I paused just outside the conference room door and took a deep breath. I was ready to blow fire at the committee, and I had to get that under control.
Ben, one of the custodians, walked by on his way to the elevator. He had on the dark gray zippered jumpsuit and walked hunched over. Not because he was old, but because he was so tall. When we’d first met, he’d said his wife was a full 18 inches shorter than him. I’d imagined that he’d leaned down to listen to her—or steal a kiss—and he’d stuck that way.
“Rough day, Dr. Mitchell?” he asked.
“You could say that.” I took another deep breath and let it sigh out. My future was uncertain at the moment, and I was a man who liked certainty. I didn’t need to lay my burdens on Ben’s stooped shoulders, though. “Let’s just say it isn’t a good sign that I am standing here right now.”
“Well, sir, seems like everyone is having a rough time of it. Not too long ago, I saw Nurse Emma. She’s having a tough day too, I tell you. But anyway, I wanted to say thanks for the tickets. We had a great time at the game.”
I nodded. I’d bought Cubs season tickets a few months back, thinking Chicago would be a new start for me in the relationship department. But as usual, I’d thrown myself into work and created walls between myself and any of the single women who may want to catch a baseball game. Ben was a great guy, and I was glad he and the Mrs. had a night out.
It wasn’t his gratitude for the game that caught my utmost attention, though—it was his description of Nurse Emma. She worked in the TICU, and I’d seen her name on Mr. McNabb’s chart. Ethics complaints were anonymous, but Ben’s description was enough to give me a good idea of who had filed with the ethics committee.
“I’m glad to hear it. I really do appreciate your work, and those cookies Barbara sent last week were great.”
Ben shuffled his black sneakers as if he had been the one to bake the cookies. “Well, that’ll make Barbara’s day. And thank you for saying so.”
I smiled a tired smile. “Wanna come in with me?” I said as I dipped my head towards the conference room door. The idea of having a friend stand beside me was awfully appealing. My sudden desire for support had me yearning for something I never had before—a partner.
A wife? Did I really want that level of commitment in my life? There was a lot of work that went into tending a marriage. But would the support be worth it? Ben seemed to have something special with Barbara—they’d found the secret to happiness. I wouldn’t mind someone who asked me about my day when I walked through the door, someone who shared these hard moments, who understood.
I shook off the ridiculous idea. I’d learned a lot about myself over the years, and the biggest lesson was that I wasn’t marriage material. Datable? Sure. Women could put up with me for a while. I’d had a girlfriend back in Washington while I’d been in med school. She’d been a first-year med student when I’d been a fourth year. But when I’d moved to New York for my cardiothoracic surgery residency, we’d drifted apart. We were still friends, though, and I wished her all the best with her new practice and future husband in Keokuk, Iowa.
Ben chuckled. “I think anything beyond that door is beyond my paygrade, sir. But I’ll say a prayer for you and hope that it goes well.”
“I appreciate that,” I replied.I did. God might not listen to me, but he probably listened to Ben. “Hope you have a nice night, Ben.”
The door to the conference room opened, and Dr. Randy Anderson, the hospital medical director, signaled that it was time for me to go in. I waved bye to Ben and guardedly moved into the room, ready to face this on my own but dreading it all the same.
Chapter Three
Alex
The room was empty other than Dr. Anderson. I’d anticipated at least seven sets of eyes boring into me as I defended my decision not to operate on Mr. McNabb and was taken off guard. I didn’t have a problem with Dr. Anderson—I liked and respected the man. So yelling at him didn’t sit right, and I had to tell the dragon inside to huff his way back into the cave.
“Where’s the rest of the committee, sir?” I asked.
Dr. Anderson leaned against the table and folded his arms. “Since this was an emergent situation/complaint, there wasn’t enough time to do a full committee meeting. The urgent request was discussed with what committee members were available, and the plan of action was sent to all members for ratification.” He pushed off, spun to sit down in the chair at the head of the table, and motioned me to sit next to him.
I did, feeling a little more relaxed and slightly less attacked with the just two of us but no less worried about the outcome here.
Dr. Anderson steepled his fingers and regarded me with a kind eye. “Alex, what’s going on? You haven’t been here six months, and this is your third complaint.”
Working in this field had allowed me to develop a sense of discernment when it came to my colleagues. I could pick out a superiority complex faster than I could diagnose ventricular tachycardia. This guy? He was the real deal, the kind of doctor who’d gotten into medicine to help people, to save lives. I wanted to tell him my issues; the problem was that I didn’t know what they were. It felt like the whole hospital had hated me from the moment I’d walked through the door. Well, maybe not Ben, and the cafeteria staff seemed to think I was all right. But the nurses …
I decided to just say it like I saw it and see what happened. “To be honest, Dr. Anderson, I don’t know. With that patient today, he had a greater than 90% occlusion in his LAD. He was a morbidly obese, uncontrolled Type 1 Diabetic, with uncontrolled blood pressure and a family history of heart disease. His dad died at age 43 of a sudden heart attack. He also has severe sleep apnea and is a smoker, which complicates his airway and recovery. I did the surgery because your committee told me to, or I wouldn’t have a job. But the man’s heart was a mess. I don’t know if and highly doubt that he’ll even wake up. In my opinion, he wasn’t a great surgical candidate to begin with. That is what I told his wife, and why initially I declined doing the surgery. I’m honest with people and tell it like I see it. Does that make me unethical?” I really wondered. Because if they thought I was going to lie to someone, I’d look for another hospital and start the application process.
Dr. Anderson tapped his finger against his chin as he thought. And thought.
His deliberation over what to say agitated me further, and I blurted, “Just say it, Dr. Anderson, I prefer things out in the open.”
“All right.” He sat up a little taller and cleared his throat “You’re right, Dr. Mitchell.Technically,you didn’t do anything wrong. That’s why the committee decided not to take any further official action. Medically, your diagnosis was sound. Butunofficially,we do have some concerns.”
I sucked in, bracing for the blow he was about to deliver.
“There’s a better way of doing things than your direct arrow approach. It’s not justwhatyou say, buthowyou say it. If you spend your career alienating the nursing staff and your patients by blurting out the harsh reality, it’s going to make your job a lot more difficult than if you get them on your team.”
His words stung. Not because they were harsh, but because they rang true. I felt like he’d struck a gong, and it reverberated within my chest cavity, deep and painful. “I understand,” I said as I rose to walk to the door.
