Grumpy Doctor

by B. B. Hamel

  “Yes,” she said. “If I had to have a major surgery, he’s the man I’d want performing it.”

  “Very good.” Blobman made another note. “Do you think Mr. Hood is responsible for the death of Nil Tippett?”

  “I don’t know who that is or what happened,” she said. “I barely know Dr. Hood.”

  “Interesting.” Blobman stood up. “When you get to know him a little better, you come and find me. Because here’s the thing. That man may be good at what he does, but that doesn’t mean he can get away with poor judgments and reckless decisions. And frankly, this little display does nothing in his favor. Think about the kind of man he is, Miss Lori, and you come find me. You tell me if you think he deserves all the praise and attention he gets.”

  Blobman held up a hand, then walked away. I stood there, nearly trembling with rage, as Lori slowly turned back to me.

  Her face was clouded with confusion. “What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes coming up to meet mine. “What did you do?”

  I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. I forced myself to calm down, even if that was the last thing I wanted to feel. That bastard stalker didn’t know a thing about me or what I cared about. I valued human life, and sacrificed so much to become the best surgeon I could possibly be. I wanted to save people, and the last thing I wanted to do was rush a patient under the knife.

  “Nil Tippett was eighty years old when he came to me,” I said, staring down at the ground. I could still see that first meeting, what felt like a hundred years ago. “His son came with him, a man named Robert. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Robert was driving Nil’s care from the start.”

  “What happened?” Lori asked.

  “Nil had bounced around the region, visiting specialists, before coming to me. He needed a coronary revascularization, which under the best of circumstances is a fairly high-risk procedure. Nobody would perform it on him, given his age and the fact that he was overweight and had smoked for fifty years. They came to me, and all but begged me to perform the surgery, told me that I was the only man in the area that could possibly pull it off.”

  I closed my eyes and felt a sense of self-loathing wash over me. “They played my ego like a fiddle. I brought their case to the board, and although they were split, eventually I got the green light. The Tippetts are rich, which means they can buy whatever medical procedure they want, regardless of whether it’s a good idea or not.

  “The surgery didn’t go well from the start. I did what I could, but Nil was old and half dead to begin with. He didn’t make it, one of the few patients I’ve lost, and that operation still bothers me. I keep thinking about what I could’ve done wrong, a different opening here, a slightly faster stitch there, different drugs, anything, but—”

  I stopped myself, then pushed myself to finish the story.

  “He died, and when we told the family, they were livid. Robert immediately threatened to sue, and started litigation a few days later. I was taken off most of my patients after that, and the private investigator began following me around a couple weeks ago.

  “That’s the whole story. Nil was a mistake, a stupid mistake. I never should have let them convince me to do that procedure. I knew that his risk factors were too high, but it was obvious that he had no other chance if I didn’t go through with it. They flattered me, pushed for it to happen, said they understood it was unlikely to be successful, and yet are still going to try to sue me into the ground. It’s not right, and I don’t deserve it.”

  Lori listened to the whole story with a small but deep frown. When I finished, she shifted from foot to foot then turned away, looking in the direction that the private investigator had gone.

  I could only guess her thoughts. I was stupid and vain to try something so complex on an old, unhealthy man, and yet I thought I was the man’s only chance at survival. Just because he was old didn’t mean he needed to die. I could’ve given him more time, another decade even, if only I’d been better.

  But I failed, and the man was dead.

  “I understand why you’re angry,” she said, shaking her head. “Shit, what a horrible position.”

  “Now you know everything.”

  She nodded slightly. “I guess that’s why you got assigned a resident this year.”

  “That, and your cousin.”

  “Lucky me.” She looked back at me and shook her head. “You shouldn’t have come out here and confronted him. You know that, right? If the whole argument is that you’re too reckless, then this was a bad call.”

  “I know that.” My hands balled into fists. “I went to Gina and asked if the hospital could do something about that guy stalking me. She more or less told me to figure it out myself. So I thought I would.”

  “Bad call.”

  “I’m aware.” I walked closer to her, studying her posture, the tension running through her spine. “I want to clear my name and keep practicing medicine. I don’t want these blackmailing bastards to win.”

  She gave me a look, almost pleading. “I just want to get through my residency.”

  “I’ll train you. And you can help me in return.”

  “I won’t lie for you.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to. I want you to tell them to the truth, but without bias. Right now, I think you dislike me because you think I’m arrogant, or for a thousand other reasons. But I want you to think about my skills as a surgeon, not my winning personality.”

  “Fine,” she said. “You train me, and I’ll try to help you clear your name—assuming you deserve it.”

  “We have a deal then.” I stuck out my hand.

  She hesitated, but reached out, and we shook. I held her there for a few moments longer than necessary, looking into her beautiful green eyes, and wondered if maybe I’d made the wrong decision.

  But no, she needed training, and I needed help. Maybe she could navigate this situation better than I could.

  Or maybe we were both screwed. Either option was possible.

  “Come on,” I said, “back inside.”

  “Not going to make me do laundry?”

  “You’re not getting out of that, don’t worry.”

  She sighed, but followed me back in.

  7

  Lori

  The next day, Piers made me scrub in early and stand in during a procedure.

  There wasn’t much conversation. I tried asking him what exactly we were doing, but he only gave me a look and ignored the question.

  As the patient came in, a surprisingly young woman with dark hair wrapped in braids, I kept thinking about my conversation with him yesterday about Nil Tippett. As soon as I got home, I went online and did some research. Sure enough, his version of events were more or less accurate.

  He hadn’t really gone too much into the Tippett family, though. When he said they were rich, that was an understatement. The Tippetts own a very fancy, extremely excusive hedge fund that had been in operation for over fifty years. The Tippetts were wildly wealthy and ran in the inner circle of all the richest people in America. They took millions and turned them into billions, and kept a nice, fat slice of that for themselves.

  They weren’t the kind of family I ever wanted to be involved with.

  I didn’t know what the hell he was thinking, taking on that case. The more I looked into it, the more it seemed insane. Nil Tippett was overweight, out of shape, and a lifelong smoker. And that particular operation was risky at the best of times, and almost impossible to perform successfully on a man like Nil. It seemed crazy, and yes, reckless, to even try it.

  But then I thought of what he’d said: if he hadn’t tried, Nil would have died. There was no other option, and he could’ve stepped aside, avoided getting involved in what was clearly a terrible idea, or he could step up, assume some risk, and take a chance. He wanted to save Nil’s life where nobody else would.

  He failed, and they wanted him to pay for it.

  I had to admit, it seemed wrong.

  I warred with myse
lf internally over it, jumping between two extremes. On the one hand, there was Piers the highly skilled technician. If someone could pull off that surgery, it would have been him. But on the other hand, there was Piers the arrogant asshole. I didn’t know which Piers decided to go forward, and which one deserved the blame.

  Maybe I couldn’t separate him like that.

  I stood back and watched Piers do his job. I had to admit, he was impressive, almost beautiful. I’d been in other ORs during my time as a student, but I’d never seen one so quiet before. The nurses seemed to watch him with a shocking respect, even if they didn’t necessarily love him personally. Yes, Piers was difficult, but my god, he was good.

  As he finished up, he half turned to me and nodded with his chin. I stepped forward, surprised, and lingered near his elbow.

  “Close for me,” he said, indicating the instruments in his hand.

  The room went still. Every nurse stared at me, and I could tell they were gaping.

  I was willing to bet that Piers had never in his entire career asked someone to do a single maneuver in his place.

  “You want me to close?” I asked, not moving.

  “You do know how,” he said, eyes narrowed.

  “Of course.” I took the instruments from him as he stepped aside to make room. The incision was relatively small, and the stitches would be simple enough. He hung close and I was very aware of his body, his breath through his surgical mask, the soft swish of his surgical gown.

  “Easy,” he said. “Simple.”

  I began the stitches. I wanted to scream or throw up, not because it was a particularly difficult task—it was actually really easy, almost insultingly easy—but because of the way he hung on my every movement, watching me perform. It was like having Mozart listen to me play back one of his symphonies, or having Glenn Gould critique my piano paying. Piers was a master, that much was obvious, and even something so simple as stitching closed a very straight, very orderly incision felt magnified to infinity.

  One stitch, two, three. As I worked, the rest of the room faded away, until there was only Piers standing close to me, his body warm and massive, and my instruments, and the patient.

  “Good,” he said softly. “Turn that—yes, like that. Very good.”

  I finished, clipped the stitch, and looked at him. “Done.”

  He nodded, inspected my work, then gestured for the nurses to take over. I put the instruments back down on the table as he barked out commands, ending the procedure, then he stalked into the clean room to scrub back out.

  I followed and watched him move with measured precision. My heart raced wildly and I wondered if this was how it would feel every time, with him lurking over me, analyzing every motion.

  “You did well,” he said, not looking at me.

  I was startled and cleared my throat. “Really?”

  He looked back. “Of course. It was pretty simple though.”

  “Right, yeah. I’ve done that a hundred times.”

  He gave me a small smile. I finished cleaning up and we walked out into the hall together. He conferred with a nurse for a moment, then nodded at me, and we continued on toward the elevators.

  “I’m going to let you take on more responsibility,” he said.

  “Really? I mean, that’s great.”

  He gave me a look. “Slowly at first. I know you’ve gone through all this already, but I want to make sure you know what you’re doing before you ever get within an inch of anything vital.”

  “Right, of course.”

  The elevators opened. We stepped inside. “You’ll stand in with me on every procedure. If I’m working, you’re working. Understood?”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good. You’ll also do my laundry.”

  I grimaced. “Come on. That’s hazing.”

  “I don’t care.” He frowned at me. “I’m going to train you, Lori. I’m not going to be your friend.”

  “And yet you want me to help you clear your name.”

  “I want you to tell the truth.”

  “Of course.” I tilted my head. “Did I do well today, or did you say that just because you want me to like you?”

  He stared at me for a second and I couldn’t read his expression—then without warning, he reached out and slammed the emergency stop button.

  I stared wild-eyed ad the elevator ground to a halt between floors. The alarms blared and a voice rang out through a little intercom.

  Piers ignored it as he turned to me. I took a step back, running up against the wall, heart racing even faster than it had down in the OR.

  I couldn’t believe he’d just stopped the elevator. I thought that was the sort of thing people did in movies, not in real life.

  “Listen to me, and listen close,” he said, leaning down over me. We were inches apart, his full lips pulled back slightly, eyebrows knitted. “I’m not going to bullshit you, Lori. If you’re bad at something, I will tell you, and you will work until you’re better. If you’re good, I’ll tell you, and you’ll still work.” He put one hand over my shoulder, leaning against the wall behind me.

  I felt trapped as my cheeks flushed with blood.

  “I believe you.”

  “I’m not going to lie for my own vanity, and I’m not going to ask that of you, either. But I want you to give me a chance. I understand I’m not the most liked man in the world, but I am the best at what I do.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then give me the respect to believe me when I say you did a good job.”

  I tilted my chin toward him, moving my lips ever closer to his. I didn’t know what I was doing—this was my boss, a total asshole, but he was so handsome, and we were alone in this elevator, inches apart, the alarm ringing, the lights dim, his body close. Maybe it was the residual excitement of the surgery, or maybe I was just a total freaking crazy person, but the way he looked at me—I thought maybe he had the same idea as me.

  “I’ll respect you,” I whispered.

  “Good girl.” He reached up and his hand hovered there between us, close to my cheek, and I wondered if he would touch me and break through the unspoken barrier that kept us apart. Ethics said we shouldn’t, and I knew that ethics were right in this case. I should keep my distance from him, try to stay objective, let him teach me what I needed to know—but still try to decide if he was a reckless bastard, or simply one of the best surgeons in the world.

  But his hand dropped without touching me and he pulled away.

  He snapped at the intercom then hit the emergency button again. The alarm stopped and the elevator began to move again. It reached the next floor and he got out, moving past a group of harried-looking janitorial staff, and one very bewildered administrator. He stormed away, ignoring their questions, and left me to deal with his mess.

  I had a feeling that was going to happen a lot.

  And for some reason, I didn’t mind. At least not in this instance.

  For a moment there in that elevator, I thought I saw past his anger, to someone deeper inside—someone that wanted recognition, but also wanted an equal, a peer to be with him, to push him to be a better man.

  I didn’t know if that was me, but I thought I might try.

  8

  Piers

  Caroline Pincher’s office was on the top floor, tucked in the back of the administration wing. Her secretary gave me a foul look as I sat in a small waiting room chair, legs crossed, staring up at the ceiling, annoyed as all hell that she was wasting my time like this.

  “Piers.” Caroline stood in her office door and beckoned me. She was an older woman, in her mid-fifties, with fake blonde hair and a big smile. She wore sensible dark clothes and always seemed to jingle when she walked from all the bracelets she wore crammed on her thin wrists.

  “What can I do for you, Caroline?”

  She walked around her desk and sat. The room was the epitome of corporate power: large windows, leather-bound books on the shelves, papers and binders neatly arrang
ed, a couple of green plants hanging in the light. She tilted her head and smiled, steepling her fingers.

  “Gina told me you two spoke.”

  “Did she?” I raised an eyebrow, unable to hide my surprise.

  “Of course. Gina felt that your conversation warranted some attention.” Caroline continued to give me that bland, ruthless smile.

  “And what kind of attention are you going to lavish on me, Caroline?”

  Her smile didn’t falter. I knew it wouldn’t, no matter how surly I got. She was a consummate professional, I had to admit.

  “I understand you’re having an issue with a private investigator.”

  “Tippett hired him,” I said. “He’s been stalking me all over the campus.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “But you’re not going to do anything about it.”

  She spread her hands. “I’m in a bind here. I think you can appreciate that.”

  “I can’t, but why don’t you try and convince me?”

  She laughed softly. “For starters, it isn’t illegal to hire a private investigator. It’s in bad taste, of course, but not illegal. So I don’t have any sort of legal route to go here.”

  “I’m not really interested in a legal route.”

  “I could ban him from the hospital grounds, but he’d still follow you outside of this place, and I imagine it would only look like we’re trying to cover up your mess. That wouldn’t play in court.”

  I clenched my jaw. “There’s no mess to cover up. They knew the risks.”

  “And you knew that the surgery would incredibly unlikely to work, and never should have done it.” She waved a hand when I went to argue. “We don’t need to rehash this. I wanted to bring you in here and explain why the hospital will not be stepping in with this private investigator issue.”

  “I already know why,” I said. “The Tippetts are rich and you don’t want to risk pissing off their rich friends. If we lose their support, the hospital will lose a lot of donations.”

  “Donations do save lives,” she said, shrugging.