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Claire: Amen, sista!
Lilly: I am proud of myself for doing the absolute best that I can.
Emilia: It’s my time.
Summer: Good things are coming my way!
Everly: I still love myself even when I work on myself.
Claire: YOU are fucking awesome.
This one makes me choke out a laugh so loud I have to physically cover my mouth with my hand to prevent any coworkers from hearing and poking their head in my doorway. My most recent interaction springs to mind, and I start typing my morning contribution to the group before I can stop myself.
Me: Men suck. Sorry. What I meant to say was… I am strong and extraordinary.
Claire: Hell yes to both. Text back if you need an emergency Zoom meeting to talk it out, Lexi. Otherwise, everyone have a kick ass day.
Every morning my girl tribe sends positive affirmations out into the universe. Given we aren’t all in the same geographic area, it’s the easiest way to stay connected and lift each other up. We try to meet once a month for book club, but this has gotten more and more difficult given our busy schedules and the distance between us. Sometimes we resort to a quick Zoom call when we can’t all be together physically.
These girls are so important to me. We laugh, in true Taylor style, that we are each in our Girl Power Era. I met Lilly at a local indie bookstore signing event. She is over a decade younger, but we instantly connected over a love of good romance and a swoony book boyfriend. Once I discovered she volunteered at St. Luke’s Hospital, where my practice is located, we became quick friends.
Lilly introduced me to Georgia, a friend she’d known since high school who works part-time at the hospital as an emergency room registration attendant. She also enjoys reading similar steamy romance books, so we had our own little book club going. Before long, we were attending a reading retreat in North Carolina, where we met Claire, Emilia, her sister Everly, and Summer. They not only had the same addiction to reading happily ever afters, but we also discovered each of us were big Taylor Swift fans. What better group of women could a thirty-six-year-old CEO surrounded by pompous male chauvinist pigs ask for?
My shoulders slump as I consider how exhausting this is. Not the work, but dealing with these shortsighted men.
I know I belong here. I have spent my entire life following in my grandfather’s footsteps, learning the ins and outs of this practice, respecting what he built. But after years of backhanded compliments, snarky comments in the hallways, and patients looking right past me to find a man in a lab coat, my confidence has taken some serious hits. The armor I wear every day is starting to feel heavy.
“Don’t you let that walking ego get under your skin, honey.” My tired eyes snap up to meet those of Bunny Wilson, our head receptionist, leaning against the doorframe. Bunny is a fixture of the clinic, possessing a heart of gold and a southern drawl thick enough to cut with a knife.
“He’s just mad because you’re the boss, and he still has to ask for permission to buy a new cystoscope,” Bunny says, dropping a stack of patient charts on my desk. “My fierce little granny always used to say, a strong woman is like a tea bag. You never know how strong she is until you drop her into hot water.”
My shoulders straighten and I lift my chin a bit at her remark.
“Darlin’, you are boiling that man alive.” She winks.
A genuine laugh finally breaks through my sour mood. “Thanks, Bunny. I needed that.”
Her face suddenly becomes more serious. Her maternal eyes hold mine. “You need to stop auditioning for people who’ve already decided you didn’t get the part.”
My throat tightens, and I instantly turn away before she sees the impact of her words. This particular bit of poetic southern wisdom has caused my face to fall. Sadly, as much as I’d like to deny it, this statement applies to more than just Dr. Dickhead.
“Go on home early if you can,” she encourages with a warm hand on my shoulder. “You look like you need a stiff drink and a good night’s rest.”
Bunny is right. By 5:00, I decide a stiff drink is exactly what the doctor ordered. I leave the clinic and drive straight to Wong’s Tacos, a trendy fusion spot downtown, ready to vent to one of my dear friends over a giant basket of tortilla chips and a couple of spicy jalapeno margaritas. But apparently, the universe isn’t done pulling the rug out from under me. As I sit down on a stool at the sleek, crowded bar, my phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text from Katarina, followed immediately by a frantic phone call.
“Lexi, I’m so, so sorry,” she groans over the line, sounding utterly defeated. “I was putting my coat on when Olivia projectile-vomited all over the living room rug. Logan is starting to look pale, too. I think the stomach bug from daycare finally caught up to us. It’s only a matter of time before Mason gets it.”
“Oh, no.” I instantly shift from disappointment into sympathetic friend mode. “Kat, don’t worry about it. Please. Go take care of those babies. I just pray you don’t end up with it.”
“Me too. I have to work tomorrow. Lexi, I was so excited for a girls’ night out,” she mutters. “But asking a babysitter to navigate a dual-kid vomit apocalypse is a crime against humanity. Nick is on call and will probably be in the OR until late, so I’m flying solo.”
“I totally get it. Call me if you need anything, okay? Go, go.”
We hang up, and I sigh, setting my phone face-up on the bar. Man, I’d been looking forward to this. I knew it was a long shot when I reached out to her.
Kat’s schedule is so chaotic. She continues to work part-time as a Physician Assistant in a busy emergency room, on top of raising five young children. She’s practically a single parent, given she’s married to an orthopedic surgeon. Nick is a great father, but his on-call schedule is far worse than mine. He’s forever getting called in for sports emergencies or older patients who have fallen and broken a hip. I’m grateful it’s been a while since I’ve had to take anyone to the operating room after hours.
Kat is one of the few friends I have who understands the world I live in. One as a medical provider surrounded by egotistical men. I’ve bent her ear more than a few evenings over the phone or with a glass of wine after dealing with the likes of Dr. Lewis or his son, Chad.
