Chapter 4
FOUR
LUKE
As I walk out of the waiting room, I have to force myself not to look back at Melissa.
It’s clear she’s still worried, even though Claire came through surgery with no complications.
I was tempted to hold Melissa’s hand and take her to see Claire myself, but it would be inappropriate.
We don’t have that sort of relationship, and if we did, operating on her daughter could get me in huge trouble with the Medical Board.
That was the main message of the Ethics and Professionalism course in first year medical school: Do not sleep with your patients.
The Ethics professor, a folksy middle-aged woman with curly hair and Birkenstock sandals, had opened her lecture with that exact statement.
Getting involved with a patient’s relative wasn’t quite as bad as sleeping with a patient, but it was still a very bad idea.
Not only was it unethical, an inappropriate sexual relationship was the most common reason for a doctor to lose his medical license, sometimes permanently. At the time, I couldn’t imagine what sort of idiot would be stupid enough to risk his career for sex.
And I can honestly say I’ve never had inappropriate thoughts about a patient, or anyone related to a patient, until today.
My reaction to Melissa was instinctive, and I’m angry at myself for it.
We’ve been over for a very long time, and I still resent her for the way things ended.
Resent myself, too, because it was my fault as much as hers.
And I still haven’t gotten over the fact that she jumped into a relationship with Troy Thompson so soon after we broke up.
I head to my office and spend an hour catching up on charting before deciding to check on Claire.
According to the electronic chart, she’s already been moved out of the Recovery Room to the pediatric ward.
I take the stairs up and find Melissa perched on Claire’s bed, smoothing her hair.
Troy and Olivia are sitting in the visitors’ chairs, and Liam’s on the floor playing with a toy truck.
Claire’s actually the first to notice me, and she gives me a tired smile.
“Hey, Claire,” I say. “You came through that like a superstar. How are you feeling?”
Claire’s face lights up, and she looks so much like her mother it’s unnerving. She gives me a thumbs-up and clears her throat. “Okay, I think,” she croaks, her voice still hoarse from the anesthetic.
Troy rises to his feet and offers me his hand.
“Thanks so much, again, Dr. Carlton,” he says. “We really appreciate what you’ve done for Claire.”
I want to tell him I didn’t do it for him, but instead I just smile and shake his hand. When he winces, I relax my grip a little.
I turn back to Claire. “I’d like to keep you in the hospital tonight, and probably tomorrow night, too. If everything goes well, you can probably go home Saturday. Sound okay?”
Claire nods and gives me another thumbs-up.
Melissa catches my eye. “Thanks, Dr. Carlton,” she says stiffly.
I nod, equally stiffly, and leave the room.
I’m on call tonight but there are no other cases pending, so I decide to escape while I can.
My friend Austin is having some friends over for pizza and beer, and although I told him I probably wouldn’t make it, I think I’ll go.
Operating on Melissa’s daughter has unsettled me, and I need a distraction.
And since Austin and I own condos in the same building, I really have no excuse.
I stop at my condo and grab a bag of pretzels to take to Austin’s.
It’s not a particularly inspired offering, and I find myself wishing I had something else.
Reese’s peanut butter cups would be good.
My mind flashes back to the blissful expression on Melissa’s face as she bit into the chocolate.
She always had a weakness for peanut butter.
Austin’s condo is only one floor above mine, so I take the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator.
“Luke, you made it!” Austin exclaims, clapping me on the back. “Saved enough lives for one day?”
“I didn’t want to make the rest of you look bad,” I quip, rolling my eyes as I hand him the bag of pretzels.
“Bad day?”
I wonder if I’m wearing my feelings on my face. It hasn’t exactly been a bad day, but in one afternoon, everything’s changed. Melissa’s divorced and back in town, and I can’t get her out of my head.
And if anyone could read me, it would be Austin, who’s been my best friend since we met in med school.
He likes to joke that I’ve been following him around ever since, but I could accuse him of the same thing.
We both went to Montreal for residency, although I did general surgery and Austin did plastics.
After fellowships in different cities (trauma in Toronto for me, microsurgery in LA for Austin), we both ended up back in Somerset last year.
“No, I’m fine,” I tell Austin, in what I hope is a casual tone.
I make my way to the living room to join Ethan Atwell and Drew Malone.
Ethan’s a general surgeon like me, while Drew’s both a nationally renowned neurosurgeon and the chief of the surgery department.
They’ve got the baseball game on; the Blue Jays are playing the Yankees, and if they lose, they won’t make the playoffs.
“Hey, Luke,” Ethan says. He gestures to the can of beer in front of him. “I brought a case, help yourself. It’s in the fridge.”
“Thanks, but I’m on call tonight.” I like beer, but I never drink on call. I figure I owe it to the patients to be as sharp as I can.
“One drink won’t hurt.” Ethan sounds more defensive than he should, since he’s not on call himself. “If you’d be safe to drive, you should be safe to operate.”
“Luke’s drink of choice is Pepsi,” Austin interrupts, handing me a can. “I’m a Coke man, but I buy Pepsi just for him, so the least he can do is drink it.”
“Thanks, Austin.” I take the drink, and the awkward moment passes. Technically, I don’t disagree with Ethan; if you can drive after drinking a beer, you should be able to operate, but it’s just not something I’m comfortable with.
But I’m afraid Ethan’s gotten comfortable drinking a beer or two on call—over the past few weeks, there have been whispers around the hospital that he has an alcohol problem.
He’s never shown up to work obviously drunk, but he’s been late for clinic a couple of times, and he was even late for surgery one day.
This is always a red flag; most surgeons wouldn’t be late to the operating room unless they were on death’s door.
I’ve known Ethan since we were both residents in Montreal, where he was a couple years ahead of me.
He supervised my very first rotation of residency, when I barely knew my ass from my elbow, and he was the best mentor I’ve had.
The most useful lessons of my training came from Ethan: YouTube videos are more useful than textbooks for learning anatomy, and the secret to a successful surgical career is to suck up to the operating room nurses.
When I got a job as an attending in Somerset, I started hanging out with Ethan as a friend rather than a mentor.
At first, he was the same guy I’d known in Montreal: bright, funny, and surgically gifted.
But in the past few months, something’s changed; he’s irritable, and he doesn’t hang out with us nearly as much as he used to.
Austin blames Ethan’s girlfriend Jess, who he’s nicknamed the Ice Bitch, and I agree Jess could make any man irritable.
But I’ve also heard a rumor that Ethan’s being sued over a case that went bad.
As Ethan goes to the fridge for another beer, I sneak a glance at Drew.
As the chief of surgery, it’s his responsibility to deal with doctors who have problems, so if anyone has the right to confront Ethan, it’s him.
I’m sure Drew’s heard the rumors, but as usual, his expression gives nothing away.
I wish he’d stage some sort of intervention, because it’s painful to watch Ethan unravel.
Austin sets a bowl of pretzels on the coffee table next to a veggie tray. The veggies are for Drew, who treats his body like a temple and never eats junk.
“What’s that smell?” Austin asks with a frown. “Is someone wearing perfume?”
“Shit!” Ethan groans. “Jess stayed over last night.”
“So now you’re wearing perfume to try to scare her away?” Drew asks innocently.
I bite back a laugh. Drew clearly shares Austin’s opinion of Jess.
Ethan sighs. “She does this thing where she sprays perfume in the air and walks through it. I guess I walked through it and didn’t notice.”
Austin wiggles his eyebrows. “Smells pretty good.”
Ethan rolls his eyes and turns to me. “How’s your girlfriend doing?” he asks, in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
My mind instinctively goes to Melissa. “She’s anxious, obviously, but her daughter’s going to be fine.”
“Her daughter?” Ethan asks in confusion. “I didn’t know Sloane had a kid.”
Everyone’s staring at me, and I realize my mistake. “She doesn’t,” I say quickly. “I was thinking about someone else. A patient’s mom.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Now everyone’s wondering why I answered a question about my girlfriend with a reference to a patient’s mom. Even the famously poker-faced Drew Malone has raised an eyebrow.
“Actually, Sloane and I broke up,” I say quickly, hoping to distract them from thoughts of patients and their mothers. Austin knows the story, but it’s news to Ethan and Drew.
Ethan’s brow furrows. “I’m sorry, man,” he says. “When was this?”
“About a month ago.”
“What happened?”
“We wanted different things,” I say dismissively, and it’s the truth.
I started dating Sloane Beaumont, a pediatrics resident, over a year ago during my fellowship in Toronto.
She wasn’t happy when I took the job in Somerset (she wanted me to stay in Toronto), but we decided to try long-distance.
Recently, though, Sloane made it clear that she wanted to get married, and I wasn’t sure I did.
She also wanted me to do a Master’s degree, so I’d have a better chance of an academic job in a bigger city, and I was very sure I didn’t want that.
So after a particularly miserable weekend together, in which Sloane managed to drop the words wedding and marriage at least once an hour, I told her I wasn’t sure I’d ever get married.
I just wasn’t the marrying type. It wasn’t her, it was me.
Sloane reacted to that about as well as you’d expect, I agreed I was a jerk for leading her on, and we decided to part ways.
“Who ended it?” Ethan perseveres.
“What does it matter?” Austin interjects. “It’s done.”
Ethan turns to Austin. “How about you, man? Are you dating anyone?”
Austin rolls his eyes. “Not right now. My dad convinced me to meet with his new PR hack, who told me my dating habits were jeopardizing my dad’s career.”
Austin’s father is a Member of Parliament, and the Cabinet Minister for Social Development.
He leans to the left of the political spectrum, and I know he wishes Austin had chosen a more sympathetic field.
Family medicine or pediatrics would have been ideal, but pretty much anything would have been better than plastic surgery.
But the criticism of Austin’s dating doesn’t make sense. Austin’s dated a lot of women, but as far as I know, he’s always treated them with respect. “What are they worried about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that the opposition will send a woman to seduce me and then tell the press about my kinky bedroom habits,” he quips.
“A honeytrap,” Ethan says with a laugh.
“Yep,” Austin says. “So I promised to put away the chains and whips until after the next election. I also told my dad that no one cares who his son dates, but he didn’t appreciate that. He thinks he’s got a shot to be prime minister someday.”
“Huh,” Ethan says. “Will you still hang out with us when you’re famous?”
“Only if you give up the perfume,” Austin replies. “But anyway, the PR guy suggested I ‘court a woman with a view to marriage.’ He even offered to find me a suitable young lady.”
“Like an arranged marriage,” Drew remarks.
“Lucky me,” Austin jokes. “And Dad claims to be a progressive. Believe it or not, I said no.” His phone buzzes with a text.
“Pizza’s here,” he announces, tapping his phone to let the delivery guy into the building.
Cheering erupts from the TV, and I glance over to see that the Blue Jays have hit a home run.
Everyone seems to have forgotten my slip of the tongue, when I confused a patient’s mother with my girlfriend.
But I haven’t forgotten. My mind is still on Melissa.