Lately, Kieran was having a great deal of difficulty moving on from these types of situations. Kieran knew he did not fit well in the world, but he never minded it before. He had always taken care not to care. If people did not like him for who he was, he would move on. In recent months, the little things separating him from the rest of world were growing considerably, and he was beginning to be bothered by this fact. Those like the woman sitting across from him had always been in his life, but he had only recently become more and more irritated by them.
His focus landed on the things on his desk despite the fact he knew this woman was waiting for him to come up with some sort of response. He noted his pen cup was too far to the right, and the cords coming up from the plastic rimmed hole in the wood were disorganized. He gave a slight shake of his head to remove his focus from the disorder on his desk. It was not a large desk, as Kieran did not need a lot of space. It was a plain desk with two smaller drawers and a file drawer on either side of it. His focus shifted to the fact one of the file drawers was askew.
He turned his attention back to the woman. How could he respond to her displeasure to the fact he was young? It was not like he could change his age or change the fact he was the only doctor who would even attempt removal of her daughter’s brain tumor. Upon entering the office, she had been antagonistic. She had pushed open the dark wooden door with more force than necessary then glared at Kieran as though he were someone who should not be in his desk. It was early afternoon and he had not even taken out his laptop after returning from an early lunch.
Gritting his teeth, he knew he had to get himself under control. Impulse control echoed in his mind. Emotional control. Those are your biggest deficits, Kieran. He frowned because he did not need to be hearing his therapist’s voice in his head right now. This week Kieran had been trying to do all the things he was expected to do. He was trying so hard to be normal. Normal is the goal, Kieran. You can do it.
He turned and looked at the patient’s mother again, his hand drumming rhythmically along his right thigh. This self-stimulation was quiet, and only he could hear the slight patting against the smooth cotton of his scrubs. He felt the slight rise where the embossed fabric made a pattern of interlocking diamonds of blue.
Hearing a light knock on the door, he saw his mentor Dr. Thomas McKellar was looking in. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest and a bemused grin on his face. The old doctor’s dark brown eyes were centered on Kieran as the younger doctor nodded to him. Thomas was in a pristine deep gray suit, as always. He was the current Director of Medical Services for McKellar Hospital as well as Kieran’s long-time therapist and teacher. Thomas had a way with patients; Kieran was never able to copy it appropriately.
Mary Jameson, Kieran’s personal nurse and childhood friend, had told Kieran this one was going to be difficult, and then had gone to summon Thomas. Usually, the fact Mary would assume these things would not bother him in the least. Yet today, the thoughts racing through his mind revolved around why she thought she had to intercede all the time. Even if he could not handle a situation, he wondered why she felt it was her place to make the call and not his.
Kieran knew Thomas would intercede. Kieran would attempt to deal with this woman without his assistance and fail. Several times, Thomas had informed Kieran of the fact he was unable to tell when he needed help. He also informed him how all of this was a part of his deficits in the social areas.
Thomas spoke as he walked into the room toward Kieran’s desk. “Ma’am, you requested Dr. Kieran Sung. Dr. Sung is the world-renowned neurologist and neurosurgeon. He is also the head of our elite Neurosurgery department here at McKellar Hospital.”
He dropped a hand on the back of the slight young doctor’s neck. At the motion, Kieran’s attention shifted on the dark-grained wood of his desk. He took one of his trim nails and began to dig it into the grain of the wood on the edge facing him. The hand on his neck felt good, despite feeling as though he were being reprimanded for not doing a good enough job.
“I requested a doctor.” Mrs. Edison glared at Kieran. “This is a child. He’s barely older than my daughter!”
Thomas squeezed his hand on Kieran’s neck. Kieran could imagine the older doctor’s face turning into the gentle and comforting look he used with patients. It was something Kieran would never master. Kieran knew Thomas had already looked over the files on this patient. Thomas always looked over the files on Kieran’s patients. Well, he always seemed to know everything about the patients like this. He knew about all his surgeries.
“Mrs. Edison, correct me if I’m wrong, but you took your daughter to St. Luke’s a month ago. She was having seizures and migraines which led you to the emergency admittance. They showed a stage two tumor. Their neurology department determined it was a stage two cancerous tumor. They had defined it as inoperable. The neurosurgeon referred you to Dr. Kieran Sung.” The voice Thomas used must have soothed patients, but it grated on Kieran’s nerves. It sounded too fake, almost condescending, to his ears. It was not sincere. “I believe you consulted several other private doctors who refused to help. Her file shows four referrals for hospice end of life care. You want to save your daughter’s life, so you brought her here to see Dr. Sung. Dr. Sung has agreed to this surgery based on the scans alone when others refused.”
Mrs. Edison nodded. “Yes. They said to try and operate on the tumor would only shorten her life. Dr. Shyrock from St. Luke’s said Dr. Sung was the only one who would even attempt the surgery.”
“Yes,” Thomas commented. “The reason is because Dr. Sung’s specialty is in micro laser surgery. He uses some innovative techniques to do this. He also has equipment of his own design; no one else had been able to achieve such innovative technology for neurosurgery before. There is a very good reason you were referred here by Dr. Shyrock. She is one of the people who worked with Dr. Sung during his internship days.”
When Mrs. Edison turned to look at Kieran, her eyes were still hard. “How do you expect me to allow a man this young to operate on my only child?”
“I understand your trepidation. Considering the nature of Janet’s tumor, Dr. Sung has already begun the process of setting up this surgery for next week,” Thomas affirmed. “I assure you, you want Dr. Sung to do this surgery.”
Kieran stared at her in annoyance; the young woman was nineteen, so the hospital did not have to work with her mother. He did not have to work with her mother. Janet worked full time and had her own insurance. Yet, here they sat arguing over what to do anyway as if she were twelve years old. If Thomas had not told him it was essential he speak with this woman, he would have simply gone to speak with Janet without having this meeting.
This reminded him why he put off speaking to patients and families until the last possible moment. If he never had to deal with another human being, he could have lived out his life with happiness. Still, being a doctor meant he had to have some interactions with others. He could not avoid patients and their families all the time, though he did a decent job of doing it on a regular basis. This was the hardest parts of his job. He knew other doctors who simply did not care about not being good with patients; he always did care. He had just never been good at it.
Thomas was constantly telling him he had to be more ‘normal’ with his patients. He always needed to be normal. He always needed to act like everyone else and not act weird. He put his head in his hands and began to comb through the black hair at his temples. The hair at his temples always appeared thinner because of this nervous tick.
Kieran was coming close to the end of his control. He could feel the need to put himself in a small space swelling. The room around him was far too big to be comfortable. Thomas spoke up. “Um, Mrs. Edison, might I inquire about if you have researched Dr. Sung?”
She turned her dull greenish gaze on the taller man who moved to stand behind Kieran. Thomas moved his hands onto Kieran’s shoulders and squeezed. Kieran appreciated the pressure since it helped the
tension in his shoulders. His nose crinkled slightly at the smell coming off Thomas. He never told him, but he hated whatever deodorant or after shave he used. It smelled like wet socks.
“Of course,” Mrs. Edison answered with a roll of her eyes. “His credentials seemed impressive. But he is far too young!”
Thomas continued to rub Kieran’s shoulders, and Kieran felt a bit of the tension in ebb from the strong pressure. In any other person, it would be quite painful. Kieran craved deep pressure sensation. It was one of the few things which could curb his anxiety. In fact, the more pressure Thomas applied, the quicker Kieran relaxed. With the reduction of anxiety, his perception of the room as growing in size began to fade.
Thomas smiled sweetly at her. “I assure you, Kieran has more than enough experience in his twenty-five years to deal with this. He is quite frankly the best and only option you have for your daughter. Dr. Sung here is one of the few doctors in the state, country even, who specializes in both neurosurgery and neurology. He is widely published and has done more innovative work with brain surgery than anyone in the last fifteen years.”
Giving Kieran a harsh glare, she nearly snarled. “Even if this is the doctor I was looking for, how in the world am I supposed to allow a child barely older than my daughter to open up her brain?” She just kept repeating the same argument in different ways.
Kieran let out a breath with a small degree of satisfaction, though. He supposed it was a step in the right direction, even if the entire statement was not logical at all; age did not play into ability. In fact, Kieran knew surgeons in their fifties still unable to suture a wound closed properly. Lack of logic always annoyed him to no end. Despite his youth, he had far more quality of experience than doctors twice his age. He covered his face with his hands and then looked up at the woman in front of him. Thomas was massaging his shoulders still and he felt like he could run the script now.
“I graduated the medical doctor program in four years, a full year sooner than they generally allow. I then took a residency at Washington University. I dual specialized in neurology and neurosurgery. No one had ever succeeded in this before at Washington University, or any major medical program. During residency, I completed a Master of Science in biostatistics. I then completed a master’s in clinical investigation. The year after my residency, I finished with a Ph.D. in neuroscience. My research and dissertation centered on using the same micro-laser surgery I will use on your daughter. I also finished the Doctor of Medicine and Doctor of Philosophy program. I took the head of neurosurgery position here at the age of twenty-three,” he stated, eyes focused on the bridge of the woman’s nose. Always the bridge of the person’s nose. Years of therapy had tried to teach him to “look people in the eye”, but it had only taught him to stare at the bridge of someone’s nose. It made make people think he was looking in their eyes.
“I am your daughter’s greatest chance of survival. I specialize in impossible operations. Almost exclusively, my patients are those other neurosurgeons will not touch. I have yet to lose a patient due to my inability to perform a procedure. The chances of success, I deem, are about ten percent when performed by any other doctor. I estimate a seventy-five percent likelihood of success. I have done some much more difficult surgeries in my time here. I succeeded. The surgery will take approximately fourteen hours, assuming no complications. As far as my experience, while I do not have the age you expected, I do have the training and experience suitable to this work.”
He paused and closed his eyes, finishing the script in almost one breath. “I cannot put a bookshelf together to save my own life, but I can cut into a person’s brain with almost a .08 percent miscalculation risk on my part. I understand I appear to be incapable of what I am quite capable of doing. I have given you everything you need to know and more.”
He took a deep breath because he was running off the predefined script. He swallowed hard against the anxiety welling in the back of his throat. He hated being off script, but the woman stared at him with a blank look. The surge of anxiety made Kieran uncomfortable now as his practiced speech had completed. Once more, his perception of the room began to alter. He needed to find a small space and get rid of this feeling.
“If we have things settled, I have rounds. I also must see your daughter. Thank you,” he finished, standing and walking out the door.
Kieran just barely registered the smirk on Thomas’s face and the shocked and disbelieving face of the woman he left. He did not care what either of them thought now. He was quiet as he ducked into one of his hiding places to collect himself. This spot was one of the smaller linen closets. He breathed in and out a few more times, using the anxiety coping skills he had been using since he was a child. Breathe in, count to five, breathe out. Repeat. The breathing and the close confines of the linen closet helped. He’d rather be wrapped up in his weighted blanket at home, but his blanket was not something he had here.
This happened too often for his liking. Rarely did anyone believe someone with his youth could handle this job. He was not a child. He had finally relented to Thomas’s pleading and let him have a writer do a biography. It had taken time to compile all the data. Since then Thomas had been begging him to start making public appearances. Thomas seemed to think if he appeared in public, people would be less likely to question him. If people stopped questioning, then Kieran would not have as much anxiety around families and patients. Kieran seriously doubted his anxiety would lessen, but he would humor Thomas. Aside from his best friends Artemis and Mary, and his father, Thomas meant more to him than anyone else in the world. He would do the things he hated for him.
Even so, he was needing someone like Artemis to soothe him. Artemis did not tell him what to do and he let him be himself.
Right now, he was wishing Thomas had not sent Artemis to another floor to help prep a patient for Dr. Santos. It annoyed him; even as the head nurse on the neurology floor, Artemis ended up having to go do things like this. Thomas had insisted Artemis handle the situation, something about the patient being in a delicate condition and needing the best nurse they had on the floor. Kieran let out a sigh. He supposed Artemis was the best nurse on the floor. It seemed to him there were often instances where the best nurse on the neurology floor had to go somewhere else.
A last deep breath and Kieran opened the door. He stepped back into the empty hallway. Thomas had made sure Kieran’s office was set somewhat apart from the busier parts of the floor. The subtle shade of blue the walls were painted here always calmed him. Before he headed to Janet Edison’s room, he had to go down to radiology and grab her file. At least there would be no one there since it was still their lunch time; he did not even want to deal with the radiology staff right now. He kept his head down and watched his feet on the slightly pinkish tan colored carpeting leading to the elevator. He entered it and was happy to ride it uneventfully down to the basement.
Kieran stepped off the empty elevator and walked up to the door to the radiology records room. This hallway always sounded so empty and echoed. The blank white walls were featureless for the most part except for a couple doors. He walked down halfway to one of the stark doors with a punch code lock on it. The only attribute revealing this was the radiology records department was the small plaque beside the door. Of course, because of restrictions on patient file access, not just anyone had access to these rooms. Only doctors and the head nurse of each floor could open the records’ offices throughout the hospital. He grabbed the file waiting for him. The record’s receptionist was on lunch at this hour, so he had asked her to leave it there for him. He paused, getting ready to head back down the hall toward the elevator again.
He went back over his script for his qualifications once more in his mind. He hated having to tell people the same information. If he wanted to have access to his singular obsession, he had to make his qualifications apparent. Of course, the list of his degrees was only one of the idiosyncrasies that made him stand out. His interpersonal relationships were rather r
udimentary. As a child, he had struggled to even make friendships with other students his age. Truthfully, he never tried. He found others his own age dull, boring even. Such small-minded thinking, and they seemed to be unable to keep up with him when he did choose to speak to them. Instead, he found the medical journals far more interesting. He found people’s bodies and biology fascinating, especially their brains. He had no real interest in relationships with those inside the bodies he studied. Each surgery was a challenge and a new opportunity to hone his exacting skills.
Lost in thought, Kieran almost did not notice the family was heading down the hallway toward him. He froze for a second and stepped to the side to look over the films. He tried to act like he was ignoring them completely. Kieran just wanted them to hurry past him. He concentrated hard on looking at the films. But honestly his attention was fully focused on the group passing him. He heard every word even though they spoke quietly. They were talking about their cousin having a mammogram later today. Sometimes, there simply was too much noise and information for him, especially since he took it all in even when it was unnecessary.
Kieran moved on and took a series of long breaths as he headed the rest of the way to the elevator. At least they were not going there. His anxiety made it impossible for him to deal with so many people. They would get close to him and touch him, and people touching him irritated him to no end, at least when he did not want to be touched. As usual, his mind wandered to his problems when he had issues with a patient. It had been nice Thomas had given him a shoulder rub. When he was the most stressed, he craved pressure sensations and proprioceptive input. The brief shoulder pressure had been a good short-term fix, but he wanted more than just a brief shoulder rub. He really needed to see about finding out if there were compression vests slim enough to would work under his scrubs without being obvious. He chewed his lip. Thomas would say normal people did not need to use things like compression vests. He would worry on it later, he guessed as he stepped into the elevator.
Stolen Innocence Page 2
