“Yeah, doing something you’re afraid of,” he says, repeating Claire’s words from the other day.
“That means taking time off.” There. I said the words.
My voice sounds foreign. Small.
Except for a week here and there for vacation, I’ve never taken time off.
Not since med school.
Not since residency.
Not since fellowship.
I’ve been sprinting for decades.
And Jayne’s been holding the finish line for you the whole damn time.
“She said she’s going to quit her job for us,” I whisper. “For me.”
“And how’d that make you feel?”
“Like garbage.” I snort. “And now, you sound like Claire.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He folds his arms.
I draw air into my lungs. “I think….” The words scrape out. “I think I need to walk away from being a surgeon for a while.”
Paul nods once and studies me, as if waiting for the next outburst.
“I crack open people’s chests for a living,” I groan, hands on my hips, “but asking my boss for time off is too much?Jesus.”
“You want your marriage?” He leans in. “Fight for it. You want to be a better father? Be home. You wantto stay married to Jayne? Then stop talking about changing and actually change.”
I rake both hands through my hair.
He lowers his voice. “You’re not choosing between your career and your marriage. You’re choosing the order.”
And just like that, everything slots into place.
I am not doing this out of panic or guilt, I realize. I’m doing this out of love, for my wife, my kids, and, whether it feels that way or not, love for myself.
I leave Paul to finish his workout. I go to my office and write a first draft of my official request for a sabbatical.
Then I text Jayne:Thank you for a fantastic weekend. I’m thinking about everything. All of it. I love you.
Then I edit my draft two more times.
Once I’m happy with it, I print it out and head to Dr. Victor Lin’s office. He’s the chief of surgery at Camden and my boss.
When I get there, his office door is open, which is how he likes it unless there is someone in there with him.
Warm lamplight spills into the hall, cutting a soft golden triangle across the floor. He’s at his desk, reading a chart with his glasses perched low on his nose, expression carved in deep lines of concentration.
I knock lightly.
He glances up. “Rhys.” He gestures me in. “Come on in.”
I step inside, trying to keep my limbs from shaking. His office smells faintly of sandalwood and coffee. I close the door and take a seat across from him.
