Chapter 17
Cain
“It’s unreasonable to think they can come in here and change the way we’ve been doing things for twelve years!” I bellow at my boss, not giving a shit who hears, including the man standing next to him, who addresses me anyway.
“Dr. Rosemont, our suggestions are in an effort to—”
“Your suggestions? I was basically told to accept and conform, or I could kiss my job goodbye. Therefore, they are not suggestions, and I resent your use of the term,” I sneer at the man wearing a bowtie and a condescending expression.
Admittedly, I’ve never backed down from a challenge, but I’m probably taking it a little too far today.
I lost my usual stoic manner about six months ago.
I must have run out of Patrick’s house so fast that I left it behind.
A man in control never reveals his true emotions.
A lesson I learned from my father, but the man was successful and got everything he ever wanted, so who was I to argue with his logic?
I was smart enough to stay quiet and take notes.
“We appreciate everything you do for this hospital, but our focus is on improving outcomes across the board, and in order to do that, we can’t play favorites,” the man standing next to my boss says. The suit in charge of the restructuring, apparently.
“With all due respect,” I fire, “which admittedly isn’t much, you have a degree in business.
I have a fucking medical degree and have been saving people’s lives for TWELVE YEARS.
I know how the fucking system works, and of course, the hospital has a favorite.
It’s me. I’m the favorite. You know why?
Because I generate the most revenue and ensure this hospital lands at the top of every fucking cardiothoracic surgery list there is.
So, to tell me you’re cutting my OR time so you can distribute it to the staff evenly is bullshit.
Dr. Thompson doesn’t have enough cases to fill one fucking day, let alone two.
Taking my OR time makes no goddamn sense! ”
I storm out of the room before he can get another word in edgewise and head for my office.
I blow out a harsh exhale and am thankful when my destination comes into view. I enter and lean back against the door as soon as it’s closed. In a rare moment of caving to my emotions, I slide to the floor. Planting my feet, I bend my knees and rest my elbows on them.
When my defenses are weakened like this, the only thought I have the energy for is remembering Patrick’s face as I straddled his lap. His broken sadness. The moment I knew he’d found the strength to shut me out.
It’s for the best.
A knock on my door pulls me from my self-pity, and I steel myself for whatever administrator has come to tell me to pack my shit.
Except when I open the door, another surgeon’s PA is standing on the other side.
“Dr. Rosemont, I’m sorry for interrupting, but Dr. Shay has run into some unexpected difficulty with a patient in the OR and was hoping you could assist?”
Mentally, I’m on empty, but what am I supposed to say when a person’s life is at stake?
I nod, but stay silent, no longer trusting myself to open my mouth as I follow her back toward the changing room for new scrubs.
Any time I’m needed in the OR, it’s a matter of life and death. There are no easy cases or easy OR days for me. I don’t perform elective surgeries. Everyone needs what I have to offer, and sometimes I have to choose who gets it first.
I’ll do everything I can for the patient on the table, but when I arrive, I already know she’s gone, and nothing I do is going to bring her back.
It never gets easier.
Even after losing several patients of my own, they never lose their humanity.
Perhaps that’s why I treat my lovers as if they have none. I’m tired of facing mortality and prefer thinking my lovers will go on living forever.
But that’s a deep dive for another day.
I shower at the hospital like I always do when I lose a patient, not wanting any of that bad karma to follow me home.
It’s only four when I leave the bathroom, but it feels much later.
Burnout is tickling the edges of my senses, and I force it back as I make my way to my office.
There’s always more paperwork to be done, orders to be written, tests to order, medications to reconcile, appointment requests to confirm or deny, etc.
My coworkers go home to their families at the end of the day.
They share their burdens and laugh with loved ones.
Being the best at what I do meant making sacrifices along the way.
Having a family was one of them. But is sharing my burdens with someone worth giving up my reputation as being the best?
I don’t think so. So, while everyone is at home, I remain at the office, doing what needs to be done for the three hundred and sixty-eight patient requests for appointments in my inbox.
When my vision begins to blur from tired eyes, I finally head home. The space is usually a reminder of how far I’ve come. How successful I am. How independent I am.
Tonight, it’s a reminder of how alone I am.
Around seven, I get a text from my administrator.
Dan
Don’t forget the mediators will be here tomorrow. Please address your concerns respectfully. If it’s another shitshow like it was this morning, you won’t get anywhere.
I pocket my phone without answering, hating that I’ve become someone who needs a warning about my behavior as though this is preschool.
I eat, shower, and go to bed early. Tomorrow will bring a new set of challenges, and it’s best to be ready for anything.