“Very well said,” Vik said. “Let’s continue with the questioning.”
Nancy put her glasses back on and looked at her paper, pausing for a moment to review her notes. “Okay, what this committee would like to know, Dr. Kaplan, is how your daughter ended up in possession of a bottle of Oxycontin prescribed to one of your patients.”
The room went silent. All rustling of papers, clearing of throats and clicking of pens seemed to cease. He was cornered and there was no way out but through.
“I had them in my bedside table.” He looked down at the table. “Sadie must have found them there.”
“So, to be clear, you brought your patient’s pain pills home with you?”
“Yes.”
“And how often do you use them?” Nancy asked.
“Once in a while,” he said. In anticipation of this meeting, he’d cut back on the Adderall. That hadn’t proven difficult since he wasn’t operating, but the Oxy was harder to taper. He’d really wanted to stop taking it as soon as he got Vik’s email, but he just couldn’t do it. Without the evening pills, his mind wouldn’t shut off. Thoughts sprinted around in his head and the harder he tried to shut them off, the faster they ran.
“When you say once in a while, does that mean once a month or once a day? I think the committee could use a bit more specificity on this,” Nancy pushed.
Grant cleared his throat. Not sure how to answer this question without lying, Grant was starting to wish he could plead the fifth.
“I think we’ve gone far enough with this interview,” Vik said, rescuing Grant. “The next step in the protocol is to send Dr. Kaplan to employee health for a drug test. Once those results come back, we’ll figure out where to go from there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY - SIX
Alison
November 12, 2019
AT PHYSICAL THERAPY, Alison walked back and forth across the floor using the cane. After more than two months of practice, Svetlana had swapped out the bulky cane for a simpler one a few weeks ago. The bottom made a satisfying thump on the wood floor, as Alison stepped forward with her right leg. She was now able to lift her foot off the ground and swing her right leg forward, her toes no longer dragging. There was a new crop of patients here, but Thomas, the man with the advanced Parkinson’s, would never leave. His disease only moved in the wrong direction.
“We’re looking good.” Svetlana stood off to the side.
“We are, aren’t we?” Alison smiled.
“So good that it’s time to lose the cane,” Svetlana said.
Alison stopped walking. Was she serious? Alison couldn’t fathom walking without something to support her, without the cane to bear her weight and propel her forward. The idea thrilled and terrified her the same time.
“Today?” Alison asked.
“It’s as good a time as any. We knew this day would come,” Svetlana said this as if it was a foregone conclusion that Alison would walk on her own. “Your right leg is so much stronger than you think. I’ll demonstrate.” Svetlana turned and took a few slow steps, bending her knees in an exaggerated way and planting her feet, the opposite arm bent forward in front of her chest as each leg moved forward. It looked like a slow version of a military march, precise and regimented.
“Can we practice a little more with the cane first?” Alison wasn’t sure why Svetlana had so much confidence in Alison’s right leg. In her experience, it wasn’t to be trusted. Some days it felt strong and ready for a challenge and other days it gave way without warning.
“No stalling,” Svetlana said, reaching for the cane. “You’re ready for this.”
When Svetlana tried to take the cane from her hand, Alison held on for moment, her hand refusing to release the handle.
“I’ll try.” Alison stood in the middle of the floor for a moment, the wood under her feet firmer than before Svetlana had announced today’s assignment. Transferring her weight from one foot to the other, she took a breath and gathered her courage.
Svetlana snapped her fingers. “No wallowing today. Every new challenge requires focus and hard work.”
“I’ve gotten so used to it.”
“Go ahead,” Svetlana said. “I believe in you.”
“Now?”
“Now or never.”
“Never sounds good.” Alison knew the joke wouldn’t work, but it was worth a shot. She would love to make her body do what Svetlana had demonstrated, but she wasn’t sure it was possible.
“We can do this,” Svetlana said.
“We?”
“You can do this.” She backed up a few steps, motioning for Alison to come to her.
Alison took a deep breath and let it out. Though Svetlana was only a few steps away, the distance seemed so much greater. She couldn’t imagine how her feet would take her there. She decided to lead with her right foot because her balance was better with her left. She bent her left knee and advanced her right leg, but when she planted it on the floor, she felt unsteady.
“Make sure to bend your knees,” Svetlana said. “Engaging your thigh muscles helps with stability.”
Svetlana loved to talk about stability. First, she claimed the walker would give her stability, then the cane, and now she expected it to come from within Alison, from the same body that had been so fickle and unpredictable. Alison longed to feel steady. She was still reeling from her realization about Grant’s duplicity and Cynthia’s nearsightedness about his behavior.
“I thought I was bending them,” Alison said.
“Even more. Bend to the point that it feels ridiculous.” This whole situation did feel ridiculous to Alison, so far-fetched that no one could make it up. Suddenly, she felt like she could almost laugh it was so ridiculous. Feeling a little lighter, she turned her attention back to her knees.
When Alison bent her right knee more, she noticed the difference. Her right leg now seemed stronger and ready to hold her weight. She clenched her fists to focus her energy, and when her left foot contacted the floor, she entered the zone. All of a sudden, something clicked. She kept going, one foot and then the other, everything else fading away: Svetlana’s voice and the burble of the water cooler and the clinking of the weights against the rack. It was just Alison and her body, walking across the floor without assistance. Endorphins flooded through her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this natural high until now. A barbell thudded to the floor, and everything came back into focus. When Alison looked up, Svetlana grabbed Alison by the shoulders and shook her with excitement.
“I knew you were ready! You’re a rock star.” She gave Alison her usual fist bump, and then threw her arms around her for a hug. Looking over Svetlana’s shoulder, Alison noticed the photograph on the wall again, the one of the runner crossing the finish line in triumph, and thought of Becca. Since their talk at Starbuck’s two weeks ago, Becca had only been coming over twice a week instead of every night. At first, Alison had enjoyed the alone time, space to collect her thoughts and plan for her future, but now she was really starting to miss her. She couldn’t wait to show Becca her new trick.
On the ride home from physical therapy, Alison wanted to tell Rhea about her progress, but Rhea didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. At home, Rhea got Alison a large glass of ice water as always, but then she invited Alison to sit in the living room instead the kitchen. It felt strangely formal, the chair Alison sat on too stiff and straight backed.
“What’s going on?” Alison asked.
Rhea cleared her throat. “I would like to thank you and Mr. Jacobs for everything. You’ve truly been wonderful employers.”
“Okay.” Alison could tell by the look on Rhea’s face that she was about to quit, but she wanted those words to remain unsaid for a few more moments. She wasn’t ready to hear them. “You’ve been such a big help.”
“You are so strong,” Rhea said. “One determined woman.”
“I guess.
“Truly an inspiration.”
“What are you trying to say?” Alison asked
. Enough beating around the bush, as Michael would have said.
“I’m giving you my notice,” Rhea said. “I’ve taken another job closer to home.” Rhea lived right here in Newton, so Alison knew her decision had nothing to do with proximity.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been assigned to an elderly lady with Parkinson’s. She needs me.”
“But I still need you.” Even with her recent strides, Alison wasn’t yet independent. It was going to take a lot of work to walk smoothly without the cane, she still dribbled when she ate, and Svetlana had yet to clear her to drive.
“You think you do, but I know better,” Rhea said. “You are strong and fearless.”
“I don’t feel fearless.”
The room fell silent.
“Is this because of Becca?” Alison said quietly.
“Not at all.” Rhea’s quick denial confirmed she was right.
“Are you sure?”
“You’re doing so well,” Rhea said. “You don’t need me anymore.”
“I still have a long way to go.”
“If you want someone here, the agency can send another aide.”
“I don’t want another aide,” Alison said.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve already made the commitment.”
“What about Nate? Will he come to visit?” Nate’s incessant talking had become the background noise of her home. Without him, Alison’s world would be eerily quiet.
“He’s been getting really busy with school.” Rhea picked at one of her cuticles. “I don’t think there will be time to visit.”
“I’d like to come to his play. I promised him I would.”
Rhea pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to Alison. “When I told him about my new job, he was heartbroken. He’s really taken a liking to you.”
Alison opened the envelope and removed a piece of lined paper ripped from a spiral notebook, the words written in blue marker.
Dear Mrs. Jacobs,
I would be honored if you would come to my play on Saturday night. It might actually be good. I got you two tickets in case you want to bring someone. LOL.
Hakuna Matata,
Nate
The envelope also held two tickets to Nate’s show.
“Thank you,” Alison said, her eyes filling with tears.
“Don’t thank me,” Rhea said. “It was all Nathaniel. He wouldn’t let me see the note.”
“He’s such a good kid.”
“He really is,” Rhea said.
Alison would miss Rhea’s kind words and gentle touch, but maybe the time had come for her to leave. Like Mary Poppins, she stayed only until the wind changed. The wind had definitely shifted, but Alison could handle whatever blew her way. Now, there were two people she needed to reach out to, Michael and Cynthia.
CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVEN
Grant
March 27, 2019
AFTER GRANT LEFT THE CONFERENCE ROOM, he could have taken the blue elevators straight down to Alison’s room, but he needed a few minutes to collect his thoughts. He decided to swing by the lobby for a coffee. As he crossed the lobby, a walk he’d done thousands of times in the seventeen years he’d been at this hospital, the floor felt different under his feet. His hospital clogs usually gripped the carpeting, while the loafers he now wore slid over the surface, making him unsure of his footing.
The sound of the water in the fountain seemed louder and more aggressive today, closer to a rush than a gurgle. Grant felt a sense of rising panic and a sour taste in his mouth. He swallowed and did his best to clear his mind. If he stayed calm and focused, he’d find a way out of this mess.
When he stepped up to place his order, Grant noticed a new employee behind the counter, a twenty-something guy with a face full of acne.
“What can I get for you today?” the boy asked.
On a normal day, Grant would ask the regular barista, Millie, for the usual and she would know to make him a large skim latte with a triple shot of espresso, but today was not a normal day. He sighed and gave his order.
Once he got his coffee, he took a seat at one of the tables next to the counter and took off his suit jacket. He thought freeing himself from the tight blazer would allow him to breathe a bit more easily, but he didn’t notice much of a difference. Removing the cover of his cup, he inhaled the familiar aroma of roasted espresso before taking a sip. A sappy Barry Manilow song, “Looks Like We Made It,” played through the sound system. Grant didn’t feel like he’d made it. He felt like everyone on that damned committee had already presumed him guilty.
Clarise Bates, one of the urologists, sped across the lobby toward the blue elevators in her scrubs with Cal close behind. Neither of them noticed him sitting here in this stupid suit. Wednesday was usually his long OR day, so he’d usually be scrubbed in from dawn until late afternoon. No one would expect to see him sitting in the lobby wasting time. It had only been twelve days since he’d scrubbed in, but it seemed like forever. He missed the weight of the scalpel in his hand, the calm that came over him when Wendy turned on a great jazz album, even the smell of bone dust as he sawed through the skull to expose the operative field.
He turned and saw Joel Hitchens approaching him, now wearing scrubs instead of the shirt and tie he’d had on in the conference room. Joel didn’t usually operate on Wednesdays. Maybe the scheduler had given him Grant’s OR time, his sacred time slot used now for bullshit uterine fibroids and ovarian cysts that were never going to cause a problem anyway. Grant took pride in performing operations that made a difference. If he didn’t remove the astrocytoma, coil the aneurysm, debulk the meningioma, his patients could have disastrous deficits: paralysis, personality changes, aphasia. He tried not to think about Alison, that these deficits could also be a result of surgery, that if he wasn’t careful, his knife could harm instead of heal.
Grant hoped Joel wouldn’t notice him, but it was too late.
“May I join you?” Joel said.
“Of course,” he said, taking his bag off the other chair.
Joel went to the counter to order, giving Grant a minute to think about what to say. How could he possibly explain this situation? Was there any way this could all make sense? Maybe it would be better to avoid the topic altogether.
Joel returned and put his cup on the table. “Quite a morning, huh?”
Grant nodded. This had been one of the worst days of his life and it wasn’t even lunchtime. Everything about this day felt all wrong, like one of those terrible Lifetime movies about a doctor who falls from grace, forcing him onto the straight and narrow. That wasn’t him. Sure, he took pills to help him function at his best, but he wasn’t an addict. He was doing just fine, thank you very much.
“I want to make sure you know that the committee is never about punishment,” Joel said. “It’s about making sure our doctors are healthy and working in the best interests of patients at all times.”
“Right,” Grant said. “You all say the same thing. You sound like a broken record.”
“Get the test done and we’ll move on from there. One step at a time. I’ve been on this committee for over twenty years. I’ve seen lots of docs come out the other end.”
“Out the other end?”
“Rehab and recovery. Addiction is a disease. Just like diabetes and hypertension and cancer. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying, Joel.” The last thing Grant needed was rehab. Hundreds of patients were alive and functioning because of him. Addicts were those meth heads he saw begging in Boston Common, those pitiful specimens with their clumpy hair and rotting teeth. If they were addicts, he couldn’t be. No way.
“It’s normal to get defensive,” Joel said. “You worked very hard to get where you are today. It’s only natural to get your back up.”
Grant stood up. He’d had enough of Joel’s holier than thou speech. They were colleagues and Joel was acting like he was superior, when in reality Grant was the superstar an
d Joel was a run of the mill crease monkey.
“Sorry, I’ve got to run.” Grant grabbed his coffee cup and headed to the blue elevators.
On the way up upstairs, Grant took a detour to the locker room to change into a pair of scrubs. He piled his shirt and suit onto the metal shelf. He’d left his clogs at home, so he’d be stuck wearing loafers for the rest of the day. The clang of the locker door jarred his nerves, the sound of metal-on-metal grating and abrasive.
When Grant arrived in Alison’s room, she was sitting up in a chair, pillows propped around her to keep her from listing to the side. The physical therapist was doing passive range of motion exercises, bending her arms at the elbow and then extending them fully. Sitting up, her facial asymmetry looked even more prominent, the right side of her mouth sagging down toward her chin. Cynthia sat in a chair next to Alison.
“Where have you been?” Cynthia asked.
“I’ve been around.”
“What do you mean you’ve been around? You said you would be here two hours ago. It’s not like it took you forever to get dressed.” She made a face at his scrubs, her eyes trailing down to his feet. “What’s with the shoes? Where are your clogs?”
“They’re getting a little worn out. The foot bed isn’t giving me the support I need.”
Cynthia gave him a questioning look. “They were fine yesterday, and all of sudden today they’re no good?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s going on, Grant? I’m not an idiot.”
“Let me give my sister-in-law a kiss.” The last thing he wanted to do was argue in front of Alison. She had more than her share of stress. “How you feeling, Blondie?”
She gave him a weak smile.
“I know,” he said. “This is a lot to handle. Every day will get a little bit easier.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead and followed Cynthia into the hall.
With one look at her face, Grant knew he owed her the truth. If he lied to her, she’d smell his bullshit right away and call him on it.
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