Early on in my residency, Richard’s wife found out about one of his many mistresses. She filed for divorce, demanded a hell of an alimony, and took their then teenager daughter to live with her in upstate New York. Richard has grumbled over the years about their strained relationship, but to both of our surprise, Annaliese decided to follow in her father’s footsteps and applied to med school. Like father, like daughter, she has a knack for the field and graduated top of her class.
However, to her father’s blatant disappointment, she chose to complete her surgical residency working as a volunteer for Compassion Cruises. Instead of moving back to the city to work alongside and learn from her father, she now spends her days penniless, living in a cargo ship sailing around Africa.
“What’s going on with Annaliese?”
He sighs heavily. “The original plan was for her to finish this year with Compassion Cruises, and then we would make some changes. The drama queen made her point.” He waves a hand in the air as if swatting away an imaginary fly. “Shehelpedthe less fortunate.” He snickers as he uses air quotes around the word ‘help’. “It’s time she moved back to the city and learned something in her residency besides how to place a bandaid.”
“But?” I prompt, sensing that’s no longer the plan.
“Her mother contacted me, and apparently Annalieselikesworking overseas. My daughter would prefer to sleep next to an oil drum and risk contracting the Zika virus as opposed to the mainstream hospital life, which she now refers to as ‘too political.’”
“Jesus, Richard.” I scrub a hand over my face. For the last year, Richard has been a little more than vocal about his disdain regarding Annaliese’s residency choice. He’s offered to have her come work here with him, tried to bribe her with cash, and who knows what else. Knowing that she hasn’t agreed to any of that before, it’s no surprise she isn’t willing to move back. “So she wants to finish her residency overseas?”
He nods once before leaning forward and bringing his elbows to rest on his desk. “She does, but since she’s only a resident and the program she found isn’t one that pays a salary to someone at her level, she can’t afford to.”
I furrow my brow; I’m not sure where this is going. Personally, I don’t know what her program entails. While I’m not opposed to the idea of volunteer work itself, I prefer to go home each night to my penthouse condo with central air and sleep in my California King bed—with or without a female to occupy the spot next to me. “I thought these programs paid the living expenses for someone who qualified.”
“They do, somewhat. They will give you a cot on the ship and bring you to the destination, but as a resident, she isn’t making a salary. She has some basic living expenses she can’t go without, which she was using a humanitarian grant to cover. Due to some funding mishaps, which I may or may not have had a hand in, it looks like she has been suddenly stripped of that grant...” He leans back in his chair, steepling his hands together underneath his chin, and I chuckle.
Richard has a way of getting exactly what he wants. He’s not only the Chief of Surgery, but he’s also a ruthless businessman. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wrapped a metaphorical fist around the throat of whoever was in charge of supplying his daughter her grant and forced them to strip it from her as a way to get her back to the States.
“She needs to come up with more money than she’s ever made in her life to be able to continue the program. Which is why I’ve made her a deal. And Colt, I need your help.”
I run a hand through the mop of hair on my head, taking a mental note that I’m overdue for a cut. “You know I’ll help you in any way I can, Richard. I just don’t know how much help I’ll be to a twenty-something who wants to live in a mud hut in Burma. We have nothing in common.”
He snorts, letting his hands fall. “Exactly. I’ve made a deal with her. She agreed to move back to the city for six months to finish out her second-year residency here, under the condition that I then pay for her to go back to Timbuktu for the next two years.”
Damn. A good reminder for me to never have kids. My money is spent on me, not wasted on unnecessary expenses like this volunteer program when she could move back home, make a liveable salary as a resident,andspend time with her father. “So where do I come into this?”
Richard’s eyes flick to the door, and I tilt my ear to notice the laughter from the surgical crew floating down the hall. With a gesture of his head, I’m on my feet and shutting the door; I assume what’s going to be said next most likely shouldn’t leave the confines of this room.
“Annaliese wants to become a surgeon, which is problem number one.”
I’m a little taken aback by his statement. “You don’t want her following in your footsteps?” Richard was elated when she was accepted into medical school. He bragged about her MCAT scores to anyone who would listen for weeks on end. He tried to persuade her to apply at his alma mater, so hearing him say her surgery program is a problem has me pulling my brows together.
He hits me with a stern look. “No.” He lowers his voice. “You know how I feel about women as surgeons in general.” His eyes flick to the door again to ensure it’s closed. “I’m proud of Annaliese, don’t get me wrong. She’s smart; she’s kind. She’ll be agreatdoctor, I have no doubt about that. But I’d like to see her in a better suited specialty like dermatology, or maybe family practice or OB. She could work as a pathologist or medical examiner if she wishes. Bottom line is, she doesn’t have what it takes to be a surgeon, and if she completed her residency here, in arealsetting, she’d realize that sooner rather than later.”
Richard has made his disdain for female surgeons obvious to me before. It’s no secret he prefers to have male residents shadow him and will only recommend men for positions in power. Personally, I don’t think misogyny belongs anywhere inside a hospital. All I ask is that whoever I work with does their job the way they’re supposed to, and stays out of my way.
Richard, on the other hand, has made more than one female resident change career paths or leave the program altogether, but I didn’t think he felt the same way about his daughter.
“I’m still not sure I’m following. What does this have to do with me?”
“I want to assign you as her mentor.”
I groan and lean forward to set my thermos on his desk with a thunk, letting my forearms fall to my knees. “You know how I feel about students shadowing me.” And technically, a second-year wouldn’t have a designated mentor. They have more freedom and flexibility to assess cases than an intern does. That freedom comes with the ability to follow up with whatever attending is working that day. I’ve never done well with students shadowing me long-term. I like my OR organized and efficient. I don’t like wasting time explaining why I do what I do. I don’t need some nervous kid with fumbling hands crossing the sterile field or brushing up against the instrument table. And I don’t need to spend the next six months babysitting his daughter.
“Exactly,” he drawls. “I need you to show her how grueling it can be. If she wants to see what a real surgical routine is like, then she gets to see what an eighty to a hundred hour workweek with a no-nonsense surgeon breathing down her neck does to a person. She might work long days, but she hasn’t had to pair that with overnight call shifts yet.”
“This almost sounds evil, Richard, not gonna lie. You’re sure this is the route you want to take?”
He shrugs, shuffling the stack of papers on his desk and slipping them back into the manilla file folder. “She’s young; she’s restless. A few months working with you during the day and suffering through on-call at night will show her she isn’t made for this life. I doubt she’s had a real taste of the field wherever she’s been galavanting the last few years. I give her a month, solid. Mark my words, she’ll become so exhausted she’ll be crawling into my office, begging me to find a different specialty for her, one that likely won’t be needed overseas.”
I run my fingers over my lips as I contemplate his request. On one hand, I’d do nearly anything Richard asked of me. He’s done so much for me and my career. He’s the most important person in my life, and there are things he’s given me to which I could never repay him for, but something about this request doesn’t sit right with me.
“If you can do this for me, son,” Richard says, standing from his desk and reaching for his white coat hanging in the corner. “I’d have no doubt that you’re who this hospital needs to step in as Chief of Surgery once I retire.”
My heart thunders in my chest at his words. Richard has always alluded to my talents, both in the OR and with my ability to make decisions void of any emotion. Surgery is science, not romance, he always says. He’s nearing retirement age, and about two years ago, he sat me down and suggested I work to become his replacement as Chief.
