Chapter 24
Emery
Long distance was as hard on my heart as I expected.
I’d hoped it wouldn’t be. I’d had a fanciful notion that expecting the worst would translate to it not being terrible.
But the past three months and ten days had been some of the hardest in my life, and I’d gone to one of the top twenty medical schools in the country.
When it was good, it was enough to stave off the heartache.
But there were plenty of missed calls. Texts that went unanswered for hours or even a whole day.
Not because we weren’t trying. But Ville was busy and so was I. Sometimes, we just missed connecting.
And damn did I miss him.
Last night’s phone conversation had helped.
I’d been so relieved when Ville answered that I nearly cried and we chatted for a long time.
He’d sounded so good, happy, his voice low and sexy.
It wasn’t surprising when things turned in a sexual direction, because we were both missing that, and we switched to a video call before he talked me through an orgasm so powerful I’d hit the wall when I’d come.
“Next time, we’ll try for some real distance,” Ville said, all smug male, as he tilted the camera down to show me the mess he’d made all over his chest.
I hadn’t wanted to hang up, and Ville was more than happy to murmur to me while I fell asleep. When I woke up this morning, my phone was nearly dead, but he’d sent a text message telling me how much he loved me and to face my day with bravery.
I looked at the message again to shore myself up as I sat down in my office and booted up my computer.
My first patient was scheduled for eight, so I’d come in an hour early to catch up on charting and prepare for my day.
I needed the fortitude. No matter how much I loved what I did, and my patients, Dr. Hastings had become somewhat of a problem.
He was a good doctor. I still believed that wholeheartedly.
He cared about his patients and treated everyone well, came in early and stayed late, and went above and beyond.
But at the same time, he clearly didn’t see me as an equal.
And in some ways, I wasn’t. I had a year of practice under my belt, if you didn’t count the two years of residency, and Hastings had nearly thirty.
He’d been caring for this community for a long time.
But what he seemed to forget was I’d been a part of the community for my whole life and more than that, despite my age, I wasn’t a kid.
What had started out as a mentorship had deteriorated into something else.
The only thing I could equate it to was that Dr. Robert Hastings saw me as a wayward child who needed discipline.
Considering that my own parents had always been proponents of proportional consequences and not punishments, this was a new experience.
That’s not to say I hadn’t run into people like that before.
Of course I had. Throughout med school and residency, there had been professors and physicians alike who embodied that mindset about those younger than themselves.
But I’d never had a problem speaking up and advocating for myself in those situations.
Jennifer and Michael Harrington had raised confident people, and though my siblings and I weren’t perfect—far from it—we all knew when to take a stand.
The only reason I’d allowed my anxiety to drive in this situation was that working here, serving this community, had always been my dream.
Dr. Hastings had taken care of all of us as we’d grown up, and even now, most of my family still saw him.
I had the wicked thought that if I told everyone what was going on, they’d instantly change to Luz, though Gemma and the twins, as well as Demi and her children already saw her.
But Ville had been the only one I’d voiced my concerns and frustrations to.
My love had been gently, though persistently, encouraging me to have the talk with Hastings.
He never pushed too much, but it seemed to come up in our talks more often than not.
Ville understood why I was hesitant, but he also reminded me that I was strong and brave, and that if I didn’t deal with this directly, it would only get worse.
Thinking about that, and remembering his text that I’d woken up to, felt like a sign to finally do something.
My inbox lit up as soon as I logged into the EMR system and I started going through the high priority messages.
The second one made me stop in my tracks.
The results of Elias Becker’s MRI had come back—the one Hastings had chastised me for ordering—and it turned out I was right.
The man had multiple lesions in his brain and on his cervical spine and at least two of them were in an active flare up.
And though I hated that I had to call the thirty-two-year-old actuary and tell him that he had multiple sclerosis and I’d be referring him to a neurologist, it was the example I needed.
It was time to stand up for myself and my acumen as a physician.
I knew Hastings would be in, because he always was this early, so I picked up my tablet, pulled up what I needed, and headed down the hall to the corner office.
It wasn’t ostentatious, he wasn’t that sort of man, but it was large and well appointed.
Hastings took pride in the way it looked, and really, I couldn’t blame him for that.
The door was open, but his gaze was locked on his screen, so I wrapped my knuckles against the wood.
He looked up, and his smile seemed genuine.
“Come on in, Emery.” The way he said my name was slightly patronizing, and I couldn’t lie, it rankled just a bit. He always insisted everyone call him Dr. Hastings, but he didn’t afford me the same courtesy.
“Do you have a minute?” I asked, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.
“I’m always happy to provide a consult and guidance to you,” he said, and he smiled, but seriously, that tone. I wasn’t a child. But I ignored that too. As I crossed the floor, he gestured to the chair on the public side of his desk. “Have a seat.”
I didn’t sit, but instead moved so I was standing beside his desk. I took a few seconds, trying to decide what to say. When I was sure my voice would be steady, no emotion whatsoever leaking through, only then did I speak. “Elias Becker has MS.”
I set the tablet down on his desk, the radiologist's report on full display. Hastings gave it the barest of glances. He was shocked. I could tell by the wide eyes and the rapid blinking. He opened his mouth but I didn’t give him a chance to get a word in.
“If you recall, you insisted that an MRI was unnecessary and that I was putting him through the test for no reason. Despite the fact that I’d done my due diligence and ruled out everything else that could be causing his symptoms. Magnetic resonance imaging was the next step, and unfortunately in this case, it confirmed my suspicions. ”
Something passed over his eyes, and after a second, he cleared his throat. “While I’m sure that’s true—”
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” I butted in, doing exactly that.
And honestly, I wasn’t that sorry. “But I want to be clear I’m not trying to make this some ‘gotcha’ moment.
Simply an illustrative point to highlight the way in which you’ve treated me.
I am an incredibly capable doctor. I’ve worked hard to become so. ”
“Now, Emery,” he said, chuckling condescendingly. “If I had any doubts about your capabilities, I wouldn’t have hired you. But it takes years to hone the practice, yes? And we should always be learning.”
“I agree.” It took everything in me not to react outwardly.
“Which is also why I’m diligent about my CMEs.
Why I research and why I ask questions of you when I need your expertise.
I don’t have your experience. I value your mentorship.
What I don’t appreciate, however, is you second guessing me, accessing charts of my patients to see what I’ve done or said, and going around me to speak to said patients. ”
He looked affronted. “I don’t do that.”
“You do,” I said firmly, still working to keep my tone from being accusatory. Even though I would be well within my rights, I didn’t want this to turn into some dick measuring contest. “I can give you at least seven examples off the top of my head. Mr. Becker being one of them.”
Hastings wasn’t used to being confronted, and I could see the bluster forming. I had to give him credit that he actually took a moment to think about what I said. Of course, that credit was erased the second he spoke.
“I’m just trying to keep you from making the mistake so many young doctors make. I’ve seen it time and again. Newly minted doctors want to be the heroes, finding that rare disease when the truth is ultimately far simpler. I’m sure you can understand that, Emery.”
“I do, Bob.” Using his first name, and the nickname he went by to friends and family no less, was perhaps a touch petty.
I could admit that I liked the way he bristled at hearing it.
But I needed to keep this professional. I took a quick breath.
“But I’ve treated hundreds of patients since I started, and ninety-five percent of them have been exactly that.
The cold, or flu, strep throat or ear infection, or whatever else that it presented itself to be.
Since you’ve been auditing me so closely, I know you’ve seen this. ”
I thought the man had been listening to my thought process, but instead he’d been ready to fire back with a different example. “What about Cassie MacBain’s little girl? You had that poor mother worried about Hashimoto’s in a child.”
I stared him down. “I’m still not convinced Riley MacBain doesn’t have thyroid issues, though the diet changes seem to have helped. Mrs. MacBain trusts you, as do I, I might add. But I wasn’t grasping at straws, and you can’t say that I was.”