Chapter 38
Abuela gradually recovered and I tried to be there every morning when her doctors rounded. It really hit home how complicated it must have seemed to her. Even once she got out of the ICU, she had a hospitalist overseeing her care, a gastroenterologist for her stomach issues, an endocrinologist who had been consulted about her diabetes (which was pretty badly out of control since she had been neglecting it for years), the radiologist who had performed the placement of the clot blocking filter, numerous nurses, technicians, blood drawing personnel and no way of keeping track of who was who and what was what. Everyone I saw talk to her was actually very personable, but they didn’t seem to understand how to speak in words that could be understood by people that didn’t have a medical background. I wound up having to give a line by line translation after each doctor left. And I gave the same explanations to my parents. What did people in the hospital do who didn’t have someone to provide this service? I remembered so many times working with Dr. Greco when I would ask a patient who had recently been hospitalized, “so what did they tell you was causing your abdominal pain?” They would too often reply, “They didn’t tell me anything”. Now I understood why the patients saw it that way.
As I mused about the difficulties of keeping hospital inpatients informed, I felt a vibration in my pocket and looked at my cell phone. JILLIAN, it read.
“Hey beautiful” I said as I wondered if they made a violin ring tone I could download.
“Hey, Dr. Vega, don’t forget you have a big concert in Philadelphia on your calendar tomorrow.”
I had definitely not forgotten. In fact, I had thought of little else. This was Jillian’s last weekend on her two week fill-in assignment for one of the violinists with the Philadelphia Orchestra who was on maternity leave. I had never seen her play with any orchestra, much less with one of this caliber. I was really looking forward to it.
“You did score me front-row seats, right?” I joked.
“Absolutely, the front row of the Amphitheater, Dr. Big-Spender,” Jillian returned facetiously. The Philadelphia Academy of Music is said to be the oldest known continuously operating opera house in the United States. It is a magnificent building constructed in 1857 and I was going to see my girlfriend play her violin there with about a hundred or so fellow musicians. Unfortunately I was going to watch from the Amphitheater—the section highest and farthest from the stage.
“I hope you didn’t have to pull too many strings to get that ticket,” I said with thinly-veiled sarcasm.
“Actually, I did,” she assured me, “it’s a celebration of the conductor’s anniversary with the orchestra and tickets were hard to get.”
“Oops, sorry for the sarcasm. I didn’t realize that,” I mumbled apologetically.
“Why don’t you hurry up and get here and we’ll see what you can do to make it up to me?” she said in a way that made me believe that she might have time for me before the performance.
That afternoon I completed my rounds in record time.
Chapter 39
I arrived at the Academy of Music a little early to take in the atmosphere. Jillian had asked me to wear a tie and jacket and I was glad I did because my fellow concert goers were certainly turned out for the occasion. We filed in as the lights flickered on and off to inform us that the music was about to start. I wondered if Jillian was nervous or just happy to be performing or some combination of the two. I thought about what the life of a performer must be like compared with the life of a doctor—they were very different worlds, that was certain, I concluded. I climbed a number of flights of stairs and took my seat. There was near-silence as the music began.
Down on the stage my eyes were immediately drawn to Jillian. She was far away and still I saw her so well—her gaze intense and professional and yet her body seemed to be floating with the music. It was an indescribable feeling to see her thriving in the world she had chosen as her life’s work.
When the music ended and the audience went out into the night, Jillian found me and led me to a room in a private area of the concert hall. I was surprised to see that a party was in full swing.
“Is this for the conductor’s anniversary?” I practically shouted over the din of voices.
“No, this is to welcome back the woman I was subbing for,” she explained.
Jillian took my hand and pulled me over to a somewhat tired-appearing but very pretty blonde holding an infant, “Gina, this is my boyfriend Carlos Vega. Carlos, this is Gina DiGiacomo, the extremely accomplished violinist who courageously allowed me to occupy her chair over the last two weeks.”
Gina laughed, “Nice to meet you, Carlos, but don’t let Jill play the humble young musician too much. Our conductor can’t stop saying how happy he is to have a Weinkopf back in the orchestra.”
Jillian was not going to let that one go, “I might be a Weinkopf but I’m not the Weinkopf. It takes more than an antique violin to fill my grandfather’s shoes—or yours for that matter, Gina. I have a lot more to learn.”
“Maybe so,” countered Gina, “but I bet you’re going to learn a whole lot competing at the Kreisler.”
Jillian crossed her fingers, “I hope so. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Take care, Gina.”
Gina was quickly overrun with other well-wishers so I took Jillian aside for a moment.
“What is the Kreisler?”
She explained, “The Fritz Kreisler Young Strings Competition is held in Vienna in early December every year. Fritz Kreisler was an Austrian-born violinist and composer—one of the greatest violinsts of all time. Violin players from all over the world come together to compete. The winner gets a scholarship to study and tour for a year with one of the world’s great violin masters.”
I must have looked truly stricken as I said, “Wow. It would be great if you could win…but I don’t know how I would feel about the year apart…”
She laughed then gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, “It’s okay Carlos, I know you’re rooting for me. But the truth is that I’m a ridiculous long shot. I’m not really soloist material. I’m shooting for an orchestra, like Grandfather.” She added, “I am flattered that you like my playing enough to worry I might win.”
I looked her straight in the eye. “When you’re in that competition, you better only have one thing on your mind, Jillian Weinkopf, and that is kicking serious international violin butt.”
“You have my word on it, Dr. Vega.”
Chapter 40
I drove her to the airport the next day for her flight to Vienna. She would be gone for two weeks because the Kreisler wasn’t just a competition but also a series of workshops for aspiring string performers. They would also be doing some sight-seeing and going to regional dance and music festivals. I desperately wished I was going with her.
“Break a leg,” I said lamely as I gave her one last hug.
“Carlos, I’ll be back in two weeks”.
“Videochat me every chance you get.” I urged.
“I’ll call you whenever I’m not out with Hans or Klaus.”
“That is not funny.”
“Would you prefer I said I’ll call you whenever I’m not in the arms of Brigitte or Helga?”
“Well you could at least send me video.”
“CARLOS!”
“Just kidding,” I laughed long enough to stop feeling sad.
“Pick me up here in two weeks, okay? Because I miss you already.”
Then she kissed me and turned and walked away to check in for her flight.
Chapter 41
After I dropped Jillian off at the airport, I felt truly lost. I really didn’t know what to do so I literally just started driving. Before long, I found myself back in the town where I had done the family medicine rotation—it probably wasn’t an accident. It was Sunday, and on an impulse, I called Dr. Greco. He sounded happy to hear from me and actually invited me to come by his home for a chat and some hot chocolate.
I found his house without difficulty with
my GPS. His neighborhood was predictably nondescript full of two-story colonial homes with two car garages on small lots with well-manicured lawns which were now dormant for the winter. I knocked on the door and immediately recognized the handsome smiling white-haired woman who answered wearing an apron embroidered with snowmen and reindeer.
“Come in, come in Carlos,” she hustled me through the doorway, “It’s cold out there. I hope you remember me. I’m Albert’s wife Delores and I am so very glad to see you again.”
The smell of cinnamon and coffee wafted through from the kitchen and I was ushered back into a large two-story family room with huge windows that let in the late afternoon sunshine.
I noticed that Dr. Greco stood from his chair very stiffly and moved very slowly but he gave me a big grin and stuck out his hand enthusiastically, “Carlos my boy, it’s so good to see you again.”
“I’m sorry to impose on the both of you like this on such short notice,” I began.
“Impose?” Dr. Greco said incredulously, “Carlos, you are welcome any time of the day or night. I enjoy all of my students but our collaboration was the highlight of my teaching career and I mean that.”
“Thank you, sir. I feel exactly the same way about my time with you. I think that’s why I’m here now. I came because I’m more than a little adrift right now…” and out tumbled a little of everything. I didn’t want to disappoint him since he had offered me his practice, but I wanted to be honest about my dilemma regarding what kind of training program to choose after medical school. I also let him know that my relationship with Jillian had developed into something special and that given recent events I was really worried about what would happen to us as a couple as she matured into the accomplished musician she was destined to be.
Greco got up and walked stiffly to the fireplace. He dropped in a fresh log, poked it around until it seemed to catch fire to his satisfaction and closed the screen. Then he turned around and looked at me.
“Carlos, as a budding physician, you are one of the few who can flourish in family medicine or surgery. The profession of medicine and the patients will benefit either way. What you need to decide is which practice environment will make you happy both on the job and outside of it.”
He then made his way slowly and painfully to his chair and sat down in a heap.
Gladys Greco took over from there, “I don’t mean to butt in here, dear, but I saw Jillian with you at Norman’s funeral, there was a look in her eyes that told me all I needed to know about the second part of your worry.”
I looked at both of them and I was suddenly feeling better, even though we hadn’t actually solved anything. Then it dawned on me that I had never known Dr. Greco to have problems getting around before.
“Dr. Greco, I’m not sure how to bring this up, but you seem pretty stiff and sore today.”
Mrs. Greco looked at her husband disapprovingly and said, “Albert, are you going to tell him or am I?”
Greco looked at his wife wearily and then back to me. “Carlos, your observations are correct. I have been feeling achy and tired for months.”
I looked questioningly back at him, “So are you seeing someone about it?”
He didn’t respond immediately.
“Albert,” his wife prompted.
“Okay, okay. Let’s just say I’m not the best patient in the world.”
“You can’t be any kind of patient if you don’t make an appointment,” Gladys noted sarcastically.
“Alright, Dr. Greco, let’s get this over with. Are you taking any medicine to lower your cholesterol?”
“No,” he replied.
“Have you had red or swollen joints?”
“No.”
“Any skin rash? Sores in the mouth?”
“No.”
“Can you tell if the pain is more in your muscles or joints or both?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s in my muscles.”
“Dr. Greco, you know what this is, don’t you?”
His wife answered for him, “He doesn’t know because he’s been too busy denying that he has any symptoms.”
“Dr. Greco, you are 66 years old and you’ve been stiff and sore all over for months, not to mention exhausted. Why didn’t you see your doctor?”
He looked at me from the corner of his eye and for the first time I wondered if I saw…fear?
“To tell you the truth, I was a little nervous about what she might tell me. I have had many patients with fibromyalgia and while some have had good response to treatment, the road to recovery can be a long one.”
“Sir, you almost certainly have polymyalgia rheumatica,” I blurted out, “Surely you must have suspected that. Just have your doctor order an erythrocyte sedimentation rate. I will bet you it is through the roof. You could be feeling better in a week with twenty milligrams daily of Prednisone!”
I will never forget the expression on Dr. Greco’s face as he realized that his fears were probably for nothing. He let out a huge sigh of relief and smiled at me knowingly.
“Blast it, Carlos, you are absolutely right. Here I’ve been trying to teach you to start from the beginning and never assume anything and now you’re the one teaching me.”
“I’ve been learning from the best, sir.”
Gladys Greco came into the room with a tray containing three steaming aromatic cups.
“I don’t have prednisone in my kitchen, but will hot chocolate do for the moment?”
We watched the rest of the football game and Dr. Greco promised to make an appointment first thing Monday morning.
Chapter 42
After my impromptu visit to the Greco household, I turned my attention to the last weeks of the orthopedics rotation and getting ready for Christmas. Orthopedics remained low-key and I admit I wasn’t very aggressive about pursuing the subject but at the same time the attending physicians didn’t seem like they were that interested in welcoming me to their world, either.
That left me with plenty of time to help my parents decorate our house for Christmas and a chance to contemplate my next rotation, Emergency Medicine. Everyone still calls the Emergency Department the “ER” from the days when a hospital had a single “Emergency Room” although many hospitals have fifty or more rooms in their emergency departments nowadays. The ER is a good place to see a lot of different kinds of medicine in a short time—it can be anything from boring to terrifying. You learn to deal with everything from heart attacks to poisonings to broken bones to suicide attempts. As an aspiring surgeon, you can learn a lot diagnosing surgical disease in the ER. For example, you learn to decide whether a patient has appendicitis versus a disease which doesn’t go to the operating room. The ER rotation is useful no matter what specialty one eventually chooses.
After I put the star on the top of the Christmas tree and turned on the lights, Dad brought me a glass of egg nog and lit the fire in the fireplace. Mom turned on some Christmas music by Harry Belafonte and I decided to do some online Christmas shopping. It was then that I felt the familiar buzz in my pocket—a text message from Jillian. “Go to the Philly.com website”. That was all it said.
I booted up my laptop and went to the site. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for until…
Holy crap.
Local student stuns world in violin competition
Vienna (Special to the Inquirer) In a shocking upset in the music world, local conservatory violinist Jillian Weinkopf, granddaughter of now-deceased long time Philadelphia Orchestra violinist Norman Weinkopf, has captured the coveted Fritz Kreisler Young Strings Competition championship in Vienna, Austria. Ms. Weinkopf has been a local favorite for years, but was frankly never considered to be a true contender for this honor. However, here in Vienna the judges were said to have been overcome by the “sweet tone and expressive phrasing” of her performance. One judge said, “Fritz Kreisler himself would have been impressed by this young woman.”
The Kreisler prize includes 10,000 euro, a one year fellowship to the University of
Music and Performing Arts in Vienna, and a special tutorial with world renowned violin master Wei Lin Chen who will be a visiting professor from the Shanghai Conservatory of Music.
I wanted to text her so many things. “Congratulations!” “I’m so proud of you!” “I’m so happy for you!”
But all I could think of was: She’s leaving me for a whole year.
Chapter 43
Okay, I thought, this is no time to panic. Jillian and I are adults and we can handle this situation. She wasn’t coming home for a few days, so I had time to get advice. It was time to consult my relationship guru, Abuela.
I drove on the highway through the leafless cold landscape to see the person who somehow always had the answers. I knocked on the door and got a well-needed hug and a tour of the lovingly placed holiday decorations in red and green and gold strewn about the house. Abuela poured us each anegg nog and we ate a few Christmas cookies as she pondered my dilemma at her kitchen table. Then she asked me a question.
“What do you think you should do, Carlito?”
“Well, it would be really hard not to see Jillian for a whole year. But the honest answer is that she is pursuing her dream and I am going after mine. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for her. The man who loves her can’t possibly be a man who would for one minute make her feel guilty about chasing her heart’s desire—no matter how much it hurts him. So, I guess the only thing I can do is tell her that I love her and support her one hundred percent and hope that she will come back to me when the year is over.” Honestly, I was a little surprised to hear those words coming out of my mouth. I hadn’t put the thoughts together until just a few moments before.
I looked over and saw a tear run down Abuela’s cheek.
“Abuela, are you okay?”
She turned to me with her eyes full of love and pride. “Carlos, you are so grown up now. These are not the feelings of an infatuated teenager, but a man who is truly in love. However, you must know that even with those noble intentions—yours and hers—there are no guarantees. In a year, she might meet someone else. You might meet someone else. There would be no betrayal or dishonor in that. You are both human beings and to be alone for a whole year might be asking too much of one or both of you.”
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