Destroy (A Standalone Romance Novel)

by Adams, Claire

  She turned her head briefly. “Yeah-yeah, don’t ask. I thought we might like to have a grape or two while we’re watching The Voice. They’ve got new judges this year, and it might be funny to see the eliminations.”

  “Okay, good idea,” I replied, getting the tray out of the fridge. Although, I am not a great one for cheese as a dessert, Tiffany was the expert on keeping our diet in check.

  We were just settling down to listen to the first singer on this new program when the phone rang. I looked at the call display and raised my eyes to the ceiling. My mother was on the line again.

  “I’ll take it in my room,” I said to Tiffany as I picked up the receiver. “Hi, Mom? How are you?” Although we had talked the day after my dad’s operation, I knew it wouldn’t be long before my mother would be on the blower again.

  “I’m fine, Heather. You’re father is coming home tomorrow…”

  “That’s great news. It means that the cardiologist is happy with his progress. What is Dad saying?”

  “Oh, nothing much. But I think you were right. He’s much calmer now. Maybe he was afraid of the surgery and that’s why he was acting up before.”

  “I’d say you’re right, Mom. Are you ready then with the new routine?”

  “Yes, I think so. It’s a bit boring if you ask me, but every day your dad and I will be doing something different and each evening we will have the “dinner of the day”–like spaghetti on Monday, chicken on Tuesday, and so on. I’ll do the same with breakfast, but only with a different fruit with his cereals. That’s all I could think of. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s a fantastic program. I’m sure you’re not going to see the results right away, because each activity will need to become a reflex for him. Going shopping on Friday for example–you guys already do that, so that won’t be difficult for Dad to remember that this will be Friday. But if you go bowling on Tuesday, that will be a first for him. He’ll have to get used to the idea that bowling equals Tuesday.”

  “Yeah, I got the idea. And thanks for sending me a suggestion program. That helped a lot.” She paused. “You know, dear, I’ve got to admit it’s great to have a doctor in the house sort of thing. Thanks for being patient with me.”

  “Good grief, Mom. I’m the one who should be grateful for sacrificing so much so that I could spend all those years at university.”

  “Your father is the one you should thank. He’s the one who wouldn’t retire until it was absolutely necessary.” She paused again. Somehow, I knew she had something else in mind. Something she didn’t feel comfortable discussing or asking.

  “What’s the matter, Mom?” I asked, trying to get her to open up.

  “Well, before I ask…I know what you’re going to say…but I want to do this, if only for my own peace of mind.”

  “Come on, out with it, Mom, what do you want to ask me?”

  “Well, as soon as your father is okay with his routine, I think I’d like to come for a visit.”

  “Say what?” I said a little louder than I should have. “What is this? Dad hasn’t even been discharged from the hospital yet, and you’re already thinking of leaving him alone? Have you gone mad?”

  “Stop it, Heather! I won’t have you talk to me like that, do you hear?”

  “Well, who’s going to do it, if I don’t? My brothers certainly aren’t going to tell you what’s what. So, that leaves me, doesn’t it?”

  “Okay, okay, I hear you, Heather. No use being so aggressive about it all. It’s not a crime for me to try getting away for a few days to see you, is it?”

  I calmed down a little after I realized that I had been a little harsh on my mom. “No, Mom, and I’m sorry for blowing up like that. It’s just that Dad needs time to re-adjust to his new condition. He’s going to be fine as long as you guide him and control his activities.”

  “Yes, I understand that, and I will only leave when John and his wife, Alice, will be able to come and look after Dad while I’m away.”

  “That’s good that they’re getting involved. Dad needs to know they’re around. They’re his sons after all. And what do you plan on doing while you’re here?” I ventured to ask, hoping Mom wasn’t going to tell me she wanted to look at apartments or townhouse to rent or buy.

  “I just want to see how you are, talk to the girl…”

  “Doctor, Mom, Tiffany is no longer a ‘girl’ from school; she’s a doctor, just like me.”

  “Well yes, of course. Anyway, I just wanted to see for myself what is going on out there.”

  “You’re such a mother-hen, you know that?” I had to joke about it. I was way past high school age and my mother wanted to “pass inspection” on my living quarters and friends. Incredible. When they say children will always be children in the eyes of their parents, they’re right. We will never have a chance to grow up. I knew all that, but I wasn’t too sure I wanted to accept the situation yet.

  “I know, dear, but that’s the way it is with mothers. Wait until you’ve got your own kids, you’ll see.”

  “Well, that may be true, but I’m not ready to pick up my apron strings yet and clean diapers or rock a baby to sleep. I’ve got enough rocking and caring to do at the hospital.”

  “Oh? Are you looking after kids now? I thought you were going to the organ transplants department. Has it changed?”

  “No, nothing has changed, Mom. But we’ve got kids in that department too; poor little things that won’t make it if we can’t find an organ to replace their malfunctioning liver or kidney.”

  “It sounds like you’re facing some very sad situations, dear. How are you coping, though? That’s what I want to know.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve got to learn to be more detached, though. That’s the only way I’ll be able to assist any patient on the way to recovery. There’s no way I could treat anyone if I let my emotions get in the way of my judgment.”

  “That must be hard to do. I surely wouldn’t be good at it.”

  “Oh but you are, Mom. When we scraped our knees in the back yard, you left your emotion at the door and got the iodine out and the Band-Aid on our wounds soon enough. You consoled us and wiped the tears, but you washed the wounds even when you knew it hurt like hell. You knew it had to be done, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, and I think I never heard anyone scream as loudly as you did, dear. I think you believed that if you screamed loud enough; I would back away with the darn iodine, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t remember now, but I’d say you’re right. I also remember John and Eliot punching you in the shoulder when you were cleaning their knees. They didn’t scream but boy, did they ever throw punches.”

  “That’s because they’re boys, dear. Girls scream, throw tantrums, and slap your face whereas boys throw punches, kick you in the shin, and jab an elbow in your ribs if they’re hurt.”

  “I guess I should be glad I’m not in the children’s ward then. I don’t think I could stand coming home with a black eye and a bruised shin every week.”

  By the time I returned to the living room, The Voice was on its last segment. I plopped down on the sofa and crossed my arms over my chest.

  Tiffany threw a curious glance in my direction before she said, “What’s going on with your mom? Is she okay? Didn’t you say your dad’s surgery went okay?”

  “Yes and yes, everyone is okay, but my mom is intending to come down for a visit.”

  We listened to the last song in silence.

  “Are you saying she’s coming here to check on you?”

  I nodded. “Yes, but more to the point, she wants to meet you. She’s didn’t have so much time on her hands when she was working, but since Dad retired and he’s been sick, she’s looking for an escape. She is tired. And I can understand it. Taking care of a patient with dementia is no sinecure. Yet, I made it clear that she shouldn’t be coming here to try finding a place for the two of them.”

  “Do you think that’s what she’s got in mind?”

  “She gave i
t some thought, yes. I know her. She says she’s not going to move, blah-blah-blah and all the rest of it, but she hasn’t abandoned the idea yet. She can’t wait to see where we live. I’m sure she’ll find an excuse or two to come back.”

  “You can’t keep them away for you, Hattie, that’s unhealthy. I’m sure there could be a compromise.”

  I shook my head vigorously. “No, Tiff. No compromise. I don’t mind if they move to D.C., but what I mind is having my mother on my doorstep every second day. She’s very controlling, and I’ve got to fly out of the nest.”

  “But didn’t you do that by moving all the way to New York?”

  “Yes, of course I did. And since the New York was only temporary, she waited until I was an intern with a lengthy term ahead of me and a promise of residency at the other end to make a move.” I paused. “But you, better than most, should know what I mean. That’s why you moved in with me–to get away from an oppressive situation, isn’t it?”

  “You’re right, of course. But still, I would have every difficulty in the world saying no to my mom and dad.”

  “Same here, Tiff, but I don’t see your mother knocking at the door every second day or her being on the phone three or four times a week, is she?”

  “You’ve got that right, but I had to put my foot down, with my dad’s help, and tell Mom, that she better stay away unless she didn’t want me to come home every so often.”

  I supposed that was one of the things I would have to do when my mother was here. I would need to set her straight. I hate confrontations.

  Chapter 20

  I was a little more relaxed the next day when I returned to the hospital for another day with Dr. Elizabeth Aldridge. I still couldn’t understand why Jeff hadn’t mentioned anything about her when he first noticed that I was one of the new interns. And that was the point, wasn’t it? He hadn’t come out with the truth because they were not separated or divorced. If they had been, even during a trial separation, he would not have hesitated to tell me. On the other hand, if his wife was looking for an excuse to clean him out, having a mistress would spell Jeff’s ruin. He would probably be stripped of his privilege in this hospital just because of his ‘indiscretion’ with a medical staff even though they usually only frowned upon it. He would have no choice but go into private practice or to another hospital across the country. Being a renowned surgeon comes with its disadvantages and limitations. You’re in the public eye. And your public is not only comprised of your patients, but of the people who watch over you like hawks. The administrators and the Board, in particular. They are all watching our every move.

  Come to think of it, I was one of the people that the ‘public’ in question was watching carefully then. Keeping that in mind, I marched through the doors of the ward.

  As on the previous day, Elizabeth had arrived before me. At the time, I wondered if she was sleeping in the lounge. It was quite comfortable actually. They had furnished it like a small living room, with sofas, chairs and coffee tables. There were also two bedrooms and a fully equipped kitchen. So, if one of the doctors needed to stay overnight, particularly when a transplant was imminent and the organ was on its way, every minute counted. No time to go home and come back. Whenever the organ arrives, you’ve got to be on hand and even scrubbed and in your gown to start the procedure as soon as the patient is prepped.

  But I didn’t think it was the case for Elizabeth. She looked much refreshed and ready to tackle another day.

  As she handed me the chart for the first of the two new patients, I noticed something that escaped me before. Elizabeth wasn’t wearing her wedding band or her engagement ring.

  On the one hand, there is an unwritten law which suggests that a doctor or a nurse should not wear any jewelry during their shift. For one thing, it could be snagged in a bandage or a dressing; it could slip out and be lost or you could simply hurt a patient inadvertently. On the other, Dr. Aldridge didn’t have to apply any dressing; she didn’t have to clean a wound or even have a hand in any of the day-to-day care of a patient. So, she could have worn her wedding band at least.

  When the patient came in, Elizabeth asked me to introduce myself first; so that I would be the first doctor she remembered seeing. Elizabeth was to take second chair on this one. I appreciated the opportunity. I wanted to fly my own wings ever since I arrived at the hospital.

  “Mrs. Linda Carter, is it?” I asked as Elizabeth and I walked into the room.

  “Yes, that’s me,” the woman replied cheerfully.

  “My name is Dr. Heather Williams. I’ll be looking after you for the length of your stay with us, if that’s okay with you.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine, Doctor. But I see Dr. Aldridge is here too; are you just going to observe, Doctor?” Linda asked Elizabeth.

  “Yes, Mrs. Carter. I’m the observer, but don’t worry, I’ll be there during surgery.”

  “Has my brother come in already?” Linda looked through the glass panels that surrounded her room.

  “No, Mrs. Carter, he’s not here yet. But I’m sure he is only moments away,” Elizabeth replied. “I’ve phoned his home this morning and he should be here within the hour I imagine.”

  “You know, Dr. Williams, my brother is such a procrastinator, I had to drive to his place to remind him of the date.”

  “He doesn’t like the idea of going under the knife, is that it?” I asked, cracking a reassuring smile at the lady.

  “You got it. I think he spent an entire night on the internet when he accepted to give me one of his kidneys. He even wanted to take a course or some such thing to learn more about the procedure. You know; the risks and all that.”

  Elizabeth and I exchanged a knowing glance. Many patients, whatever their treatments, are extremely curious about what’s going to happen to them while they’re unconscious. People hate losing control. They have to entrust their lives into the hands of a surgeon; a person they often don’t know, or have met only on a couple of occasions. They can’t relinquish control easily. It’s understandable. In the case of Mrs. Carter’s brother, I was inclined to think that Linda had to do a lot of convincing before he accepted to give his kidney.

  When you reach a certain age, in your forties generally, it seems as if such decisions as to give an organ to someone, often means relinquishing a part of you that will cause you to age faster. It’s a veritable myth among patients. Many believe that after they gave up one of their organs, they are going to shrivel up and die earlier than they should. I just hoped Linda’s brother wasn’t a firm believer in the myth.

  Two hours later, Mrs. Carter was resting comfortably in company of her husband and two children while her brother was in the next room getting acquainted with the TV. Like our Mr. Archibald, he was an avid watcher of the sports’ channels. His questions were slightly different from those Elizabeth and I had anticipated. Gerald Lancer was wondering how long he was going to be laid up and how fast he could get out of the hospital. He wanted to recover at home. “Hospital cooking is not for me,” he told Elizabeth. “I hate Jell-O, mash potatoes, and peas. I rather have a nice soup.”

  At that juncture, Elizabeth interrupted him, saying, “Not to worry, Mr. Lancer, we have a full menu these days. You pick what you like to eat and we’ll make sure you get what you want–no mash potatoes, no peas, and no Jell-O.”

  He laughed heartily at Elizabeth’s assertiveness. She had not told him that he would be staying in the hospital for at least four days after surgery, but she had told him that his diet wouldn’t suffer from it.

  Since I had to review both Linda and Gerald’s chart before this evening’s procedure, I decided to stay in for lunch. I had to put my reading cap on again and absorb most of what I needed to know before going down to the dungeon with our two patients.

  I was in the middle of my reading when Elizabeth came in with a tray of goodies. She had gone to the café and ordered a couple of dishes for lunch. I was impressed with her thoughtfulness. She sat down across from me and said, �
�You better have the soup before it gets cold.” She smiled.

  I shook my head, returned the smile and put down the file I was reading. “Thank you,” I said, “That looks yummy.” And it did. Hospital food has improved a lot in the last twenty years. As Mr. Lancer said: “No peas, no Jell-O, no mash potatoes,” unless it’s on your order sheet, of course.

  I was eating quietly when I thought it might be the right time to ask the question that was burning my lips since I met her. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but I’ve got to ask: why don’t you and your husband open a private practice? I mean you would make a great team together.”

  She laughed. “I know. Many people have asked us the same thing. But private practice means taking on responsibilities that neither of us is prepared to tackle.”

  “Like what?” I asked, getting into my rice salad eagerly.

  “Like administration; the IRS; insurance coverage; hiring employees; looking after the nursing staff; getting specialists listed; and so on and so forth.” She paused to finish her soup. “Besides, working with the man and then going home with him would be a little more than I could stand.” She giggled. “Actually, I’m the one who needs space. I am the one who doesn’t want to have the burden of those responsibilities I mentioned. Jeff would be perfectly all right with all of it. He would hire a lawyer, an accountant, an administrator and a whole bunch of staff to run the place–same as in a clinic.”

  “That’s a lot to take care of. It almost sounds as no one would have time to practice medicine in such conditions.”

  “Precisely. I, for one, would be more worried about my income tax return than my next patient. I know me; I’m the worrywart, par excellence. And I would be after Jeff day in and day out to see if he’s filled all the forms for the insurance company, the accountant, and God knows who else. I would be impossible to live with, I’m sure.

  “But when you’re working in this hospital, none of those things bother you. You’re only required to follow the rules; to attend to your patients; and to make sure you don’t keep them in those beds too long. Most of our admitted patients can pay their bills these days since Medicare has changed, but still, we can’t waste time, effort, or meds on someone who’s fit enough to go home.”