game, I thought, then I turned the page. "And I've done this, and this, oh, and this, too. But those fingernails gotta go."

Steve's face turned crimson as he slapped the magazine shut and ran back upstairs. Page and I burst into wild laughter. "He can be such an idiot sometimes," she said.

After that incident, the mysterious veil of my lifestyle came down. I told Steve that he could ask me anything he wanted. I also told him that this lifestyle was still new to me, but their acceptance had made it a lot easier.

"You look like an unmade bed," Page said. "Where were you this morning?" She poured herself a cup of coffee in the doctor's lounge.

"You don't want to know," I said sheepishly as I changed out of my street clothes and into a pair of scrubs.

"So what's this one's name?"

"Sara...no...Sandra...Cindy...?"

"Jesus, Mina, are there so many women in your life that you can't even remember their names? No wonder Steve is in awe of you."

Her comment made me laugh. "You're kidding, right?" I reached in front of her to pour myself a cup of coffee. "I thought he was over that."

Page shook her head. "He's amazed at all the women you...uh...date. It's like you're his hero or something." Page tore open two packets of Equal and dumped them into her Styrofoam cup. "And especially since he saw you and that dark-haired girl in our swimming pool last week."

"What? When?"

"Last weekend, when you were house sitting for us while we were in Cleveland for the heart valve replacement convention. We got all the way to the turnpike when Steve realized he left his wallet on the kitchen table. When he went back into the house to get it, he saw you and her through the kitchen window. He said she was really hot. He also said she was leaning back on the edge of the pool buck naked and you were standing in the water below her with your head between her knees." Page calmly took a sip of her coffee as if we were talking about the weather.

Oh, my God, I thought as I remembered that night. I felt my face turn fire engine red.

"Page, I'm sorry. I didn't think-"

"Caselli, where have you been? You've got a new patient in exam room one." Dr. Morrison burst into the physician's lounge, interrupting our conversation. "Seven-year-old male with acute gastroenteritis. He's puking as we speak," he said with a smart-ass smirk and handed me the patient's chart. "You look like hell, Caselli. Late night?" Dr. Morrison took the cup of coffee I'd just poured for myself. "Oh, and thanks for the Joe," he said and left the room.

I turned and looked at Page.

"Just think, only eleven more hours to go," she said.

"Page, I'm really sorry about the weekend. I thought-"

"Mina, it's okay. You might want to be a little more discreet, maybe at least wait until it's dark outside, especially at someone else's house. But anyway, I should be thanking you. Steve hasn't been this amorous since before the kids were born. It's kind of nice."

Page winked as a mischievous smile broke across her face. She pulled on her lab coat, draped her stethoscope around her neck, and left the lounge. With my head still spinning from our conversation, I tucked the seven-year-old's chart under my arm and headed out, too. I still felt the flush of embarrassment at having been caught in the act. Thank God Page's kids were staying at Page's mother's house that weekend.

I pulled back the curtain on exam room one to find a very sick little boy.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Caselli. What's your name?"

"Timmy," the boy said weakly, curling his body against his mother's large pregnant belly.

"How can I help you today, Timmy?"

"It's been coming out of both ends, Doctor," Timmy's mother said. "He's been throwing up for two days and the diarrhea started last night."

"Any fever or chills?" I asked as I helped her remove Timmy's shirt.

"No, but he threw up in the car on the way over here and just a few minutes ago," she said, looking exhausted and drained.

I checked Timmy's belly, skin turgor, and mucus membranes. He was definitely low on fluids. "He's very dehydrated," I said. "He'll need some IV fluids and we can give him something to stop the vomiting and diarrhea. We might have to admit him overnight."

A flicker of relief flashed over the tired woman's face. "One of the nurses will be in to start his IV, then we can get him started on the medicine." I headed toward the nurse's station to call Timmy's pediatrician to let him know he was being admitted.

I was on hold with the answering service when Amy, one of the nurses, approached the desk. "Dr. Caselli, there's a police officer in exam room five asking to see you."

"Police officer?"

"He's says he's your husband," Amy said, curiosity rising in her voice.

I covered the phone receiver with my hand. "Is he all right?"

"He's fine. He brought in an older gentleman, his grandfather or dad or something. Dr. Burkland is working him up."

Relief swept over me. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute. I need to wrap this case up first."

Amy nodded as she turned and padded down the hall into the utility room.

Timmy's pediatrician finally came to the phone. I updated him on Timmy's condition, and he agreed that Timmy should be admitted for an overnight stay. I scribbled out the admission orders and went back to give Timmy and his mom the news. Amy followed close behind me with the IV kit. I held Timmy, while his mom stepped out. Amy expertly put the IV needle into Timmy's arm. It was all over in five minutes.

"You're such a brave boy," I said as I helped Amy tape the plastic IV tubing in place.

"I didn't even cry, did I?"

"No, you didn't," I said. "You should be very proud of yourself."

Timmy's mom stepped back inside.

"Look, Mommy," Timmy said, holding up his arm with the IV attached. "I didn't even cry."

"That's my good boy." Timmy's mom kissed him on the forehead and stroked his sweaty blond hair.

"We'll be taking him upstairs to his room shortly," Amy said as she gathered the wrappers from the IV equipment.

I signed off Timmy's chart and handed it back to Amy. "You did a good job in there."

Amy smiled. "Thank you."