Bobbi forgave her each time.
Bobbi had bruises on her arms, her legs, and, one day, a black eye. She was having a hard time keeping these from the people at the clinic, so she had to come up with rational explanations for her “clumsy behavior.”
But Bobbi felt worst about being hit by a woman several inches shorter and some pounds lighter than she was. Why couldn’t she hit back? Why did she let Stephanie control her like this? She only knew she felt out of her depth with Stephanie and could only try to love her the best way she knew how. By acceding to her every whim and wish.
Bobbi began to feel more and more ashamed of her actions, of her choice of a girlfriend, of her weakness in not standing up to Stephanie.
Finally, the breaking point arrived.
“Why didn’t I hear from you until two this afternoon? Where the hell were you? What were you doing that you couldn’t think about me, worrying about you?”
Bobbi took a deep breath. “Surgery. I told you I was assisting in a minor plastic surgery case this morning with Dr.—”
Slap. Stephanie hit Bobbi across the face, hard.
Bobbi reeled back, cupping her cheek and temple. Her head rang. Stephanie wore a ring on her right hand and it must have cut into Bobbi’s face, because her fingers came back dripping in sticky blood. She breathed rapidly and cowered from Stephanie, stepping away from her toward the living room wall.
Stephanie looked at Bobbi’s cheek. She gasped. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. But you really need to let me know what’s going on during the day. See what you made me do?”
Bobbi had heard this too many times before.
“Let me stitch you up.” Stephanie turned toward the bathroom to get the first aid kit.
“No.” Bobbi grabbed her coat and keys. She ran out the door before Stephanie could return. She raced over to the ER. All the way, she decided how she would explain the latest of her “clumsy accidents.”
After the ER visit, the same nurse, Monica, who had questioned her before about the bruises, questioned Bobbi in the clinic.
They were both in the break room at the end of the lunch hour.
“I need you to listen to me, Dr. Webster.”
Bobbi tried to run out of the room, but Monica blocked the way. “I have a patient.”
“You don’t; I checked. Your schedule is free for the next forty-five minutes, and I am telling you to sit down.”
Monica was in her late fifties, her mom’s age. Reluctantly, Bobbi sat down. “What do you want?”
“Dr. Webster, I have seen the way you look when I ask about your bruises and other injuries. Your latest, when you needed stitches in your cheek, makes me need to act. Did your girlfriend do this? You need to be honest.”
Bobbi looked around the room for an escape.
Monica went on, “As clinicians, it’s our job to notice abuse when we suspect it. Your life is not safe.”
At that, Bobbi’s eyes teared up. She gulped, not able to look at Monica.
Monica put her hand on Bobbi’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” she said tenderly.
Bobbi whispered, “No. She’s…She’s sorry. I’m screwing up all the time. I didn’t—”
“You and I know that’s one of the symptoms of abusers. They are always sorry and it won’t happen again. Am I right?”
Bobbi said through tears, “Yes.” She was mortified.
“Just because you can bench press someone’s bodyweight doesn’t mean they don’t have the power to put you in the hospital.”
They talked for at least an hour that day in the break room. Miraculously, no other staff came in the door for all that time. Had they all known but Bobbi? How dumb could she be? She felt ashamed.
“Don’t you dare take this on yourself. You know that too. They always make it seem that it’s your fault. Don’t buy that shit, Dr. Webster. Use your training on yourself. Diagnose your own problem and then take action to heal yourself.”
Monica was a bulldog that day, setting Bobbi straight, and Bobbi finally admitted she lived with a charming, beautiful abuser, five inches and twenty pounds smaller than she was. Humiliating.
Bobbi heeded Monica’s advice and began to take charge. As difficult as it was for Bobbi, she confronted Stephanie. Stephanie denied any abuse, accusing Bobbi of making her be the way she was, because she was always fucking up. Bobbi refused to waiver, remembering Monica’s words, “Your life is not safe.”
Stephanie was out of her apartment by the end of the month. Bobbi retained a ‘no-contact’ order from the police in Bend. While Bobbi still ran into her on rounds and in the clinic, she was rid of the daily mental and physical beating she had been enduring because she thought Stephanie loved her. And, she thought she loved Stephanie.
Chapter Eleven
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie. How are things in Colorado?” Erin’s mom often video-called on Friday nights if Erin was free.
“Good. Cold but good. No parishioners dying or marrying. About to start Lent, so lots of planning for that.”
“And how’s your snarky doctor?”
Erin quirked her lips in a surprised smile. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I saw her for dinner with friends last Sunday. She seemed not quite her snarky self. Said she’d been on call, so I imagine she was operating on minimal sleep. And, just to set the record straight, she’s not my anything. I saw her professionally, and have run into her with my parishioners, but she and I have only a passing relationship.”
“That so, huh?”
Her mom could be stubborn with her matchmaking. “Yes. She’s too much…something for me.”
“Attractive?”
“Well, she might be if she got off her pedestal and stopped trying to be God.”
“That’s quite an indictment. Not your usual loving self.”
“But it’s true. I told you about poor Mr. Mendes. She was going to keep him suffering when he just wanted to let go.” Erin puffed out an exasperated breath at the memory. “Thank God, he died the way he wanted, but not without his daughter and I going to bat for him.”
“Too bad she’s a good doctor. Isn’t that what they do? Treat people?”
“Funny, Mom. You medical types always stand up for each other. But, she took it one step too far that night.”
“If you say so.” Margaret O’Rourke kept a skeptical tone.
Erin’s parish, winter weather, in both Colorado and Chicago, and other, less hot topics finished their conversation.
Afterwards, Erin watched a video program she hoped to use during the Lenten study program at her church, but had a hard time concentrating.
Dr. Webster had seemed more than tired on Sunday after they had started talking about wedding counseling. Distracted was a better description. Sad. Yes, sad. What was going on for the usually in-charge doctor? Had something happened in her network of family and friends? Did she just have a bad night on call? More than a minor mishap led to the doctor’s withdrawal, Erin was certain of it.
Erin worried she’d done or said something wrong. While she didn’t always understand the doctor, or like her, she respected her professionalism and commitment to her career. In fact, she found her competence and forthrightness quite attractive. If nothing else, Dr. Webster didn’t pull any punches. Erin usually could trust her to say what was on her mind, except for Sunday night. A niggling feeling told her that the doctor was holding back and it was hurting her. Erin wanted to know, and wanted to help her, instinctively. And Bobbi could use some pastoral attention, according to Erin’s assessment of her sadness.
But Erin couldn’t solve this problem tonight. She shut down the video and prepared for her prenuptial meeting tomorrow.
****
The next morning, Yancy and Gen arrived for their third Saturday session. In the first two sessions, Erin had led them in a discussion of the results of their online couples’ questionnaire on the two sticklers for most couples—money and sex. Their responses showed they held similar opinions on both topic
s and that they felt very satisfied by both areas of their relationship. And in the sessions, Yancy and Gen said they experienced few problems.
Today, family dynamics were on the docket.
After they were settled, Erin shared with them the results of their set of questions on children, household management, chores, and other domestic issues.
Gen looked at Yancy, and said, her voice strained, “You don’t want children? I didn’t know that.”
“I didn’t know you wanted them.” Yancy blinked and gazed back at Gen.
Erin smiled to herself. Aha, the first chink in the relationship armor. “Let’s explore your answers. Who wants to go first?”
Gen and Yancy both continued to stare blankly at each other. Gen took a large, cleansing breath. “I’ll start.” She looked directly at Yancy. “In a nutshell, my body clock is ticking. I’ll be thirty-nine in July and would like to try to conceive sooner rather than later.”
Yancy gulped. “Geez, Gen.” She cleared her throat. “It never crossed my mind. It’s not that I’m opposed to having kids, er, a kid. But who would take care of it? My schedule is crazy, especially in the summer. Yours is crazy all year.”
“I know, darling. But first, I would take some months of maternity leave. Then, I hope we can get some young person to come out to be a nanny for us the rest of the first year. At least during the day. You know they train nannies at the community college. Then, after the baby’s a year old, we can use day care. By then, my rotation of rural fellows will be stabilized, their work more predictable, and I’ll be able to take fewer calls. I’ll be freer at night.”
Yancy shook her head and raised her brows. “Holy cow. You seem to have thought through a lot of details. I didn’t know half this stuff.”
“I’ve thought about it a lot; I was on the verge of starting the process on my own before we met. In Kentucky, the university provided excellent childcare services for employees. My friend Stacy used them for her toddlers. It seemed like a good time for me to try, but then I moved.”
Erin quietly watched the two, thinking they were being quite attentive to each other. A good sign for couples.
“I feel blindsided,” Yancy said. “It’s not that I don’t like kids, I do. It’s just…Hell, I don’t know if I’m parent material.”
“You’d be a great mom. I saw you with the riding therapy kids back in September. You were very patient and caring with that little boy.”
“Yeah, but I was teaching around horses, a place where I’m comfortable. It was a no brainer. But, night feedings? Diapers? Screaming toddlers? Hold your horses, baby.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Gen patted Yancy’s arm.
“Why didn’t we discuss this before?”
“I don’t know. We’ve been pretty busy talking about other things. Me moving to the ranch. The house and Connie’s change in schedule. Christmas. Our schedules and planning the wedding.”
“My mind’s spinning here. This scares the shi—crap out of me. Can you really see me being a mother?”
“Sure, darling. I can see you cuddling a baby. Teaching a toddler how to ride Honey. How to play baseball. You’d be a wonderful daddy.” Gen grinned.
“Ha, ha.”
Erin interposed, “Sorry, guys, but our time is up. You did good work today. We have our last session next week. In the meantime, I want you to continue this discussion and report to me how it goes. You may not agree on everything, but you should be able to listen and understand where each other’s coming from. I don’t need to tell you that having kids is a choice you both should agree on.” Erin smiled knowingly at them and directed them out of the church.
****
Erin walked into Murphy’s Diner, saw Roxie, in her usual colorful outfit, at a table in the back, and wended her way through the tightly placed chairs.
“Good to see you. I was shocked you were free for lunch.” Roxie smiled, watching cutie-pie Erin slide into the chair.
Erin sighed. “I know. I was too.” She picked up the laminated menu. “What’s good here? I’ve only been one other time.”
“I’m having my staple cold-weather food, chili and grilled cheese.”
“Ooh, boy. Not sure I can eat all of that. Maybe I’ll have the chicken soup. Is it good?”
Roxie nodded enthusiastically. “Unfortunately for my figure, everything at Murphy’s tastes great.” She laughed.
“You’re in great shape.” Erin admired Roxie’s full figure.
“Thanks, but you must need new glasses.” Roxie rolled her eyes.
After they ordered, Roxie started the conversation. “I’m happy you’re working with me at my clinic. I thought we’d check in to see how things’re going.” Roxie took a drink of her water. “Any problems, any questions?”
Erin played with her knife and fork on the table, shaking her head. “Not a thing. I’m enjoying the work. It’s different from the church, more controllable, nothing unexpected. I like the routine and I enjoy one-on-one time with clients.”
Roxie nodded. “Super. I thought things were going well. I am so slammed with clients these days, your one day a week really helps my load.” Roxie looked down at her bowl of chili as the server placed it on the table.
Erin smiled. “Glad to help. Anything else you wanted to bring up?”
Roxie grinned. “As a matter of fact, yeah.” She looked up sheepishly from taking a bite from her chili. “I was wondering what you thought of Dr. Webster. She’s not hard to look at, huh?”
Erin shook her head. “You. I’ve known you less than a year, and you have me pegged. Yes, okay? She’s good looking. Better than that, actually. But, I don’t like her. There, I said it out loud.”
“Don’t like her? Oh, cutie-pie, you can’t mean that. What’s not to like?” Roxie grabbed Erin’s left wrist and shook it.
“Have you ever had to work with her? She’s bossy. She takes charge for her own means and doesn’t listen to her patients. She’s—”
“Exasperating?”
“I see your little smirk there. You won’t play matchmaker with me. I know you invited her to your house. You and Gen got together.”
“Why, I’m shocked you would think such a thing.” Roxie put her hand over her heart, mockingly.
“Yeah, whatever.” Erin slurped a spoonful of her chicken soup. “Mmm, this is good.”
“Don’t change the subject, munchkin.”
“Munchkin? Now I’m offended.” Erin’s mouth went wide.
“Well, what are you, all of five feet tall? Even that?” Then Roxie gazed at Erin. “I’ve seen how the good doctor looks at you. And it’s not like a sister, let me tell you.”
“Oh, come on. Now, you’re delusional.”
“No, really. At the dinner at our house, before she pooped out on us, she could hardly keep her eyes off you.”
“That may be, but we’ve had two run-ins about my parishioners who’re her patients, and I don’t want to have another, thank you very much.” Erin pouted at the memory of Mr. Mendes.
“Don’t be a killjoy. You’re lonely, and she’s in her white doctor coat, looking all brilliant and sexy. Don’t lose this chance at having a life. You may regret it.”
“Let’s change the subject, Dr. Campbell.” Erin frowned. Despite her bossiness, she thought how sexy Bobbi Webster was in that white coat and stethoscope.
Chapter Twelve
The monthly clinical conference started exactly at seven a.m. All the fellows and attendings from Valley View sat around the conference table with coffee. Some had picked up a donut from the side credenza. Bobbi let out a big yawn, having been on call the night before, hospitalizing a child with the flu and a high fever. Bobbi had checked in at four this morning to find her fever under control, but the child’s mother needed the most care. She had nearly screamed into the phone the night before with anxiety. Bobbi had calmed her when she met them in the ER at BCH at one a.m.
Gen introduced Dr. Roxanne Campbell again with the topic of today’s conference
. Bobbi noted Roxie’s dark blond plait of hair. Even though Roxie was in her forties, she looked bright and energetic, more like a teen in her bright outfits. Today, she had on a multicolor sweater, jeans, and Birkenstocks with wool, rainbow socks. Bobbi liked her open smile and sparkling blue eyes, as she began the presentation to the doctors on mental health issues in primary care and the clinic’s systems for assessment, a topic she knew little about. She took notes from Roxie’s PowerPoint presentation. She was surprised that the clinic offered an online screening program for the diagnoses she saw most often. Most small, rural medical centers didn’t have that luxury.
“Will we discuss the latest treatment options?” Bobbi asked, as Roxie wrapped up the presentation.
“Yes. I have an up-to-date list of psychotropic drugs, their dosages, and major side effects.” Dr. Campbell grabbed a stack of papers and began to distribute them on both sides of the table to the doctors.
Bobbi skimmed through the ten-page packet of information in small print and noted she would need to study these drugs in more detail.
“I am a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, so, as you know, I can’t prescribe. That’s where you at the clinic come in. A prescription would help some of my clients. I may contact you with a recommendation for specific patients of yours. As their primary care physician, I would rather you prescribe than a psychiatrist. As you also know, Babcock and the two contiguous counties have no psychiatrists. I don’t want my clients to have to go to Denver to see one, just for a prescription.”
Gen said, “I think we all can get behind Roxie’s plan for assisting each other with patients who present with a mental health issue. I have here a sheet with all the mental health practitioners in the three-county area.” She passed out a single page.
“There are only three names here,” the clinic’s pediatrician commented.
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