Summary:
Although Dr. Eric Cowert long ago gave up on medicine, an emergency call from the hospital forces him right back into the role of doctor. Despite his cynicism and selfishness, he is still one of the best doctors the hospital has. The question is, as always: does he believe that?
Since I did officially withdraw, you have every right not to judge this entry--I'll leave it up to you whether or not you choose to score it.
The remainder of my morning is more bodies on beds: accident victims, kids who went too far trying to imitate wrestlers, stressed-out students who came here after their No-Doz/Red Bull cocktails went wrong. I'm only on rounds for two more hours, but something about being the only doctor around makes it feel like a whole day of non-stop mayhem. By the time the morning crew shows up I'm more than ready to get the hell out of here.
… leaving here means getting the patient from room 343.
Part of me hopes that he's still out of it. Then we won't have to talk about his idiocy.
But of course he's wide awake, crouching on the bed like a trapped cat. I don't get near him. He stares at me with narrowed eyes.
"… where's my sister?"
"At your house, I assume." I pick up his flannel shirt, which was on the floor—probably landed there during the night. "C'mon, I gotta get you home."
"No. Just call my sister."
"Your sister's wiped out, Hallenbeck. I told her that I'd bring you back home—"
"Geez, am I speaking Martian or something?" There's hostility in his voice now. "For a smart guy, you're really dumb. I don't need you to do anything for me. I said I want my sister. You can understand that, can't you? Either get her here now, or get the hell out of my room."
People giving me crap is nothing new. This isn't even close to the first time I've gotten the brush-off from an ungrateful jerk whom I spent a good portion of the night caring for, and I have a pretty thick skin. This guy, though … I think about how many times I've seen his sister on the verge of an emotional breakdown because of him, and I fight the urge to punch him in the face.
Advice from my many, many psychiatry visits fills my head. When you're frustrated, Eric, count to ten before you say a single word. Make certain to keep your voice level. Keep your distance—you have a bad habit of getting in people's face and intimidating them. And above all, remain calm.
"Mr. Hallenbeck, your sister stayed up all night watching over you after you very stupidly scared her half to death by carving up your arm. I had to send her home so she wouldn't collapse from exhaustion. That wasn't even five hours ago, and I have no intention of bringing her back up here without a damn good reason. Your temper tantrums aren't a good enough reason."
He doesn't look at me until well after I've stopped speaking. When he finally meets my eyes, his expression is one of pure hatred. "You know what? Fuck you. Do you have any idea why I did it, doc? Huh? Do you?"
"Because you're a selfish asshole?"
He laughs sardonically, grabs a chair and throws himself onto it. "I already know I'm a selfish asshole. I know that my mom and my sister shouldn't have to take care of me for the rest of my life. But guess what, doc? I can't help the way I am. You think I wanna see monsters everywhere I look? You think I like having a freak-out when I don't know where my family members are? Huh?"
He stands up so fast that the chair hits the floor. He's shaking.
"I know it's not fair on Myrna and Mom! I'm the one who has to live with myself, don't you think I know it's not fair? " He stumbles against the bed.
I straighten up, startled. "Hallenbeck, are you all right?"
He hasn't heard me. His trembling has become more violent.
"I don't want to go on like this. Who the hell would want to live like this? … don't you think I know people laugh at me? People like you? People like my stepfather? None of you understand … you think I like this, you think I want to live this way? … you think I … want …"
He's collapsing on himself by the time I reach his side. I shout his name. No response.
I can see all the signs of sudden cardiac arrest—his heart just stopped and it doesn't matter how many times you read about something like this in a book, it's absolutely terrifying to witness in real life—and nothing will save him except picking him up and using the EKG machine on him. I haven't touched a defibrillator since the Klarris County Fair incident.
I have to do something.
I look down at Aaron Hallenbeck, but I don't see his face. I see that 10-year-old boy with bruises all over his chest, lying cold and still, and I feel my hands shaking uselessly.
I have to.
I don't leave his side until the heart monitor begins to beep again, nor really, even then—other people storm into the room and shove me out. I'm scolded thoroughly for continuing to work after clocking out and given a lecture on 'hospital rules.' Irony at its finest.
Exasperated, I sit down on the nearest bench and rest my head against the wall. I don't even realize that I've gone to sleep until I feel a hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake again. I'm more tired than I knew, apparently. I turn my head, look at my assistant. Her eyes are swollen. Again. Damn it, I was supposed to stop this from happening.
"You didn't bring Aaron home," she croaks out. "I came back to see what happened, and …" She chokes down a sob. "… what happened? He was fine when you made me leave. Why is he hooked up to machines again? Why won't they let me in there?"
"… his heart stopped," I murmur.
"Stopped?" she echoes, her voice cracking. "But then … wait, did you—did you save Aaron?"
She cries into my shoulder for a long time after that, whispering "Thank you" over and over again.
***
It's been a long time since I've slept for eight hours straight. No interruptions, no panicked hospital staff, no "call-outs," no half-assed requests to come take over for a resident who botched their rounds. It feels nice to spend a day at home just vegging out. I don't even want anything to drink. After I go out for a steak dinner, I'm ready to go right back to sleep. And I do. The phone doesn't ring once.
The next morning I feel alert for the first time in a while. No coffee needed.
I go to the HR department first and sign off on the pile of papers that formally reinstate me as a practicing physician. Then I pick up a file and head back to my own office. The door's open; someone's beaten me in there.
Myrna Hallenbeck is standing across from my desk. Her expression warns me that she's all ready to have a fight with me. I can guess what it's about, but I sit down anyway.
"Mrs. Hallenbeck. I didn't know you had a key."
"Doctor," she says sharply. "You didn't bother to tell me yesterday that the reason my brother was undergoing intensive care was because you argued with him and forced him into a panic attack."
"There was no need."
"No need?" Although her eyes are outraged and rightfully so, her voice is so flat, it sounds as though the entire scene is familiar to her, something she's dealt with repeatedly over the years. I answer her just as frankly.
"… his heart stopped, but he was in a place where professionals could care for him. Calling you to come in again would have been pointless and dangerous. We might have had to take care of both of you, if you'd come."
She blinks a few times and looks at me again. "Shouldn't you have let me make that decision?"
"Not in my hospital, no."
Her tone begins to slide toward irritation. "I came in this morning to resign, you know."
"Well, that's fine. I was considering letting you go anyway." I close her personnel file and slide it over to her. "I needed an assistant as a medical administrator, but I don’t believe I'll need one as a full-time surgeon."
"You're … going back into surgeries?" She looks positively stunned by the news. "Well … that's … that's great."
"Yes, in a week and a half. I've referred you over to a different department, to someone who really will need an assistant. She's easygoing, you'll get along with her well."
Myrna is silent. She's flipping through the paperwork in her file. She stops, eyes wide. "Dr. Pradyash? You're referring me to—but why—"
"She'll be officially promoted to head of psychiatrics at 3 p.m. this afternoon, she'll need a competent personal assistant. I told her she couldn't do better, and she's willing to take you on if you want the job." I keep typing and don't look at her. "Anyone in her department can work with your brother—and you, if you want help dealing with him."
"Did … did you plan this?"
"Not at all, though I can't say I'm unhappy with the outcome. Are you?"
"I'm … surprised. I didn't know you thought this well of me."
"I didn't fire you, and you didn't quit. That's about all either of us could hope for, right? Thanks for cleaning my office, by the way. I haven't seen the top of my desk for years."
She smiles, a little.
***
So that was the fate of my final assistant, to be fired via promotion. It suited me fine, and although I'm pretty sure Myrna was pissed with the way I cut her loose, she didn't have much reason to complain in the end. She gets a pay raise, her brother can get regular psychiatric treatment, and Jyoti gets a good assistant. Everyone's happy. Right?
"… well, I suppose," Jyoti says. We're on the 15th floor employee patio, the really nice one with a vista of the city. But she isn't looking at the skyline, she's looking at me with that searching gaze. "Are you really operating for the right reasons, Eric?"
"To save lives, yeah?"
"Yes, and also because you haven't given up on people, or on yourself."
I shrug at her. One, because it's never that simple, and two, to annoy her. It works.
She comes over to me and lightly smacks my chest. "My god, you're so stubborn. I suppose it's nice to see that some things haven't changed."
"Would you have it any other way?"
"I suppose that's part of your charm," she says, and sighs. I watch the wind ruffle her hair. "How'd you like that lazy assistant I sent you?"
"I like her very much. She's very organized and keeps all of our patients accounted for, and everyone in our department is wondering how we got along without her. She seems happy with us. Perhaps because her former boss treated her so shabbily."
"Probably. Are we having dinner this Sunday?"
"I'd love to, but I need to take Tahina to the park. She's been begging to go forever, this will be the first time in a while that I'm not busy."
"So go to the park first, and bring her to dinner later." I reach out for her, draw her close.
She softens, but only enough to be held. She's still completely in control.
"Ah … I'm thinking not. She'd like to meet Mommy's special friend, I'm sure. But I have more than one friend whose children meet a different "uncle" every other month. I promised myself a long, long time ago that I would never be that mother, and I won't. You're not meeting Tahina until you're ready for something more serious than mid-afternoon sex. Period."
"Who says I'm not?"
"I do, and I'm the shrink." She flicks my ear. "I have to get back to work now. But it was nice to talk to you. Outside of my office, that is. We should do it more often."
I stay up here for a little longer. It's a nice sunset.
But eventually I head back downstairs, back to the OR … back to the never-ending job of becoming a good doctor.
***
Epilogue
There's only one park in the entire city that isn't littered with broken bottles and trash, and I pay a visit to this park on Sunday around 3:30 p.m. Jyoti's there, sitting on a bench directly across from the spring riders, watching her daughter play. Tahina shrieks as she rocks back and forth on the pirate ship. Jyoti looks up as I approach. "I suppose it wasn't too hard to guess where I was."
"Nope."
We watch Tahina for a while before I look at Jyoti again.
"Are you sure that you even want something more serious than mid-afternoon sex with me? You already know what kind of guy I am, you could be setting yourself up for a massive disappointment."
"Disappointment," she says, and laughs a little. "'Disappointment' is being served with divorce papers as you try to complete a 150-page dissertation. Disappointment is when your husband gives up on you after 14 months of marriage and uses the alimony money he gets to drink himself to death. You won't be the worst decision I've made in life. Not at all."
She gestures to Tahina. "She used to ask me when Daddy was coming home. For the longest time, I didn't know what to tell her. Then last year I finally got word that he was dead. Cirrhosis of the liver, naturally. When I told her that her daddy was gone forever, she surprised me. She asked me if I was happy. She was watching me feel sorry for myself all those years, and I never even knew."
She looks at me solemnly. "Disappointment isn't really something I let myself feel now. I can't afford to wallow in self-pity. I'm the only example she has."
I absorb this in silence before venturing to say, "That's good, I suppose … I'm probably going to let you down a lot."
Now she really does laugh. "That is the most awful proposition I've ever received. But it's just like you, isn't it? At least you're consistent. Consistently terrible."
She looks towards her daughter, who is watching us while pretending not to watch us.
"Tahina," she calls. "Come here, darling. I want you to meet someone."
~ fin
CC used: store items, custom eyes, OMSP, tipsy OMSP, skin by HP. Also used: Hospital set by Hekate999.
Plot points used (current round): Meet Cute
Plot points used (previous rounds): Mysterious Past, Embarrassing Rescue, Good is Boring, Beware the Nice Guy, Not You Again.
Word count: 2.409.