You Loved Me Once

by Corinne Michaels

  I owe her everything. I don’t know if I would still be functioning if it weren’t for her.

  “Ren?”

  “Do you really think I have a frozen heart?”

  The idea that people who actually know me see me that way hurts deep in my soul. I feel so much more than anyone might guess. I’ve learned to hide it well. Patients deserve my focus, not my worry about stupid things I can’t change. Being part robot is par for the course, but Jules has also witnessed me on the floor, unable to get up.

  I’ve only been there twice, but she was there both times.

  Once when I lost Bryce.

  The other when I lost my mother.

  “No, Ren. I know you’re not really an Ice Bitch, but it would be good to show others that. Westin especially. He loves you and you don’t see it.”

  Again, she’s wrong. “Westin may feel more than he allows other people to perceive, but he doesn’t love me. We can’t . . . he can’t . . . it’s not possible. We’re comfortable, and what we have is all it’ll be. In some part of my heart, I wish it was different. He is perfect and I know that,” I tell her honestly. “I would fall for him in a heartbeat if I wasn’t so damaged, disillusioned, or driven.”

  Julie laughs. “Stubborn, stupid, and masochistic were my descriptors, but those work too.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re not the only one who had a college boyfriend who hurt her. I thought David and I were going to last forever, but I date and want to find love again. You don’t have to live your entire life based on one relationship. I’m sorry you guys didn’t work out, but Jesus Christ, it’s been fourteen years, let it go already.”

  Bryce wasn’t just some relationship. He was more. He was everything. It’s different. “I know you don’t understand it, but losing him and losing my mother, Julie, it was too much. I can’t explain it, and I know you and Martina think I’m ridiculous, but what I felt for him, it’s not like anything you could ever understand.”

  “I know what love is, Ren.”

  “This was love beyond measure.”

  She shakes her head. “But he let you go and you now have to let him go, so that someone else can find a way in.”

  “It’s not the—” I start to say but the speaker on my hospital phone beeps.

  “Dr. Adams, please call nurses’ station seven.”

  I give Jules an apologetic look. “You’re not going to listen anyway,” she says, laughing sarcastically.

  That’s the one thing I love about her, she gives it straight and doesn’t mince words. It’s nice knowing what someone thinks without a filter—sometimes.

  The phone picks up on the second ring. “Dr. Adams, one of your trial patients is here.”

  “Now?”

  There’s another three hours before the first grouping should be here. I’ve got the meeting with the board in twenty minutes, and we’re not allowed to start before then.

  “Yes, she flew in from out of state, and wasn’t feeling great.”

  Damn it. “Okay, get her set up in one of the rooms. I’ll be down soon, but let her know it’ll be a bit.”

  “No problem,” Martina assures me.

  Julie walks over and gives me a hug. “I’m so proud of you, Ren.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Seriously, this is a pretty cool day considering we were two drunk morons in college, but do me one favor . . .”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Julie needs to stop watching chick flicks and come back to reality. “Julie.”

  “No,” she puts her hand up. “Just think about what would happen if Westin really got tired of being an afterthought. Think what your life would be like. Think about how you’d feel. I promise it’s not going to be good. You’re not a callous person, there’s no way that after this long your feelings aren’t deeper than they’d be for a casual fuck.”

  He is more than that. He’s a friend and puts up with all my shit. I’ve been guarded, and haven’t allowed myself to want more.

  Could I?

  Am I ready to even consider it?

  I don’t know, but a part of me is pissed that Julie made me think about this now.

  “I have to go,” I say tersely. Today isn’t the right time to think about this shit. I’m not ready and I have other things to focus on.

  Damn her.

  Julie smirks. “Love you too.”

  Chapter 4

  I head down the hallway, mentally preparing for the board meeting. We need to go over everything, ensure that I’m prepared and the hospital isn’t at risk. Even though this isn’t the first phase, they have to protect their asses.

  As I make my way down the corridor, I smile and nod as I pass some of the heads of the departments. They will each grill me, going over each possible outcome and how I plan to handle them all.

  When I get to the door, Dr. Pascoe, the president of the hospital, stands with a warm smile.

  "Dr. Adams, it’s nice to see you,” he says.

  "It’s great seeing you, as well. How’s Monica?” I ask. Dr. Pascoe and I are in a unique relationship. His wife, Monica, was my patient. She was diagnosed with cervical cancer three years ago and has been in remission for six months. To say that he likes me is an understatement.

  “She’s doing well, wants me to insist that you come by for the Fourth of July barbeque.”

  Well, that would be breaking rule number one, no friendships with patients.

  It’s better for them and much better for me.

  “I wish I could . . .”

  “But you won’t,” he finishes.

  “You understand, don’t you?” I ask.

  Dr. Pascoe touches my shoulder. “I do, I’ll let her down gently. Make her think it’s a hospital rule or something.” He gives me a wink.

  He’s a great administrator. I like him for personal reasons, but also because he puts the patients’ needs first. The amount of red tape he sees in his job can be intimidating, but Dr. Pascoe ensures there are minimal hurdles when it comes to saving a life. He also treats each doctor who works for him as an equal. It’s nice not feeling looked down upon.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course. You know that today is mainly a formality, right?”

  “Nothing is ever that simple,” I counter, because I know full well they can pull the plug if I say something they don’t like.

  “This is true,” he chuckles. “What time do your patients arrive?”

  “I actually have one here now. She wasn’t feeling well, from what I’m told. As soon as we wrap up here, I’ll head to her room.”

  He nods. “You didn’t see her beforehand?”

  My answer could make me look either responsible or uncaring. “I didn’t. I didn’t want to see her until I was fully green-lighted. If something were to happen in this meeting that pulled the trial, I didn’t want to have given her misinformation.”

  I’d rather go with my best foot forward. Which I will, after I know I’m approved completely.

  “Makes sense. Shall we?” He motions forward.

  We enter the boardroom and my colleagues start to trickle in. I stand with my hands resting on the cool leather seat, trying to keep my heart rate steady. Public speaking isn’t my thing, and it’s definitely harder in front of a firing squad.

  I’ve had to do this five times, whenever I’ve lost a patient in surgery, and each time was equally horrific. Not only was I broken over knowing I’d lost someone, but then to have to recount each moment, decision, and error in front of my peers, have my decisions picked apart . . . it’s unimaginable.

  A few of the doctors smile their encouragement, having been where I’m standing now, and I focus on breathing. All the chairs but one are filled, and Dr. Pascoe clears his voice. “I’d like to begin since Dr. Adams already has a patient waiting.”

  Everyone nods and I head over to close the door. But a hand presses against the wood, stopping me, and I gasp as I realize who it is.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Westin says with
a smile.

  “Late?”

  Confusion spreads through me. He never mentioned he’d be here and I hadn’t thought neurosurgery would be involved in my trial. All he’d said this morning was that he’d see me later. I wasn’t aware he’d be part of the approval board. Westin may be the hot doctor, but he’s also the asshole on these boards. He grills the doctors coming before the board, making them uncomfortable so they’ll slip up.

  Well, this should be great.

  “Take a seat, Dr. Grant,” Dr. Pascoe notions to Wes. “Hello everyone. As you know, Dr. Adams is now in the third phase of her trial with the new chemotherapy regimen for treating ovarian cancer. The first two phases proved, for the most part, positive, and delivered safe results. This phase will be run slightly differently, and we’ll need a majority approval or denial.”

  Please don’t pass out. Please don’t throw up. Please approve this.

  Westin clears his throat. “I’d like to say something before we begin. I am going to be waving my right to vote on whether the trial should proceed due to the personal relationship I have with Dr. Adams. However, I will participate in the inquiry in order to best serve the hospital and the patients involved if that’s acceptable by the board. Chief?”

  Dr. Pascoe’s eyes move to mine and he nods. “I accept that. Does the board have any objections?”

  A chorus of “no’s” go around.

  Great.

  He looks to his secretary. “Please note the board does not object to Dr. Grant abstaining from the vote.” Dr. Pascoe turns back to me. “Dr. Adams. You have the floor.”

  The table is in a “u” formation with a table, chair, and microphone in the middle. It’s an intimidating seat, where all eyes are on you. I don’t sit, I stand with my fingertips grazing the wood. Nerves fill my belly, making their way up my throat, but I swallow them down. I need to be a badass doctor right now.

  “Hello, thank you for being here today. I can't tell you how exciting it is to be on the brink of a new medical discovery that could revolutionize the way we treat ovarian cancer.” And I begin to launch into my presentation, my nerves growing less shaky as I get into the zone.

  That is, until Westin raises his hand, interrupting my speech. “Dr. Adams, this is all well and good, and as doctors ourselves, we understand the desire to save everyone, but we also know that cancer isn’t that clear-cut.”

  “No, it’s not,” I agree.

  “So why detour from a known treatment path? Why should we risk this hospital’s reputation?” He leans back with his brow raised.

  Based on his aggression, no one in this room would believe that a few hours ago he was trying to shove his tongue in my mouth. I can’t believe he’s the first one to fire a shot at me, but I refuse to let him win.

  I lean forward, looking directly in his eyes. “Throughout my entire career, I have studied different treatments and various drug cocktails to treat and shrink tumors in the ovaries. I have yet to find anything that has done exactly what this combination has done.” My knuckles turn white from pushing down on the table with all my weight.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Westin pushes further. “Why is your drug treatment worth allowing the possible loss of life?”

  My legs start to tremble, however, my voice stays steady. I want these people to respect me and understand that this is exactly what we need to do. “Yes, it is possible we could lose a patient by delaying surgery if a tumor is resistant to the drug cocktail and doesn’t shrink as we’d hoped. We may end up dealing with a number of other side effects, but the fact remains that these women are willing to take that risk. Your question is like me asking why a doctor would operate on a brain bleed when you could administer medication first.”

  Westin smirks, shifts closer, and shakes his head. “Let’s not go there, Dr. Adams. This isn’t remotely close to choosing to operate or choosing not to. You are asking us to let you give a mix of drugs that we don’t have any proof will actually help reduce tumors. If it is not successful, not only will these patients need the hysterectomy you’re trying to avoid, but their cancer may progress, requiring more aggressive chemotherapy later on.”

  In the bedroom, he’s kind, loving, and takes care of me. Right now, he’s acting like a prick who wants to dismember me. I don’t know how to reconcile this, but I won’t let him ruin today. He was the one who told me I was crazy if I didn’t do this.

  He held me in his arms, telling me he was proud and he’d be there each step. Now I’m wondering if he meant to push me down the steps. Then I remember this is Westin. He’s not cruel and there must be a reason for him acting this way. I steel myself, keeping my demeanor professional and sure.

  “Yes, they’re different, but aren’t they the same in some ways? Is the risk worth more than the reward? How do you determine the odds, Dr. Grant?”

  “I’m not the one asking the hospital to stick its neck out for a trial that we aren’t certain will yield any results at all. You are.”

  “I’m completely aware of that, but I’ve also proven in the last six months that I’m not throwing caution to the wind. I’ve shown positive results with the adjustments in the last three patients in phase two. A reduction that I’ve never been able to produce before with any other drugs in so short a time. I believe this round will show an even greater shrinkage in the tumors.”

  Westin leans over to the head of cardiology and whispers something before looking back at me. If looks could kill, Westin would need every doctor in this room to save his ass.

  “Dr. Adams,” the head of OB-GYN interrupts the staring contest I was having with my . . . partner.

  “Yes?”

  “As someone who refers a great deal of patients to you, I have a different opinion on this,” Tracy’s eyes are soft. She too has had to tell many patients the bad news. “I’d like to point out the repercussions of not pushing past the current protocols of medicine. If we are to keep with the status quo, are we not ruining our reputation that way? Are the advantages of taking the safer route greater than the advantages of doing something potentially groundbreaking?”

  A few people move in their chairs writing things down, which I take as a positive sign.

  “Exactly,” I say. “We have to be better than our predecessors. As doctors, it’s imperative to try to find not just the right treatment, but the best one for each patient. None of us have the answers or a crystal ball, but we have science and training, and I’m not taking a gamble I wouldn’t take myself.”

  “You’re telling me that if you had ovarian cancer right now, you’d attempt this trial? You’d risk the chemo, which we know doesn’t always shrink the tumor, go through weeks of hell, and possibly still need a hysterectomy?” Westin asks.

  “If I was in the position to save my eggs and possibly still bear children, yes.”

  “Even knowing there’s no real proof? Even if you knew that you would be putting yourself at great risk?”

  I lean against the table and look him dead in the eye. “Absolutely. I believe in this treatment. It’s not always about life or death. To some women, it’s about having a choice. Their disease is out of their control, but this is something they can choose. They aren’t delusional about what the outcome might be, but it could be exactly what these patients need to keep fighting. They aren’t too far gone that we can’t at least try. If it fails, at least we will have done everything we can. So you asked me if I would do it? Yes. I would administer this to myself, my mother, and anyone I love, because it is working. The girl in the previous trial is alive with a tumor three-fourths the size of the one she came in with, and I will be able to operate this week to remove it. How much more proof do you need that this mixture of drugs is worth trying? We get to reduce the tumor, save the patient from a hysterectomy, and preserve the option for her to bear children later.”

  He nods and I look around the room at the others following his motion. “I appreciate the honesty, Dr. Adams. As you said, the risk of denying you would pos
sibly hurt patients.”

  Everyone nods, looking to me.

  Westin Grant may not be voting, but he just won the entire room for me.

  He wasn’t grilling me because he’s an asshole trying to take me down. He was making me push past the nerves and bullshit to display my passion.

  Once again, the question I asked myself earlier slams around in my head: what the hell is wrong with me?

  Our eyes meet and I see the warmth there. Westin is on my side. A part of the heart inside me that vowed it couldn’t love again cracks. Just a little.

  Chapter 5

  After my spirted debate with Westin, the vote goes through unanimously. The protocol was set as to how often I have to submit results, and the hospital has assigned two other doctors to consult. They’ll act as my liaisons to the board, and also my tattletales. If there’s anything that seems out of place, it’s their job to report it.

  The room clears out, leaving Tracy and Westin alone with me.

  “Good luck, Ren,” Tracy says gripping my arm. “I’m rooting for you.”

  “Thanks for backing me up.”

  “I’m always going to support anything like this. People’s lives are too important to play political games with, right?”

  I nod. That’s where medicine gets its bad name, from the political bullshit that goes on behind the scenes. Denying people what they need, thanks to insurance or doctors whose egos hinder the decision to provide treatment that might actually work.

  We’ve all seen it, and good doctors hate it.

  Westin takes his time stuffing papers into a chart as Tracy walks out of the room. Once we’re alone, I decide it’s time Dr. Grant and I have a talk about what just happened.

  “So . . .” I say, walking toward him.

  His eyes lift and he grins. “Hey.”