by Claire Adams
“Whatever,” I tell her. “I don’t even let patients do that in here.”
“Oh, it’s not like you can even smell it or anything. It’s peppermint.”
“Yuri, what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” she says. “I kind of figured you’d be in before too long.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re always here when Grace is here,” she points out. “I was hoping that you and I could talk for a little bit.”
“What do you want to talk about? What is there to talk about — you know, other than you busting in here to get stoned.”
“Will you close the door before you start saying crap like that? I just wanted to fill you in on a couple of things that have been going on around here.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“I think you should be careful with Grace,” she begins. “You wouldn’t believe what the trial docs are saying about her.”
“Unless it’s something to do with her condition, I really don’t care in the slightest what they’re saying,” I tell her.
“What if it was about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You really need to rethink whether you want to keep dating a patient,” Yuri warns.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Maybe not right now, but you and her got together before she was in the trial. That’s kind of an ethical no-no, isn’t it?” she asks.
“It’s nobody’s business,” I tell her.
“Be that as it may,” Yuri says, taking a puff from her vaporizer, “people love making other people’s personal lives their business.”
“So, you’re telling me I should break up with Grace because we were doctor and patient at the beginning of our relationship?” I ask.
“You’re still her doctor,” Yuri says. “The other ones are shutting you out a bit for now because they don’t want you interfering with the trial, but you’re no less her doctor now than you were then.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “Grace and I have a good thing going, and I’m not about to throw that away because some people in the trial are talking.”
“Whatever,” Yuri says. “How long is she in for today?”
“Not sure. They give her an estimated amount of time she’ll be in there, but it’s hardly ever accurate.”
“What are you going to do while you wait?”
“I was going to go into the office and catch up on some paperwork,” I tell her. “I’ve kind of been lagging for the last week or so.”
“Yeah, I noticed that you really slowed down after Grace had that seizure.”
“What’s your point?”
“I just think that a doctor should keep their head in the game for all their patients,” she says. “Not just the ones they’re sticking their meat in during business hours.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
Yuri stands and walks over to her desk. She opens up the top drawer and puts her vaporizer inside. “You’ve got work to do,” she says. “I’m your assistant, so I should probably be doing some work, too.”
“You’re not on the clock,” I tell her.
“Call it an early birthday present,” Yuri says.
“Seriously, I can’t have you working when you’re not on the clock. Hospital policy is very clear on that,” I tell her, and I hear her response before she even says it.
“Hospital policy is pretty clear on a lot of things,” she says.
“Go home, Yuri,” I tell her. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
“It doesn’t really matter where you go,” I tell her. “You’re not on the clock. Go wherever.”
“What happened to you?” she asks.
“What are you talking about?”
“You used to be so caring, so on top of everything. I never thought I would say this, but I think I liked you better when you were with Little Miss Fake Tits,” Yuri says.
I’m really starting to lose my patience, but it does occur to me that Yuri might simply be having a bad day.
“Have you been exercising?” I ask her.
“Sometimes,” she says. “When I feel like doing it and I’m not busy with something else. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing,” I tell her. “You know, it’s best to be consistent, especially with your core exercises.”
“You’re not my doctor.”
“No, but I am your boss and your friend.”
“Isn’t that just the thing to melt your heart into a little puddle at your feet,” she mocks. “Oh, I get it. You think I’m being irrational, and if I’m being irrational, it’s probably something to do with my Huntington’s. Am I in the ballpark?”
I open my mouth, but don’t get a chance to answer her.
“You know, that’s right up there with asking a woman if she’s on her period. It’s just plain rude and it makes you look like a total fucking idiot,” she says.
“If that’s not going on,” I start, “then what the hell is your problem today?”
“I’m on my period,” she says. “Okay, really, I’m not, but you were nice and ready to believe that, weren’t you?”
“Yuri, I’m getting a little sick of-”
“I’m getting a little sick of the way you think you can just do whatever the hell you want and it’s never going to affect anybody,” she says. “It’s not just your career you’re putting at risk with everything you’re doing with Grace.”
“Yuri, I’ve told you that if anything happens and I lose my job, I’ll keep you on payroll until you’re able to find something else,” I say.
“Yeah, but have you considered that maybe I like my job and I don’t want to have to look for something else?”
“I get where you’re coming from, but what exactly do you want me to do about it?”
“Break up with her. That pretty much solves all your problems right there.”
“I thought you liked Grace,” I say, feeling a tinge of déjà vu.
“That couldn’t possibly be less relevant,” she says. “What is relevant is that you know I’m right. You know that you should break up with Grace before something really stupid happens because you couldn’t keep your dick out of your patients for-”
“You are way out of line,” I interrupt. “I don’t know what’s going on with you today, but I’m sick of hearing it. Go home, Yuri.”
“I told you,” she says. “If you’re here, I’m here.”
“That’s not the way it works. I’m your boss. If I tell you to go home, you go home.”
“I’ve always been here,” she says. “I get that you and Melissa knew each other from way back whenever, but Grace? Seriously, what the hell were you thinking?”
“Yuri, go home,” I repeat.
“Don’t you fucking get it?”
“No, I don’t ‘get’ why you’re acting this way,” I tell her. “What I’m sure of is that I’ve reached the end of my patience for it, though.”
“Fine,” she says, bending down behind her desk and lifting her purse. “Go ahead and do what you want, but I hope you know this shit is going to backfire on you so hard-”
“Just go,” I interrupt. “I really don’t need an editorial.”
“When did you get to be such a dick?” she asks as she turns and walks out the door, slamming it on her way out.
What the hell was that all about?
I make sure the door to the waiting room is locked before I head into my office. Yuri still has her key, but if she keeps acting this way, I don’t think there’s much of a chance that she’s going to be hanging onto it that much longer.
Maybe it is the Huntington’s. I’ve noticed a certain vitriol slowly creeping into her over the last couple of months, and as far as I can tell, it came out of nowhere. I know enough about the disease to know its general progression, but I’m hardly an expert on it.
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br /> Regardless, I’m here now and I’ve got the office to myself, so I sit down at my desk and get to work.
After a while, I stop glancing up at the clock. They told Grace that her appointment shouldn’t take any more than half an hour, but they almost always misjudge that sort of thing.
The biggest part of being a doctor nowadays is all the paperwork. There’s paperwork for pretty much everything.
Office supply ordering forms, medical supply ordering forms, patient’s files, dictations, notes, insurance forms, more insurance forms, no-insurance forms, partially-insured insurance forms, insured-through-multiple-carriers insurance forms…it goes on and on.
By the time I get caught up, my mind is sufficiently numb that I’m looking at the clock for a solid minute before it registers what time it says.
3:23 P.M.
Grace has been in with the trial doctors for nearly four hours.
Time got right the hell away from me, but I would have expected a call or a knock on the outer office/waiting room door long before now.
I pull out my phone and dial her number, but it just goes to voicemail.
Something’s wrong.
There’s no reason she should be this far over her time unless something’s wrong. Even if her appointment went late and she didn’t want to stop by the office because she didn’t want to risk anyone catching onto what’s going on between us, she could have stepped outside the hospital for a minute and given me a call or sent me a text.
Now, her phone is off. Sure, it’s possible that her battery is dead, but — I’ve just got to get out of here.
I leave the papers where they are on my desk and it’s all I can do to remember to turn the lights off on my way out.
My keys are in my hand and I open the door to the outer office just in time to see Dr. Preston, Dean of Medicine, coming down the hall toward my office.
“How are you today, Dr. Preston?” I ask, locking my door.
“Would you mind if we talk for a minute?” he asks.
“You know,” I tell him, “I was just heading out-”
“Let’s talk in your office,” he interrupts. “It’ll only take a minute.”
I quickly unlock my office door again and flip the lights back on.
“Does it matter which room we’re in?” I ask.
“Not particularly,” he says, closing the door behind him and locking it. “Do you have a patient named Grace Miller?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “Why? What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” he says. “I’ve been hearing all sorts of stories about what’s been going on in your office over the last little while, and I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jace,” he says, “now’s not the time to cover your tracks. Now is the time to be perfectly honest with me. Right now, I’m thinking that’s your best shot at saving your job.”
I sit down.
“What have you heard?” I ask.
“Why?” he rejoins. “So you can confirm everything I tell you and deny anything else?”
“I’m asking because I don’t know exactly what you’re talking about and I’d rather not go off on a tangent unless there’s some reason for doing it.”
“You’re sleeping with a patient,” he says. “Is that a fair statement?”
“She’s not a patient,” I tell him.
“Oh, I know she’s in our clinical trial on JH813,” Dr. Preston says. “From what I hear, though, the two of you had an inappropriate relationship before she was in the trial. Speaking of which, weren’t you her diagnosing physician?”
My blood runs cold in my veins.
I never thought I would actually get the question, but there it is, and I have to make a choice. Either I lie and put myself in even more jeopardy, not to mention throwing Dr. Marcum under the bus for doing me a favor, or I tell the truth, spare Dr. Marcum, and possibly lose everything I went to med school to accomplish.
“Yes,” I tell him.
“I see,” Dr. Preston says. “And how long have you been a doctor?” he asks.
“I got my license about two years ago,” I tell him.
“Are you aware that one of the stipulations for patients to be in that trial is that they must have had the disease for five years or more?”
“How do you know that Grace hasn’t had her oligodendroglioma for five years or more?” I ask.
“I know that she wasn’t diagnosed until just a few months ago,” he says. “Do you have any compelling reason to believe that she has, in fact, had her condition for significantly longer than she’s been exhibiting symptoms?”
“It’s hard to say,” I tell him. “Oligodendrogliomas are notoriously slow-growing, especially in phase two, where Grace is.”
“So your position is speculative. Did you know that one of the other conditions for entry into the trial is that the patient must have been on chemo and/or radiation for a significant portion of their five or more years with the condition?”
“Define significant,” I answer.
“Dr. Churchill,” Dr. Preston says, “I hope you know that I’ve always liked you and respected you as a doctor. You graduated top of your class, and your connections, specifically through your former professor, Dr. Marcum, have provided you with the opportunity to have your own office in this hospital at a very young age and without the seniority that many of the other doctors in this hospital have. You do know, however, that having your own office does not exempt you from disciplinary action from this hospital at large or by me directly, do you not?”
“I’m aware,” I tell him.
“In fact,” Dr. Preston continues, “you must be aware that any breach of hospital policy, ethical codes of conduct, or the law is grounds for disciplinary action, up to and including my recommendation that your license be revoked either temporarily or permanently, I assume.”
“Yes,” I tell him.
“That being the case, let me ask you again: did you knowingly involve your patient, Grace Miller, in a trial for which she didn’t qualify because you have a sexual relationship with her?”
“She’s doing really well in the trial,” I tell Dr. Preston, as if that’s going to make any difference.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he asks. “Not only have you put your career at risk, you’ve put this hospital, not to mention the clinical trial for JH813, at risk.”
“It was the right thing to do.” I’m already fucked. I may as well say what I think.
“In no way is that statement true,” Dr. Preston says. “You leave me no choice but to suspend you pending a hearing regarding your disturbing conduct, Dr. Churchill, effective immediately. Also, I should inform you that your patient has been removed from the clinical trial of JH813 and her results have been discarded due to the manner in which she was included in the trial.”
“You can’t kick her out of the trial!” I shout. I’m not even trying to save myself anymore.
“I don’t know what you and she have discussed, but it must have occurred to you that this would happen if you went down this path,” Dr. Preston says, scratching his recently shaved face. “We have rules for a reason, Dr. Churchill. They’re not only for the protection of the hospital or for companies that may be doing drug trials, they’re also there to protect patients, and even you as a doctor. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that I had a chance to help someone that needed help,” I tell him.
“Would she have died had you not put her into the trial?”
“Maybe not immediately,” I tell him, “but no matter how slow oligodendrogliomas in this phase may grow, there’s always the chance that they’ll progress to anaplastic oligodendroglioma, or that, given enough time, it could cause an event that would prove fatal, so yes, I do believe I was doing the best thing for my patient in these circumstances.”
“You seem to have a rather high opinion of what you’ve done. In what way
did your sexual relationship treat her oligodendroglioma?”
Yeah, he’s got me on that one.
“Our relationship didn’t begin, as it were, until after she was in the trial,” I tell him.
“But you got her into the trial because you had feelings for her, isn’t that so?”
“She was enrolled in the trial before anything significant happened between the two of us,” I tell him.
“From what I heard,” Dr. Preston says, “whatever you’re referring to as ‘significant’ happened before her first day in the trial, though, thus meaning she was still your patient at the time.”
“Where are you getting all this?”
Could Yuri really be so pissed off that I’m risking my career for Grace that she would put it in jeopardy out of spite?
“It doesn’t matter,” Dr. Preston says. “What does matter is that as of now, you no longer have rights at this hospital. I’ll need your ID badge. I’ll let you know when we’ve scheduled your meeting.”
“You would have done the same thing I did,” I tell him. “Personal relationship or not, you know how seldom it can be that we get a win around here. I know we save lives every day, but there are so many that we simply can’t do anything for. We can throw medication at them, but you and I both know there are some conditions that are simply going to win in the end. Whether it’s a day or 20 years, if we can help our patients live longer even by a little bit, don’t you think it’s our responsibility as doctors to do it?”
“I don’t think you and I should discuss this any further until your hearing,” Dr. Preston says. “I need you to give me your ID badge.”
***
Grace isn’t answering her door. I’ve tried calling her, but her phone is still going straight to voicemail.
Next, I try to call Yuri and, surprise, surprise, she picks up almost immediately.
“I know you’re mad at me,” she says before anything else, “but I just wanted to do the right thing for you.”
“I’m suspended pending a hearing,” I tell her. “I could lose my medical license as a result of that hearing, so I’m really having a hard time buying that you just did this to protect my career.”