Indie #2
People with Rolex watches that cost as much as my house can never conceptualize what a person will do when they’re hungry.
How they will survive when they’re cold.
And instead of reaching their hand out to help, they’ll look down their nose at us and sneer.
Because, of course, they’re the exception—they would just pull themselves up by their bootstraps if they were in my shoes.
They could lose all their money today and be rich again tomorrow.
Because they always have a safety net, a bailout, a new line of credit to use.
They don’t understand what it feels like to have no safety net.
Teddy understands now, and even that took some time.
But people like Dr. Minkus will never understand.
My hands start shaking, and I fold them on the table in front of me, white-knuckle grip to hold them steady.
“Is this relevant?” Lorraine asks from beside me. “That seemed to a be rather gross observation than a question, Dr. Minkus.”
“Just getting the full picture,” Minkus says with a smile that makes my stomach turn. “Would you describe yourself as financially vulnerable during your residency?”
Dr. Vale’s eyes moved toward him, irritation passing over her face.
“I would say so,” I answer honestly. “I was living paycheck to paycheck.”
“You had educational debt?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to that?”
My throat goes dry.
Glancing toward Lorraine, she gives me a nod.
“I paid it off with the inheritance left for me by Eleanor Ambrose.”
Dr. Minkus hums. “And you recently returned from a month-long European vacation, correct?”
“Yes.”
He tuts again, the noise makes my back tense. “Expensive trip.”
“One I had been saving for over a decade,” I say. “My bank statements and receipts have already been provided.”
“Yes, Dr. Miller, we looked through your very helpful itinerary. But Theodore Williams was there too, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Eleanor Ambrose’s grandson.”
“Yes.”
“And he paid for portions of that trip.”
“Teddy paid for some meals and experiences without my prior knowledge or permission. I was grateful, nonetheless.”
He smirks.
“How convenient.”
My jaw tightens, my nails dig into my palm from how tight my fists are clenched.
My heart slowly picks up, beating harder and harder against my ribcage.
“You must understand how this looks to us, Dr. Miller—”
My voice slices through it, patience long gone.
“Dr. Minkus, if the implication is that I became a physician only so that I could hunt for dying women with handsome grandsons I could ensnare with my womanly charms and assets, I would appreciate the committee stating that plainly.”
Dr. Vale lifts a hand to her mouth, but not before I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of it. Dr. Halloran makes a note in the file in front of her. The note taker’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he types frantically.
Dr. Minkus looks gobsmacked, and I wonder if it’s the first time someone has called him out on his bullshit.
“No more questions from me,” he says, his voice tight and quiet.
Dr. Halloran then clears her throat.
“Dr. Miller,” she starts, her quiet voice unsettling me more than Dr. Minkus’ smug questions. “Would you say you had a strong support system when you began your residency at Hyde?”
I swallow. “No.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“Did Eleanor know this?”
My voice stops working, and I nod.
“Speak up, Dr. Miller.”
I have to swallow three times before I can answer, my voice quiet.
“Yes.”
“So when Eleanor Ambrose showed you affection,” she says, peeking at me over her glasses. “That must have meant a lot.”
My lip wobbles, my eyes and nose sting with tears I try to breathe back.
“Yes,” I stutter, before clearing my throat. “It meant a lot to me.”
“Did Mrs. Ambrose ever refer to you as family?”
“Yes.”
“And did you correct her?”
My throat tightens. “No.”
“Why not?”
Because I wanted to be.
I bite down hard on my lip to keep that answer in, no matter if it’s the truth. It’s not going to sound right to them. They’re not going to understand.
“Did you ever consider that a terminally ill woman facing her own mortality might have been vulnerable to forming an inappropriate attachment to a young doctor who had disclosed a lack of family support?”
It’s not the way they’re talking about me that’s truly bothering me—I hate the way they’re talking about Ellie.
As if she’s weak, as if she wasn’t her own person with thoughts and feelings that still matter.
Because she was older, she was seen as delicate or vulnerable.
And it’s the furthest thing from the truth.
“You misunderstand who Eleanor Ambrose was,” I say, my voice firm and even.
Several expressions shift around the table.
“She was over seventy years old, yes, but she was competent. Sharp as a whip. My professional opinion as a physician is that Eleanor Ambrose was competent until her last day on earth. She was of sound mind. She passed away from pneumonia that she battled quietly because she didn’t want to be a burden on her family.
I told her to go to a doctor more than once, and she didn’t listen. ”
Dr. Vale’s eyebrow raises.
“I have to disagree with the idea that Eleanor Ambrose could be made to do anything she didn’t want to do.”
Dr. Minkus looks at me with such condescension that it makes me grit my teeth.
“Dr. Miller, you must know as a physician that despite how strong our patients seem, anyone can be a victim of coercion. While we agree that Eleanor died of complications from pneumonia, that does not negate the concerns regarding the closeness of your relationship with her, or how recently your physician-patient relationship with her had ended before you began a romantic relationship with her grandson.”
It’s as though I’m already guilty in their eyes.
I’m going to lose my license.
This is it for Dr. Miller.
So, if this is my last stand—
I feel a hand on my shoulder, but Lorraine’s are folded on the table in front of her.
When I look, there’s nothing there physically, but I know who it is.
Give him hell, Indie girl.
My spine straightens.
And a small smile curves my mouth.
“I’m a physician,” I say, my voice quiet but sharp as a knife.
“It took me over twelve years to become one. You all know this. You’ve experienced the same, but we all experience it differently.
Four years of college that I started when I was seventeen years old, surviving on ramen noodles even though it gave me near-constant celiac attacks—it’s all I could afford while trying to pay for school and a place to live. ”
Dr. Vale sits up in her seat, while Minkus looks bored. But Halloran, she looks intrigued.
Lorraine gives me an encouraging nod, her lips quirking.
“I studied and studied and studied and got into one of the best medical schools in this country by myself. I wrote so many essays for scholarships that my fingers were raw. Along with working whatever job would hire me, so I could somehow break even, pay my rent, and maybe have enough to feed myself with my discount at McDonald’s. And I still graduated with a 3.9 GPA.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I feel two hands on my shoulders, like they’re lifting me up in my seat, keeping my posture tall, my head held high.
“I didn’t choose oncology because it’s easy,” I say.
“I chose it because it matters to me. I tell patients every day that they have an expiration date. That the disease inside their body is killing them. That they have lost the fight against this disease, and they are going to die. I comfort them in their darkest hour, I try to find any bit of hope in the horror, and then I have to see the next patient and act like I didn’t just destroy someone’s life. ”
I lean forward, meeting each of their eyes.
“But I love what I do,” I smile, thinking of every single patient I’ve ever encountered, from all walks of life.
Some I spent years with, some only days.
But I remember every single one. “These people are so wonderful and witty and kind and funny and clever, and they are battling this terrifying disease with a smile on their face while they place their lives in my hands!”
My voice has climbed, and I don’t bother forcing it back down.
Dr. Vale’s mouth softens, and Dr. Halloran’s expression has turned into understanding.
Dr. Minkus seems to be shrinking in his seat.
“I worked myself to the bone, running on three hours of sleep, to survive, and I became a physician—and a pretty fucking good one, in my opinion. I think my record speaks for itself.” I gesture to the scattered folders across the table in front of us.
Just words on paper, lacking the actual human emotion behind them.
“So, if you think I was willing to do all of that and still wanted to cash in on a quick payday by taking advantage of an older woman, then you misunderstand me as not only a doctor, but a human as well.”
All the doctors are quiet.
Atta girl.
I smile and take a deep breath.
“Any other questions?”