Better to Trust

by Frimmer, Heather

“They’re welcome to you,” Sadie said.

  “Let’s go,” Emma whispered.

  “Are you done?” Piper asked.

  “Yes, completely.” Sadie hooked her arm through Emma’s and turned around. As they walked together back across the courtyard, she could feel everyone’s eyes on her and it felt surprisingly exhilarating. Sadie held her head high, proud of herself for taking a stand and content to be walking arm in arm with her best friend.

  CHAPTER FORTY - SIX

  Grant

  May 28, 2019

  “THE PLACE WHERE THE MOTOR FIBERS cross over in the medulla is called the pyramidal decussation,” Grant said, using the cursor to point to the cartoon drawing of the brain on the screen. In the illustration, the motor fibers were represented by a bright red line traveling from the frontal lobe down through the internal capsule, midbrain, and finally crossing over in the medulla. In the OR, the brain was all the same fleshy pink, the vital structures impossible to discern.

  “Is this all clear?” Grant looked out at the sea of medical students. Though the students’ questions were occasionally annoying, teaching hadn’t been as bad as Grant had expected. Their enthusiasm reminded Grant why he’d chosen medicine and how crucial his career was to him. Being in his own apartment still felt odd, but he was getting used to it. He missed Cynthia more than he’d expected to, but he’d been picking Sadie up from school almost every day, to get in face time with her. The cravings were slowly lessening and the lectures gave him somewhere to be. Listening to hours of bullshit at daily NA meetings—drivel about triggers and higher powers and cultivating an atmosphere of recovery—was driving him insane and the weekly urine tests at employee health were a nuisance; but if these were the hoops he needed to jump through to prove himself, so be it.

  A student raised her hand. “I don’t understand why everything crosses sides,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense.” Grant knew neuroanatomy wasn’t easy to comprehend. The digestive system was simple plumbing, the esophagus leading to the duodenum to the jejunum, just a series of tubes through which the food passed, while the brain, a mass of soft flesh at first glance, was the most complex organ of all, millions of neurons crossing in every direction. A slight slip of the knife could cause irreversible damage. Grant supposed that’s why it took seven years of neurosurgery residency to learn the dizzying anatomy inside and out.

  “Why is philosophical,” he answered. “I can only explain the how. Let’s say a patient has a lesion in their left frontal or parietal lobe, a stroke or bleed, for example, the right side of the body will be affected. This is a very important point to remember.” As Grant described this scenario, his thoughts turned to Alison. Her AVM had been located in an unfortunate spot, centered on the motor strip controlling the right side of her body. With such a difficult case, any other surgeon would likely have had the same outcome.

  “And depending on the exact location of the lesion, other functions may also be affected. Like speech for example. These patients can develop both expressive and receptive aphasias.”

  “What’s aphasia?” The same girl asked, this time without raising her hand. “We already had so many new words to learn, and now you’re piling on even more.” This girl was starting to get on Grant’s nerves. If she stopped whining and started studying, maybe it would all make more sense.

  “Aphasia is difficulty with speech,” he said. “It can present as a problem with finding and forming words or as a problem with understanding them.” When she’d first woken up, Alison had been nearly mute, her aphasia quite dense. Grant hoped she’d been able to regain at least some speech with intensive therapy. He was happy to learn she’d been transferred to Spaulding. They hired the best speech therapists in the business.

  A student in the back raised his hand. “Can those patients recover or are the deficits permanent?” Now this class was becoming a free for all, veering off course from the topic at hand. Grant looked at his watch. With two minutes left, he decided to indulge their questions rather than trying to redirect.

  “Yes, sometimes they can, if they get the best therapy available. But recovery can be unpredictable.” Grant felt an unexpected hitch in his breath. Even with the best possible care, Alison may never make a full recovery. She would live the rest of her life reminded of the damage he’d inflicted, the mistakes he’d made. No matter how many times he told himself he’d done a good job, that was just a lie he’d been telling himself, not the honest truth. When Alison had needed him most, when she’d literally put her life in his hands, he’d allowed his addiction to run the show.

  “Are you okay, Dr. Kaplan?” the first girl asked.

  Grant tuned back in to reality and look out at the auditorium, the students staring back at him with concern. “Yes,” he said, tears starting to collect in his eyes. “Class dismissed.”

  While the students filed out of the lecture hall, chatting about anatomy lab and upcoming final exams, Grant turned away from the door, quickly wiping his face with his shirt. He slipped his laptop back in to its case and checked his pocket for Sadie’s stone. Running his thumb over the smooth surface, Grant wondered what Alison was doing right now. He still couldn’t bring himself to pay her a visit. He wasn’t ready to witness her disabilities first hand, knowing they might have been prevented if he’d been at his best.

  Grant waited for the students to clear the hall, then headed toward the garage, his head down. The last thing he wanted to do was make small talk.

  “Dr. Kaplan?” A young woman fell in step beside him. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Uh, not really,” he said.

  “Sorry to take you by surprise. Your office staff told me I could find you here.”

  “I’m not taking appointments right now,” he said.

  “No, nothing like that. I’m Julia Barker from the Newton Reporter. I interviewed you last year for the meningioma article?”

  “Oh, Julia, yes.” Grant now remembered sitting with Julia on a bench in the hospital courtyard, her dark eyes sparkling with interest as Grant described new and improved ways to cut the brain apart and piece it back together. He wasn’t in any mood to speak with her today. After almost losing his shit in front of the class, he needed to get to the gym and work out his frustrations.

  “I was just on my way out,” he said, picking up his pace. “This isn’t a good time.”

  “Dr. Kaplan, at least hear me out. This is an important topic.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Could we sit for a few minutes?” she asked. “I’d love to explain more.”

  Grant kept walking towards the main entrance. If he reached his car, he could make a clean getaway from Julia and her damn article. “I have someplace to be, so you’ll have to walk and talk.”

  Julia tried to keep up, her heels clicking on the tile floor. “I’m writing a piece about your ongoing malpractice litigation. I would love to hear your take on the case.”

  “How did you—”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t reveal my sources.” Though malpractice suits were in the public record, they weren’t usually of major interest to the press. Grant wondered if Nancy Kovatch had slipped her some intel, or maybe it was the hospital pharmacist from the committee, the one who never talked. He didn’t think Joel Hitchens would have snitched.

  “I’ve already spoken to the victim,” Julia said. “But I’d really like to get your side of the story.”

  “What did he say?” Grant’s head pounded. He couldn’t believe Jeff Stone would malign him to a reporter. “He knew full well about the risks of surgery.” Grant stopped himself. Talking to a reporter about an open case would only get him into hot water.

  “What did you tell him about the risks?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t comment any further.” As they walked through the lobby, the smell of espresso shot to his olfactory cortex. Grant saw Millie, the regular barista, back at her usual post. “I’m still focused on helping myself.”

  “There’s not
hing to be ashamed of,” she said. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  Julia’s mention of shame brought Grant back to the group session with Finn at Arden Cottage. He recalled what Finn had said about shame being a natural reaction and how important it was to let others in, to make peace with the emotion in order to progress through recovery. Once this lawsuit was settled, he’d have to think about going public about his addiction. Maybe sharing the truth would help his family heal and let others know they weren’t alone in their battle. He filed that thought away for the future.

  “It’s okay to admit you’re not perfect,” she insisted. As they neared the main entrance, Grant saw Vik and Cal descending the garage stairs together, both wearing scrubs and laughing about something. He stopped and turned around.

  “I think we’re done here. I can’t discuss this case,” Grant said firmly. “Why don’t you take it up with legal.” He pointed her to the blue elevator and took off in the other direction. He’d take a roundabout route to his car to avoid his friends. Grant owed them each a call, but he wasn’t ready to face them yet. He needed to get his shit together, make sure his recovery had sticking power before he tried to making amends with anyone else.

  CHAPTER FORTY - SEVEN

  Grant

  November 20, 2019

  GRANT TURNED OFF THE BURNER and transferred the scrambled egg whites to his plate. Six months since rehab, Grant had been doing his best to eat healthy breakfasts instead of shakes, as Finn had suggested. Most days, he forced the tasteless food down his throat, but once in a while, he stopped at the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through and ordered a muffin the size of his head or two sausage and egg sandwiches. Six months since rehab, the cravings still nagged at him, but the Arden Cottage program had given him a foundation. Sometimes, it seemed quite sturdy; on other days, he wasn’t sure it was strong enough to build upon. Finn had warned him there would be ups and downs, good days and bad, and he’d been right on target.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the counter to eat before Sadie arrived. She had a day off from school and Cynthia needed to go to work. Even though Sadie would be doing homework most of the day, it would be nice to spend some time with her.

  There was a knock at his apartment door and Grant went to answer it. Cynthia was dressed for work in a navy cardigan and skirt. She had continued to lose weight, bidding the extra thirty pounds goodbye along with Grant’s addiction. She’d found some sort of weight loss plan that actually worked, communing with other devotees online about fueling hacks and staying in fat burn, and speaking with her health coach once a week for encouragement and moral support.

  At first, Grant hadn’t been thrilled about moving out or about her new job, but they’d finally settled into a new routine. The apartment was still sparse, but it allowed Grant the space he needed to acclimate back into his life free from pills and the distance to appreciate his wife again, to remember the Cynthia he’d fallen in love with.

  “Good morning.” Cynthia and Sadie stepped inside. “How are you?”

  Sadie took off her jacket and hung it in the hall closet.

  “Making it through another day,” he said. “What’s the plan?

  “Sadie needs to finish her English term paper,” Cynthia said. “If I left her home alone, she’d be on Netflix all day.”

  “Mooooommmm,” Sadie rolled her eyes.

  “Just make sure she buckles down and gets it done,” Cynthia said. “I’ll swing by after work.”

  “I might pop over to the gym, but otherwise I’m free all day.” Since Grant had returned from rehab, he’d become a gym rat, consciously replacing his toxic addiction with a healthy one. To distract himself from cravings, he’d head over to the gym and do an obscene number of bench presses, cable rows, and hardcore sprint intervals on the treadmill until he shone with sweat. Even though he hadn’t spoken to Alison since returning from rehab, the gym made him feel connected with her in some way, working out his form of atonement.

  “I’m glad you’re getting healthy,” Cynthia said. “Don’t forget couples therapy tomorrow at four.”

  “I’ll be there,” he said.

  “Did Sadie tell you she’s speaking at the Thanksgiving assembly?”

  “That’s amazing.” Grant tousled Sadie’s hair.

  “Thanks, Dad. I’m going to go get started.” She headed to her bedroom with her backpack slung on her shoulder.

  Cynthia waited for Sadie to close the door. “You know, Alison called me last week. I think it’s time.” Her voice trembled.

  “Time for what?” Grant’s heart rate picked up.

  “Time to apologize. This craziness has been going on long enough. She’s struggling and we need to be there for her in whatever way we can.”

  “I thought she was doing well,” Grant said. Cynthia had told him about their run-in at the craft store, and Grant had been happy to hear she was walking and able to say a few words. In his imagination, he’d pictured the worst, his sister-in-law completely mute and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

  “I heard a rumor at tennis the other day that she and Michael are getting divorced,” Cynthia said.

  “I don’t believe it.” Grant said. After all they’d been through together, he couldn’t imagine them splitting up.

  “I have to find out what’s going on,” Cynthia said. “My sister might need us. We have to put aside our pride.”

  “I don’t know,” Grant said.

  “Well, I do. Enough pretending we’re on higher ground, because we’re not.”

  “I’m not pretending anything, Cynthia. It takes every ounce of energy I have to ignore the call of the pills and stay clean. I’ve got nothing left for pretending.”

  “You’re not the only one with problems,” Cynthia said. “Did you ever stop to consider that? I had to go back to work, Sadie went off the rails, and we’ve left Alison to fend for herself. Sometimes, you have to think about other people for once.”

  “You’re acting like I hurt Alison on purpose. I tried my best to help her, I swear.”

  Cynthia’s face softened. “I know that. But I think it’s time you told her that, too. She needs to hear you say it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She’s my sister,” Cynthia said. “I know. I’m going to stop over there after I leave here.”

  Grant paused for a moment. He’d come so far in the past year, coming to terms with his addiction, making strides in his recovery, and accepting responsibility for his mistakes, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to face Alison. It was an enormous step. Sometimes, his recovery felt tenuous, like a seesaw on the playground, even the slightest pressure on one side or the other causing the balance to tip.

  “I know it’s scary, Grant, but it’s a step we need to take,” she said. “A step you need to take.”

  “I’m not sure,” he said.

  “I might invite her for Thanksgiving,” Cynthia said. “It isn’t appropriate for you to be there, but maybe Sadie could spend the morning with you. Then you could drop her home in time for dinner.”

  Grant reached into his pocket for Sadie’s stone, the coolness of it centering him and reminding him to stay on track.

  After the gym, Grant decided to stop at the hospital to see Vik. It was time to take Cynthia’s cue and start making amends. He parked in the hospital garage and headed through the main doors. It was Vik’s administrative day, so Grant knew he would find his friend at his desk. Vik reached for the phone receiver as Grant knocked on the door.

  “Grant,” Vik said, placing the phone back down.

  “Is it a bad time?” Grant avoided his eyes. He felt guilty it had taken him so long to get here.

  “I have a lot going on right now,” Vik said.

  “I can come back another time. I didn’t mean to barge in.”

  “No.” Vik stood up and started clearing a pile of binders and papers off his guest chair. “I have a few minutes.”

  “I don’t want to bother you if yo
u’re in the middle of something.” Grant put his hand in his pocket, cupping his palm around Sadie’s rock.

  Vik stopped clearing and looked at Grant. “How about a walk? I could use a coffee.”

  “Yes,” Grant said, “as long as I’m buying.”

  There was an awkward silence in the elevator and on the walk to the lobby. Vik had always been there for him, but this time, Grant may have asked too much, more than any friend ever should.

  When they reached the kiosk, Vik stepped up to the counter. “Well, hello doctors.” Millie said. “I haven’t seen you two together in a long time.”

  “It’s been a while,” Vik said.

  Millie told them to have a seat, that she would bring out their usual drinks in a few.

  “Put it on my account, Millie,” Grant said, following Vik to a table in the corner.

  Vik used a napkin to scoot crumbs off the table. “So, to what do I owe the honor?”

  “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” Grant said. “I guess I deserve that.”

  “Hold on a minute. You haven’t made things easy for me,” Vik said. “I’ve spent the last several months defending your honor, convincing people they should give you another shot. You put me in a tough spot.”

  “That’s why you haven’t called?”

  “I’ve needed time to digest,” Vik said. “Plus, Cynthia’s been calling us with updates. There’s no such thing as privacy between friends.”

  “About that.” Grant said. “I haven’t been a very good friend to you for a long time. I know it’s taken me awhile, but I’m ready to change that.”

  “Whatever do you mean, Dr. Kaplan? That interviewing your best friend in the professional assistance committee was a bit awkward to say the least? That really sucked.”

  “It was horrible. I know.”

  Millie placed their coffees on the table.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Vik asked. “If you’d reached out, I could have helped you. We could have figured it out together.”