His eyes started to crinkle at the corners, like he was about to smile. A part of me couldn’t let him think that I agreed with him—because I didn’t.
So I plowed on before I could see his pearly whites. “I know your job is to look at logic and facts. But these patients are people too. Sometimes they need a miracle in their life, and that miracle could be you. That’s an awesome possibility, don’t you think?”
Dr. Mitchell scowled and looked down at his shoes.
“I—” My comment was cut off by an alarm in my patient’s room. “I have to get that.” I hurried down the hall and into the room, grateful to be away from the conversation but also sad that I didn’t get to hear what he thought about miracles. Some doctors believed in them, and others didn’t. I wanted to know which side Dr. Mitchell landed on—it felt important.
The IV of antibiotics had finished, so I unhooked the bag and flushed the port. I worked quickly, hoping that Dr. Mitchell would wait for me—that we could finish our conversation. But when I came back to the desk, he was gone.
“Thanks heavens,” I said out of habit. A pang of regret followed my words. I quickly looked up Mr. McNabb’s file and considered his existing health conditions. I didn’t like to admit it, but I could understand why Dr. Mitchell would think surgery could exacerbate the other health issues in Mr. McNabb’s life. I hadn’t considered the possibility at the time.
I still didn’t agree with him, and I wouldn’t have changed what I’d done—especially considering the outcome. But I had put Dr. Mitchell in a bad spot, and for that, I had a hefty dose of guilt to swallow. And no amount of diet soda was going to help me get that down.
The question was, what was I going to do about it?
Chapter Seven
Alex
Aweek later, I found myself back in Dylan’s office, pacing across the soft blue rug.
Dylan peered over the top of his glasses, waiting for me to start and content to let me pace until I’d gathered my thoughts. The problem was I didn’t know where to begin.
“How has your week been?” he ventured.
“I tried your advice,” I spat out. My conversation with Emma had played over and over again in my head, and I couldn’t make it stop. So much for helping bring peace and synergy to my life. Dylan’s advice had created more turmoil than I’d felt in a long time. “I tried to be optimistic and explain things at work, but it backfired and all I got was ‘you could be a miracle in their life,’” I said, using my fingers to frame the last part with quotation marks.
It also didn’t help that I couldn’t get Emma’s image out of my head. I had never really taken the time toseeher before, the way her blond curls bounced when she moved and the way her sage-green scrubs made her green eyes pop. Her aura exuded happiness.That alone created turmoil. I hadn’t felt happiness in a long time. I mean, sure, I had happy moments at work when a patient’s progress exceeded their prognosis, or when I excelled at a procedure. But an actual life of happiness … no. I guessed life and I had more of a business type relationship—but it had never bothered me before.
Why should it bother me now?
The answer was Emma. Seeing how someone could live like that made me wonder why I didn’t.
Dylan waited, making sure I’d finished, before he countered. “I personally think what you do at work every day is a miracle. Even 15 years ago, many of the people you help today would have been dead on arrival.”
I collapsed onto the leather couch and quietly replied, “I don’t believe in miracles. All I see is good practice, advancing knowledge and technique, planning and sometimes a stroke of luck.”
“I guess it all depends on how you look at it,” Dylan prodded.
“Being a miracle worker is too much pressure. It implies that I can do things that defy logic and science—that I can make something of nothing. I’m not God.”
“Are there ever patients who defy the odds?” Dylan questioned.
“Of course. That’s where the string of luck comes in. It isn’t that I treated them differently during surgery, but their body somehow pulls through where others don’t. I don’t have control over that.”
“Some would call that a miracle.” Dylan raised one eyebrow and tilted his head, almost daring me to contradict him.
“Not me.” I was tired of trying to get someone to see my point of view, to understand that I didn’t want the responsibility of creating hope where none existed. I wanted to get this session done and be on my way.
Dylan seemed to sense that I was at the end of that rope. He folded his hands in his lap and looked me over. “You seem tired today.” He made it seem as if he was stating the obvious. I’d thought I was hiding things better than that.
“I am tired today. Emma wears me out to look at her.”
“Emma?”
“The nurse.” I gave him a look that saidyou know who I’m talking about.
He cocked his head as if I’d said something interesting, and I realized it was probably the first time I’d used her first name in our conversations. So what? It didn’t mean that we were closer to being friends or anything. I might have thought about her too often, but that wasn’t a crime.
