Could I Have This Dance? (64 page)

Claire closed her eyes and looked away, her emotions threatening to overflow with tears. Again.

How could I have been so gullible?

The irony was not lost on Claire.
Oh, God,
she prayed.
Why was it so easy for me to trust Brett, but so hard for me to put my trust in you?

Chapter Forty-Eight

A
week later the twelve surgical interns gathered for an urgent meeting with Tom Rogers, the surgical department chairman and residency director. His mood was sober, and he addressed the interns with a nod of his head as he arrived.

The nervous chatter about the meeting ceased with his entry.

Claire watched as he stepped behind a podium and began.

“The life of a surgery resident has never been easy. We know that. It’s a fact of life.”

He sighed. “But there have been many voices within our department pushing for a change in organization. And Brett Daniels’ death has given us reason to think again about the stress produced in this environment, the environment of a pyramid program.

“This program was designed to produce the best. And we are committed to continuing. But, as of the selection of our new incoming intern group in July, this program at Lafayette will no longer operate as a pyramid. It will be a block, with five interns slotted as categorical surgery interns. These five will be graduated through the program until they finish as chief residents. The other interns will be classified as preliminary interns, and it will be understood from the first day of training that they will have only a year or two here, and then they will transfer elsewhere to continue their training.

“In this way, we hope to foster less competition and more camaraderie in the trenches.

“But where does it leave you?” He let the question hang for a moment.

The interns glanced side to side, uncomfortable with the silence.

The chairman continued. “Next month, we will select five of you as categorical surgical residents to continue this program for the next five years. Three of the remaining group will be offered positions as preliminary surgical residents, but will understand that we can offer no assurances that they will finish the program.

“If any of you know that you are not continuing in the program, you must let me know this week, so I can make my selections.”

Dr. Padgett raised his hand. “Dr. Rogers? I’ll tell you right now. I’ve been offered a spot in ortho right here at Lafayette. I’m taking it. You can give my spot to someone else.”

Beatrice Hayes whispered, just loud enough for the interns to hear, “As if you had a spot to give up.”

“Okay,” Dr. Rogers responded, holding up his hand. “Anyone else want to make my job easier?”

Dr. Griffin raised his hand. “I’ve got a urology spot in Georgia.”

Pepper raised his eyebrows. “A little detergent should help with that urology spot, Griffin.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Dr. Bearss, must you continue?”

“Just trying to cope, Bea. Maybe you should try a little humor once in a while. Did you know it takes twice as many muscles to frown?”

Dr. Rogers ignored the banter. “Thanks, Dr. Griffin. Anyone else not coming back?”

The group was silent.

“Okay then. Selections will be made by next month. Each of you will get a letter informing you of my decision. I’m sorry it has to be such a large cut from the first year to the second, but if we’re going to change this program from a pyramid to a block, the residents currently in the program are going to get squeezed.

“I know it hurts now, but in the long run, it will mean less pressure for the five of you selected to be chiefs.”

The group groaned.

“Less pressure after the selection,” Howard Button whispered just loud enough for the interns around him to hear.

Dr. Rogers made eye contact with each intern, as if assessing each one again. Then he pressed the lapels of his white coat with his hand and strode from the room.

There was a collective sigh from the group.

“I’m dead meat. I’ll never get my research project off the ground by next month,” Martin Holcroft, MD, PhD, whined.

“We’re all in the same boat, Mart,” Pepper said, slapping him on the back.

“There’s always dermatology,” Wayne Neal offered.

Pepper smiled. “Anyone know the four rules of dermatology? If it’s wet, dry it. If it’s dry, wet it. If you don’t know what it is, don’t touch it. If you know what it is, don’t touch it.”

The group was unanimous. “Shut up, Pepper.”

Claire moaned. It was time to stand up again. The abrasions on her chest and abdomen were healing, but moving anywhere fast still presented a problem.

Beatrice leaned over and extended her hand. “Come on,” she said helping Claire to her feet. Then, as the room cleared, she asked, “How are you doing?”

“A little sore. But okay. Thanks.”

“What happened with Brett? He always seemed so … well, normal to me.”

“I’m not sure, Bea. I think he wanted to be a surgeon so bad that everything else got mixed up. His priorities were screwed up. Right and wrong, relationships, everything else got pushed aside in the wake of his dream. A lot of us misjudged him.” She looked down. “Especially me.”

“We’ve all made compromises, Claire.” It was a concession that Claire didn’t expect from Beatrice Hayes.

Claire nodded, distracted by her own list of compromises. Her engagement, her relationship with God, and her family were all casualties of the battle known as surgical internship. She sighed and looked at Bea. “I’m tired, Bea. I’ll be glad when the letters are written and this is behind us.”

“Me too. I wish I’d have done better on my ABSITE.”

“Honestly, I like your chances better than mine. I’m the only intern with an outstanding lawsuit. That’s got to work in my favor,” she added with a note of sarcasm.

They walked down the hall and stopped at a water cooler where several other interns had gathered. Beatrice held up her paper cup. “To the first-year cut.”

Claire lifted her cup. “May the best men win.”

The two women smiled.

The male interns grunted, “Hear, hear.”

With that, they dispersed, each already focused on a few final weeks of competition.

During the next three weeks, the interns showed up early, worked late, and said “Yes, sir” to every request. Every request.

At the month’s end, Claire rotated back onto the trauma service and applied her enthusiasm to nightly vigils in the ICU and the ER, and she did it with a smile. But this time, her focus was different. Now, on her alternate afternoons off, Claire bypassed Sabiston and spent time in solitude. This time, with her Bible open, she prayed for the intimacy with God that she’d lost in pursuit of her career. It was time to listen. And trust.

In spite of her desire to figure out whether Wally was indeed her biological father, she didn’t look forward to a discussion with Dr. Jenkins, and
so, with a new commitment to surrender her future into God’s hand, she decided to wait. Finally, in the wake of Clay’s death and her experience with Brett, she decided that being in the driver’s seat in her own life was no longer the best option. Did it really matter if she was at risk for Huntington’s disease? Could she use the mystery of the future, her at-risk status, as the genetics counselor had suggested, as a springboard to faith? It was decision time for Claire. Internship was drawing to a rapid end, and she would need to plan for the following year. But this time, she wanted God’s advice. This time, a decision would be made on her knees.

After the first week of the month, the rumors were circulating. Dr. Rogers had made his selections. His secretary was putting the contracts in the mail.

It was midmorning and Claire was in the ER finishing up a history and physical on an intoxicated accident victim when she heard her name.

“Dr. McCall?”

Claire turned in the direction of the timid voice. She looked up, expecting to see a concerned family member, and her eyes met those of Celia Jones.

“Dr. McCall. Can I speak to you for a minute?” The woman clutched at the neck of a worn dress.

Claire looked at her second-year resident, who nodded his consent. “Go ahead. I’ve got things under control here.”

“I was hoping I’d find you here. Roger told me this is where I’d find you.”

Claire had yet to speak. “Uh, Ms. Jones,” she started. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to talk to you. My attorney says that—”

“Don’t worry about him. That’s why I’ve come.” She stepped toward the emergency exit. “Can we talk out here?”

The two women walked together through the automatic doors onto a concrete pad.

“I talked to Mr. Davis. He told me about your brother.” She seemed to hesitate. “We’re dropping the lawsuit, Dr. McCall.”

Claire shook her head. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. You don’t have to do this because of my brother.”

Celia reached out and took Claire’s hand. “We’re not. But after listening to you in the deposition, and after finding out about how Mr. Plank got his information about you, I realized that I couldn’t really trust him. He had convinced me that suing was the right thing to do. He told me it was an obligation I had to fulfill to protect others.” She dropped Claire’s hand and looked away. “But Mr. Davis told me about your education and your performance. As far as he could see, you were one of the top medical students in the country or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Ms. Jones, I—”

“Please, Doctor, I need to say this. I know you didn’t mean to hurt my child. And we don’t really know why she had to die. But God allowed it, and nothing I do can bring her back.” Her voice began to break up, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

“Ms. Jones, I’m so sorry.” Claire’s eyes brimmed with tears.

Celia blew her nose and looked up at Claire. “Are you a Christian?”

Claire thought it an odd question. She nodded silently.

“I thought so. I suspected it when we saw you in the church parking lot that day. And I’ve been praying for you, knowing how hard this must be for you.”

“Your husband … why was he so angry at me? Why did he chase me from the parking lot?”

Celia shook her head. “He wasn’t chasing you. He was angry at me. I’ve been trying to get Roger to church for a long time. And I’ve also been trying to get him to talk about his feelings since Sierra died. He finally agreed to go for that evening service to watch a baptism, and then, who does he see in the parking lot but you. He thought I’d set up a surprise meeting for him so he could talk out his feelings peaceably.”

“But he followed me from the parking lot.”

“He wasn’t following you. He just had to get out of there.” She hung her head. “It took me a half hour to convince him to return. Roger isn’t really a bad guy.”

They stood in silence for a moment, two women brought together by tragic circumstance, both with losses, both with regret. Finally, Claire cleared her throat. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Celia’s open arms provided the answer. She embraced Claire and whispered, “You didn’t try to harm my baby. Forgive yourself.”

The next day, Claire picked up her hospital mail after completing morning trauma rounds. The letter was there. She had the afternoon off, and she wanted to be in a private place to read Dr. Rogers’ verdict. She tossed the letter onto the car seat beside her with an air of nonchalance she didn’t feel.

By now, she was used to delayed gratification. So, instead of ripping it open, she took the letter home and placed it on her desk, undisturbed. What Dr. Rogers thought was important, but not that important. She’d placed her future into God’s hands and made her decision, independent of Dr. Rogers.

She called her mother, who answered after the fifth ring. “Hello.”

“Mom.”

“Good morning, Claire.”

“I’ve been praying about next year.”

“Did you get the letter? Did you make the cut?”

“I got the letter.”

“Well?”

“Mom, I want to come home. I want to help you with Daddy.”

The silence on the other end revealed Della’s shock.

“Mom, are you there?”

“I’m here. It’s just … well … Claire … I don’t know how to respond. I know you wanted to stay in surgery, but, well, maybe getting cut is the answer you needed.”

“Mom, I didn’t say I got cut. I just said I got the letter.”

“Claire, I’m confused. You said—”

“I said, I want to come home. It makes sense, Mom. You need help with Daddy, right?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“And Margo’s busy with her family. And without Clay, that just leaves me.” She paused. “For the first time, I want to put someone else in front of me. I think that’s what God wants me to do.”

“But what about your calling? What about surgery?”

“There is still time for that. I’m young. Taking some time off training isn’t going to derail my career forever.”

Della started to cry. “Are you sure?”

“Mom, I need time away from surgery to sort out my life. My relationships need maintenance. I need time to regroup with you and Dad. I might not get this chance again. I need to take time to listen to God again. I let my calling get in front of the One who was doing the calling.”

“I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, Mom. On July first, I’m coming home.”

Claire said good-bye and hung up the phone. She looked back at the letter on the desktop and smiled. At one time, the chairman’s decision held her future in captivity. Now, it didn’t matter. Her future was God’s and she was free.

She lifted the letter, weighing its contents in her mind and in her hand. “Maybe I’ll open you tomorrow.”

She slid open her desk drawer and retrieved a small picture, replacing it on the corner of her desk. It was from a happier time in her life, a picture of Claire with John Cerelli. She dropped the letter into the open drawer and spoke to it again. “Maybe tomorrow, I’ll read what Dr. Rogers thinks of me. But just now, Iwant to talk to an old friend.”

Epilogue

O
ne more push. You’re going to have this baby,” I say, gently pushing back against the infant’s head.