Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
Jamieson
I would love to say this was karma at its finest. As much as I hated the man, a sickness tore through me. We walked down to his room in ER.
“Dad. How are you feeling?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I work here, remember?”
“I know that, but I don’t need you down here, so tell your stepmother that she wasted all of our time by bringing me here.”
“Dad, I read the results of your MRI.”
“Why would you do that? You’re not my doctor,” he growled.
“Dr. Harper came to me, not because you were my father, but because she suspected you needed a neuro consult.”
“And? Spit it out, Jamieson.”
I swallowed hard.
“You have a tumor on your brainstem. It’s what we call a brainstem glioma.”
“Brain cancer?” Tracy spoke.
“Yes, Tracy. That’s what a glioma is,” my father grumbled.
“Oh my God, Carlyle.” She grabbed his hand. “Then you’ll have it removed, and you’ll be fine. Right?” She looked at me.
“Where the tumor is located on the brainstem, it’s nearly impossible to remove. To be honest, I’ve never seen one in this part of the brainstem. Even a partial resection wouldn’t help. We can try to shrink it with radiation and a chemotherapy cocktail.”
“How long do I have?” my father asked me. “And be honest. Don’t try to sugarcoat the fact that I’m dying.”
“About a year,” I nervously spoke.
My father turned his head away and was silent for a few moments. Grace reached over and placed her hand on my shoulder.
“You’re a world-class neurosurgeon. You’ve removed even the most impossible tumors, and you will remove this one.”
“Dad. I don’t think you understand.”
“No! You don’t understand, Jamieson. I’m not ready to leave this world yet, and I’m not ready to leave my wife. You will remove this tumor from me and give me more time,” he shouted. “Prove to me that you can do the impossible. Prove to me that this is why you chose neurosurgery.”
“Carlyle, I don’t think you understand the significant risks involved,” Grace spoke.
“I know all the risks and am willing to take them. Now I need my son to do the same.”
“You could die on that operating table, or worse yet, come out of the surgery with an impact of deficits,” I spoke.
“Then you’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” he spoke.
“I’m not making any promises. I’m going to order brain mapping tests, and we’ll go from there. Until then, Grace is admitting you.”
I walked out of the room, and Grace followed me up to my office.
“He’s asking me to do something I can’t do. He’s just doing this so I’ll fail, and then he can really hate me for the time he has left.”
“That’s not true, Jamieson.”
“Yes, it is, Grace!” I shouted. “He’s a doctor. He knows the risks. He’s doing this to hurt me.”
She walked over and wrapped her arms around me.
“You love challenges. You told me there was no way Justin would ever walk again. You shut down my electrode suggestion. Then you researched it more and figured it out. You did what those doctors in Switzerland failed to do.”
“This is different, and you know it.”
“Not really. Just think about it.”
Her pager went off.
“I have a trauma coming in.” She kissed me. “Think about it.”
A couple of days later, I sat in the imaging room and had all my father’s scans up from his CT, angiogram, MRI, and PET scan. I stared at them for hours and worked on a brain model to see if what I came up with would work. It didn’t. I was frustrated, and I was tired.
“Dr. Finn, can I speak to you for a moment?” Renata asked as she walked into the room.
“Sure.” I rubbed my forehead.
“I told your father that it is against hospital policy to let a family member treat him and that I can’t allow it.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He told me that you are operating on him, and if I have a problem with it, he will get in touch with his friends on the board and have me fired.”
“Yep. Sounds like him.”
“It’s not fair that he’s doing this to you, Jamieson.”
“He’s never been a fair man.”
“If you can’t truly do it, then don’t.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “There are just some things we doctors can’t do, and you must realize that.”
“I know, Renata. Thank you.”
“Let me know what you decide,” she spoke before walking out of the room.
By the time I arrived home, Grace was already in bed. I quietly stripped out of my clothes and climbed in next to her.
“Are you okay?” she asked as she rolled over, and I wrapped my arms around her.
“I think I figured out a way to remove the tumor.” I kissed the back of her head.
“What?” She quickly turned around and faced me.
“It’s going to take at least twelve hours, and that’s provided there are no complications.”
“Are you sure?” She placed her hand on my cheek.
“Not really, but I have to try. We can tell him tomorrow.”
The next morning, Grace and I went to my father’s room and told him exactly what I would do.
“I want Grace in there assisting you,” he spoke.
“What? Why?” I asked.
“Because she’s a snippy little thing, and she’ll set you straight if something goes wrong and you panic.”
“Dad, I don’t think—”
“This is my brain you’re cutting into, and if I want Dr. Harper in that room, then she better damn well be.”
I looked at Grace, who had a frightened look on her face.
“You heard the man,” I spoke to her.
“Okay. I’ll be in there, Carlyle.”
As we were about to leave the room, my father cleared his throat.
“By the way, why haven’t you two told me you got married?” he asked.
Both of us froze and then slowly turned around and stared at him.
“The nurse told me,” he spoke.
“It’s complicated,” I said. “We were both drunk, and it will be annulled in three months.”
“Why three months?” he asked.
“That’s another complicated story. One I’ll tell you after your surgery.”
“Jamieson, can I speak with you alone?”
“Sure.” I looked at Grace. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Come here,” my father spoke.
I sat in the chair next to his bed, and he reached over and placed his hand on mine.
“You are a brilliant surgeon, and I want you to know how proud I am to have you as my son.”
“Dad—”
“Let me finish. I don’t want you to blame yourself if something happens to me. Promise me that you won’t.”
“Nothing is going to happen, Dad.”
“Come on, Jamieson. We’re both doctors, and we know this surgery has way too many risks—risks I’m willing to take to give me more time with my family. I want to make right the things I’ve done wrong, especially where you’re concerned. I’m sorry, son, for everything.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t be. If my father had treated me the way I treated you, I would have acted the same way.”