Free The Common Thread by Jaime Maddox

room to offer an apology half an hour later she could hear the regular rhythm of his breaths and knew he was asleep. She closed the door behind her, returned to her own room. After studying the ceiling for half an hour she still couldn’t sleep. She decided to work. It was always a good distraction.
    This conference on emergency medicine held at the convention center featured examples of real-life drama, and Nic was presenting a case she’d managed. After thoroughly researching the topic and spending months following up on her patient, she knew the presentation inside and out. She’d prepared slides and a handout and practiced her delivery dozens of times. She’d presented cases many times before, during her residency. But this was different. She was a real doctor now, and all those other real doctors who’d paid hundreds of dollars to attend this conference expected her to know her topic. A well-received presentation would mean future invitations to present. If she screwed up, it would be the end of her speaking career and she’d look the fool in front of the men and women who’d trained her. She couldn’t let that happen.
    Sitting up, she switched on the lamp and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light. She pulled her notes from her briefcase, glanced at them, then stood and began to pace, speaking in a muted voice so she wouldn’t awaken Louis in the next room. She talked to her dresser, her lamp, her artwork, and they all listened attentively.
    The patient she discussed was a woman in her mid-fifties who came into the ER in the middle of the day with pain in her wrist from a fall. Upon further questioning, she explained how her left leg had grown painful and numb after an extended time sitting at her desk. When she stood to walk it off, the leg seemed to collapse. She was uninjured except for her wrist, and her leg pain had completely resolved. When pressed for additional information, the woman admitted she’d been having problems with her leg for about a year. The symptoms of sciatica had been steadily getting worse, but she hadn’t seen a doctor. Nothing could be done; she’d researched it on the Internet.
    In addition to the broken wrist, Nic had discovered a golf-ball size mass in the left thigh, just below the buttock. The mass was firm, fixed in place, and not tender to touch. The strength and pulses in the foot and leg were fine. Subsequent outpatient testing proved the mass to be a malignant sarcoma, and after the patient had surgery to remove the tumor, her sciatica symptoms immediately improved.
    Nic would proceed to talk about the sciatica and leg pain and weakness, throwing in interesting facts to keep the audience stimulated. She’d discuss the disease processes that caused it, the signs and symptoms, exam findings, lab tests, and finally the treatment. She’d wrap it up with the good news that her patient had made a full recovery. Nic would ask for audience input throughout her talk but also leave time for a questions and answers at the end. It was an interesting case study, and she hoped that alone would hold her peers’ interest.
    As she put her paperwork away and shut off the light, her mind wandered to Rae. Nic didn’t often encounter women who stood up to her, but Rae had. If she didn’t dislike her so much, she might have considered going out with her. That’s what tonight had been all about, after all. She’d been paraded out and inspected to see if she was dating material. She could kill Louis. No, she thought. Forget it. Move on.
    Grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the hidden compartment in her computer case, Nic headed for the balcony. Her bedroom had its own, a private but smaller version of the one off the living room. She took a seat in the lone chair, a deep, cushioned wicker rocker that swallowed her whole. Leaning back, she rested her feet against the matching table and wondered, not for the first time, what was wrong with her. Why wasn’t she happy?
    She wasn’t