by M. K. York
When Eli dropped him off at his building, he said, “Thank you for the rides, I really appreciate it.”
Eli was leaning down to look up at him through the passenger-side door. “My pleasure.” He sounded like he meant it, even though he looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual.
Neil heard the click of the trunk popping, and he grabbed his bag out of it, turning back to wave to Eli as he went up the steps to his building. It occurred to him as he let himself in that he hadn’t taken his disc back.
He had until the next day before he had to be back at the hospital. Then it was right back to call.
He uncorked the lone bottle of whiskey in his apartment and drank, slowly, watching motes of dust dance in the sunlight that was coming through the one south-facing window.
Chapter Twelve
“How was the conference?” asked Pete.
“Really good.” Neil paused to drain the dregs of his coffee. It was gritty and bitter—they had a new kid on the machine at the visitors’ coffee shop. “There was a great session on abdominal wall reconstruction.”
“Sounds boring. I’ll stick with radiology.”
Neil scoffed. “Yeah, if I have a bleeder I can just go look for it. You’re stuck looking in 2-D.”
“How was your talk?”
“Oh, not bad. I think I talked too fast, but the pacing was overall all right, and I got some good questions.”
Pete nodded. “If you want to go over it in front of me next time, you’re welcome to.”
“I’ll probably take you up on that.”
“How about Eli’s talk?”
“That was good. Obviously. He’s a great lecturer.”
“Yeah, he was always a sharp kid.”
“Don’t let him hear you call him a kid. He’s on this kick of pretending to be a grand old statesman of medicine.” Neil wondered if his voice gave away the bitterness or if it had stayed light enough, just friendly sarcasm.
Pete either didn’t notice or pretended not to. “Well, when you start out as young as he did, you always feel like you have something to prove. He didn’t take a year off, nothing. Just went straight into med school. He’s been premed or medical since he was about six, I think.”
“That’s a little depressing.”
“Yeah, but comforting too. You think about it—how many of us haven’t thought about going to a farm somewhere? But I guarantee you, he never has. This is his whole life.”
“That’s depressing too.”
* * *
It was Thanksgiving again almost before he knew it, but it didn’t mean much to him. He was taking call on Thanksgiving as penance for going to the conference.
“Glad it’s you and not me,” said Mark. “I miss turkey. Home-cooked food instead of cafeteria food.”
“Yeah. Well, I think the cafeteria serves cranberry sauce from a can, so that’ll be like home, anyway.”
Mark laughed a little, scooting his chair back on its wheels. “Dude, do you have Christmas off?”
“Yeah.” He was going to go home and see his family for the first time in—it didn’t bear thinking about. He barely even managed to call them with any regularity. They’d missed the entire thing with Justin. He mostly just called to tell them he was still alive, hear the stories about his siblings, and say love you before hanging up. He’d never felt so far away from them before.
“Not bad.”
“Yeah, not bad at all.”
“Who do you think’ll be Chief Resident?” The Chiefs for fifth year were announced the fall of fourth year, in case people wanted to put it on their fellowship applications.
Neil shrugged. He was hoping for himself, personally; he’d racked up a good record, a healthy case count, and while his research wasn’t tremendously impressive, it did exist. He hadn’t been on the hook for any more M&M cases than anyone else. But there were other residents who’d survived, hadn’t abandoned the program or been kicked off, and some of them had good claims too.
All of the fifth years would be Chiefs of whatever service they were on, but getting to be an Administrative Chief Resident was an extra mark of favor and would look good on job applications.
Neil was named. Mark wasn’t. Mark just sighed when he heard.
“Couldn’t go to a better guy.” He lightly punched Neil’s arm.
* * *
Before the next work-group meeting, they were standing by the coffee, and Neil idly asked Eli, “Got any big plans for the holidays?”
Eli shrugged. “I’ll probably come in.”
“Really? Not going to see family?”
“Well, my cousins are going on a cruise, and my parents both passed a while back.”
“Oh,” said Neil. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s fine.”
“What happened?”
“My father had a heart attack when I was eighteen. My mother passed away just a few years ago—car accident.”
“I didn’t mean to ask for a family history.” Neil stared down at his coffee cup in something like shame.
“That’s how we’re programmed, though, isn’t it? It’s all right.”
Neil glanced back up. Eli met his eyes, calm and collected. It was really all right.
“How about you?” asked Eli. “Going back to Portland?”
“Yeah, I have Christmas off this year, so I’m flying back up. Just for Christmas Day and then I’m back down the day after.”
“That sounds like a fun travel schedule.”
“Ugh.” Neil dramatically put the back of his hand to his forehead. “Save me.”
Eli laughed a little, which felt like a win.
“If you have any good book recommendations, I’m all ears,” Neil added.
Eli perked up. “Do you read on planes?”
“And at airports. I’m expecting a delay.”
“Well, I have to say I’ve been enjoying a book on Khrushchev, if that sounds like something you’d be interested in.”
“I can be interested in anything at thirty thousand feet.”
“Would you like to borrow it? I can bring it next time.”
“Yeah,” said Neil. “That would be great.”
“What do you usually read?”
“Honestly? I was an English lit major, so don’t tell my old advisers, but my all-time favorite has to be Dostoyevsky.”
“Oh, really?” Eli raised his eyebrows.
“‘Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most.’ You can’t tell me that’s not quality.”
Eli laughed. “No, you’re right. That’s quality.”
* * *
Once the meeting got underway, Eli didn’t waste a lot of time. “Well, I have some good news and bad news. Which do we want to talk about first?”
“Good news,” said Dr. Liefers. “Get that out of the way before we tackle the shit.”
“Any dissent?” There was none. “Okay. So the good news is that we’ve got a firm acceptance of a job offer for two new teaching faculty for slots that have been open for an embarrassingly long time. Doctors Iglesias and Brechot bring a lot to the table; Dr. Iglesias is a top-ranked cardiologist we’re stealing from Mayo who speaks Spanish fluently, which we could really use here, and Dr. Brechot is from the Côte d’Ivoire and has written extensively about cultural competence in treatment. We’ve had his book on the curriculum for the med students for years.”
“They sound good,” said Dr. Sisk.
“They are good. I interviewed them both. I think we should thank Neil—he talked to them about the initiative and reassured them that we’re fun people. Right?” His eyes twinkled as he looked at Neil; Neil didn’t try to hide his grin.
“So what’s the
bad news?” asked Dr. Chaudry. He sounded preemptively bitter.
“The administration isn’t sure they need the diversity initiative. They’re talking about redirecting the funds.”
“Is this about that Interventional Cardiology bullshit?” asked Dr. Erickson, who’d looked like he was on the verge of nodding off, suddenly strident.
“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that,” said Eli, “but yes. They’re talking about diverting the funding for the initiative back into the fund for updating the Interventional Cardiology facilities.”
“I’m sorry,” said Dr. Chaudry, “but that really is a questionable proposal. Interventional Cardiology already got new facilities, what, five years ago?”
“They’re a big moneymaker for the department. I’m not sure whether we’re long-term looking at just the Cardio funding getting pulled back or funding for the entire initiative.”
“Who do I ream about this?” asked Dr. Erickson sourly.
“Well, Barry McLennan is who’s pushing for this, as far as I can tell.”
“Shit,” said Dr. Sisk. “He’s a big deal.”
“He is a pretty big deal.”
“So what do we do?” asked Dr. Liefers. “I have no problem with Interventional Cardio, but if they can’t fund their own damn expansion, they can suck it. I’m sick of watching this place, stuck with the shit we’ve been doing for the last fifty years and pretending we’re innovating.”
“I’m honestly not sure.” Eli propped his clasped hands on the table. “I’m open to any suggestions. Except, Bob, blackmail. I have not forgotten your suggestion, but we are not hiring a private detective.”
Dr. Sisk muttered something that sounded vaguely like “goat fucker.”
“We’ll leave this issue open. I know it’s a lot to digest. We’re going to keep moving forward with the projects we currently have ongoing, until or unless we actually get funding cut, but I definitely think this is something where we’re going to need to present a strong case to the administration for why we should keep the initiative.”
The rest of the meeting was subdued, if not outright sullen.
Afterward, Eli said to Neil, “It’s a hell of a thing. It took a lot of people a lot of effort just to get as far as we have. The Nephrology work group is making really good progress too, and God knows they need it, so I don’t know what the school is planning on doing if they do shut us down.”
Neil shook his head. “It would be a shame. There’s so much already invested in this.”
“I know. We can’t just slap up new mission statements and call that done.” Eli looked as angry as Neil had ever seen him—and sad too.
Neil couldn’t find much to say as they tidied up the room.
* * *
Eli brought the book to the next M&M. He sat down next to Neil and passed it over.
“Not going to sit in the back row today?” Neil thumbed through the book. There were dog-eared pages; this book had been read thoroughly.
“Thought I might enjoy a change in view.” There was a laugh in Eli’s voice, but when Neil glanced quickly at him, he was staring straight ahead at the stage.
Neil had gotten more comfortable at these, but still not enough to put his feet up. Eli didn’t that day. Maybe it was being closer to the stage.
* * *
He had to send Eli an email just before Christmas to say, Hey, just as a heads-up, I’m going to be at Central from January through April. I might not make it to meetings, but could you keep me updated on the work group? I’d be happy to help with projects.
It sucked. That was the only way he could put it. He was going to be doing General Surgery at one of the largest satellite hospitals for four months, right after the next round of the ABSITE.
He got Eli’s reply when he was in the car on the way to the airport. Okay, he said. That was all. It was the tersest Eli had ever been with him, and he managed to worry over it all the way to the terminal, where he sat after security, waiting for his flight.
His phone vibrated. He checked it; it was a text from Eli. Sorry, he said. I was in a hurry. We’ll miss you here but I hope Central treats you well.
He slumped in his seat, and maybe he wasn’t proud of how relieved he was, but damn it, he was relieved.
* * *
Christmas with his family was a blur. He crashed on the foldout couch in his parents’ living room on Christmas Eve, when his flight got in, and he couldn’t even stay awake long enough for a proper dinner.
Christmas morning, Devon jumped on him, screeching in an unbelievably high register. He’d remembered to get presents for everyone, so he had the pleasure of watching Devon tear into a package, liberating a set of Batman figurines that included Poison Ivy. He’d had a hell of a time tracking her down, but eBay on a furtive break in a long night at the hospital had solved that one for him.
“Only a year and a half left, huh?” Liz leaned across the ham at dinner.
He laughed. “Yeah, only.”
She shrugged. “You made it through three and a half years already. You’re a badass so far.”
“Never come see what I do. You would revise that estimate so fast.”
His big brother, Gabe, pointed a fork at him. “None of that talk. We’re fu—very proud of you.”
Devon was making race-car noises with his new Batmobile.
Angie coughed delicately. “Well, guys, we, uh, we have an announcement.” That got everybody’s attention.
“Oh, don’t tell me.” His mother was starting to go misty-eyed and a little rapturous.
“I know it’s been a while,” Angie said. She had to stop and clear her throat again. “We were trying, but it, uh, it wasn’t really working. But—I’m fourteen weeks, and the doctor thinks it’s safe to tell people now.”
Neil was sitting next to her; he reached out and pulled her into a bear hug, and within seconds most of the family had followed suit.
“Another baby.” His mother was crying in earnest now.
“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” asked his dad.
Angie shook her head. “We should find out at the anatomy scan next week.”
“I’m so happy for you, sweetheart,” said Neil into her hair. “I still dibs cool uncle.”
“Well, who do you have for competition?” She sniffled. “That big lunk?”
“I’m very cool!” protested Gabe.
“You’re an accountant,” Neil whispered loudly over Angie’s head. “I’m a surgeon.”
“Kids don’t know this sh—stuff. I’m going to be so cool to this kid.”
Angie was crying but smiling at the same time.
* * *
He was wide awake long after everyone else had gone to sleep. It wasn’t like him.
He pulled out his phone and held it loosely for a minute.
Merry Christmas, he texted Eli.
A minute later his phone buzzed. And to you as well.
He drifted off still holding the phone.
* * *
It was surreal to get back on a plane the next day, but he’d fought tooth and nail just to get that time, and they’d been adamant; he had to be back for night call the twenty-sixth.
His plane, for once, didn’t seem determined to thwart him, and he made it back in time to get to the hospital. Mark was on his way out.
“Oh, hey, buddy.” Mark seemed flat, somehow. The bags under his eyes just kept getting bigger.
“You all right?” asked Neil, reaching out to touch Mark’s shoulder.
Mark shrugged. “Long day, ‘s all.”
“Okay.” Neil let go, and Mark rubbed at his eyes before continuing on toward his car.
The hospital was eerily quiet. He had a couple of days until it would be time to rotate over to Central.
/>
He glanced down at his phone.
It only took two hours on call, bored out of his skull, before he texted Eli. Are you around the hospital?
He got a reply a couple of minutes later. Yes, just in my office.
I’m on call. Bored
Do you play Scrabble?
Yeah
Words With Friends?
He smiled. That’s a little lame
But it passes the time
So that was how he ended up playing with Eli, who was—unexpectedly, and delightfully—a little vicious.
Eli texted him around four in the morning. Did you start the book?
Yeah, it’s long but good
No hurry on returning it, just wondering.
Are you still here?
I took call tonight
Neil stared at the call-room ceiling for a few minutes. Maybe he should—he’d still be in the hospital. It was the middle of the night. He wasn’t sleeping. He could go and—
His pager went off, shrill and piercing. He was on his feet and moving before he had time to finish the thought.
* * *
That year’s ABSITE felt easier than any of the previous years had, and it was satisfying on a visceral level.
The rotation off to Central took the joy out of it in short order. At least he got along with his chief out at Central. He was assigned to a team under Josh, who’d shared a hotel room with him at the conference. Josh was pretty reasonable, slow to anger, and seemed incapable of picking a fight. Which could get on Neil’s nerves when there was a fight that clearly needed picking, but meant that he didn’t have to worry about random outbursts of anger.
Eli sent him minutes after each work-group meeting—the tension with the administration was growing, but they were still trying to fight through on the details. He appreciated Eli’s commentary at the bottom of each one, dry but increasingly caustic as they tried to find routes to argue around the administration.
Once, in March, Eli texted him, Getting dinner with Pete tonight. Want to join us?
Wish I could, Neil replied. GSWs here in ten
It was a long, dark four months. The winter weather had everything gray and windy, and even when spring came around, he rarely saw it, holed up in the call room or jogging up the stairs to the ER or OR.
