by Harry Kraus
She was due in the OR to assist on a laparoscopic cholecystectomy. She was assigned to run the camera, which meant she needed to concentrate every moment to keep the video camera centered on the action. If the cameraperson drifted off, thinking of something else, everyone in the room immediately knew, as the video monitor would show a picture somewhere other than where the surgeon was working. Claire performed flawlessly, disliking only the way her chief resident elbowed her in the chest every time he changed his grasp of the gallbladder.
At five, she gathered with the oncology team for teaching rounds. When she arrived, she found Pepper entertaining the medical students with a rubber Foley catheter. Normally used as a flexible tube to drain the urinary bladder, Pepper had invented other unique uses for the device. He slid the open tip of the catheter beneath his scrub tops into his left armpit, trapping it against his body with his arm. He put the other end in his mouth and blew. The resultant raspberry noise was a brilliant imitation of forceful colon gas expulsion. The male medical students snickered. Claire rolled her eyes and snapped, “Grow up.”
Pepper only grinned. “I can play ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ with a chest tube. Want to hear?”
The Foley catheter disappeared when Dr. Rogers arrived. During attending rounds, the interns and patients endured a litany of questions about cancers, the treatment, and the potential complications of surgical therapy. Pepper was on top of his game and couldn’t be stumped. He even quoted a recent publication when answering a question about breast cancer. Claire was tired and distracted by hunger. She bobbled a question about how to handle metastatic colon cancer, but came through when asked about melanoma.
After rounds, they sat through a lecture by a visiting professor from Boston who talked about pheochromocytomas, something Claire would see on the board exams but would be lucky to treat once in a lifetime of private practice.
Claire drove home with her spirit showing a dramatic limp. She was scheduled to scrub on a pancreatic resection in the morning, and she knew it was important to read up on the procedure, especially since the chairman, Dr. Rogers, was the attending. Since the interns each only got one month on his service, it was of critical importance to shine when you had the chance. She wouldn’t be doing the procedure as an intern, but all of the questions would be directed to the intern first, before the chief resident, who would actually be doing the case. Although a medical student would be present, the chairman would ignore him, considering his presence equivalent to a mechanical retractor. He spoke to a medical student only if he relaxed on the job.
But she felt like sleeping. Perhaps she could get up thirty minutes early to read about pancreatic cancer. Hopefully, skimming the high points would prevent her from making a fool of herself.
The mailbox contained a rare piece of personal snail mail, a letter from John Cerelli. Immediately, her heart quickened. News from home was like an oasis to a desert traveler. She collapsed on the couch and ripped open the letter.
My dearest Claire,
I am writing with a heavy heart. I’ve never been very good with spoken words, so I thought I’d put what I need to say on paper, in hopes that you will understand.
I have cried enough in the last twenty-four hours, tears I thought I was too much of a man to shed. I know all about Brett, and I am releasing you from our engagement. He certainly seems to respect you, at least enough to encourage me to talk this out with you in private, and avoid an ugly confrontation with all of us present.
I’m sure by now you know of my surprise visit to Lafayette, but I suppose the surprise was all mine. I never expected to find a man living at your place, and I never dreamed when I gave you a diamond that it would sit unworn on your desk.
I guess if the truth be known, I sensed your ambivalence from the moment you accepted it. I suppose I was just a dreamer to think I could hold such a prize as you from such a long distance and with the demands of surgery taxing you on a daily basis.
I’m thankful for the time we had together. Don’t cry for me. I know God will continue to work out his plan for me.
If I have one regret, it is for the way I treated you. I was fooled into thinking that sex could be okay for our relationship, that our relationship was different, special, and that certainly God didn’t demand a marriage license for us to enjoy what he’d created. Boy, was I wrong! I’ve opened a Pandora’s box of temptation for myself and stolen a gift you can never regain. Can you ever forgive me?
I’d appreciate having the ring back. I hope that asking doesn’t seem too tacky, but I know you’re not wearing it when I’m not around anyway.
Sincerely,
John Cerelli
Claire’s head began to swim. John Cerelli had been here? John talked to Brett? She didn’t understand. What had Brett told him? Why didn’t Brett tell her John was here?
She thought back to the evening she’d spent with Brett. Obviously John must have shown up before she came home and found Brett preparing dinner. She dropped her head into her hands. Unless John showed up after she passed out. If that was the case, what would he have seen? Her on the couch with Brett? Or worse? She remembered how Brett had described her behavior to him that night. The thought that John could have witnessed that kind of drunken behavior horrified her. Oh God, how did I ever get this so messed up?
She read the letter a second time. There was no mention of seeing her and he specifically stated, “I’m sure by now you know of my surprise visit to Lafayette.” Certainly that meant he didn’t see her, didn’t it?
She ran her hand through her hair and sighed. What would John have seen if he showed up late, after Claire was in her own bed? Her bra on the floor? Evidence of a romantic candlelight dinner?
She felt sick. And guilty. She couldn’t exactly call John and ask him what he saw. Maybe she could call Brett and ask him. But he wasn’t any too happy with her either.
Oh well, it was the lesser of two evils. She picked up the phone and called Brett. After two rings, his answering machine picked up, and Claire pushed the “Off” button.
She took a deep breath and dialed John. She had to talk this out. “Hello.”
“John.” She paused. “It’s Claire.”
He was silent for a moment. She heard the TV quieting down, as if he was walking out of the den. “Yeah.” His voice was sober, definitely not enthusiastic.
She wasn’t sure where to start. “I got your letter.” “Good.”
Great. This is so like John. He clams up on the phone. This is serious, and he’s going to give me one-word answers.
“John, I don’t think you understand about Brett.”
“I understand enough.”
“John, it’s not what it seems. I—”
“Claire, I saw what was going on. I saw the romantic dinner. I saw my ring. I even called back later in the night when I couldn’t quite believe what I’d seen. And he answered the phone.” He coughed nervously. “I understand plenty.”
“John, I didn’t sleep with him. We had dinner—”
“A candlelight dinner, Claire. With wine. Do we really have to go over this? I think my letter should be a gracious enough response to this situation.”
“But you’ve got it wrong.”
“Do I? Did you want him to stay?”
She sighed. “Yes, but—”
“Look, Claire, you don’t really have to tell me about this. I’m not really in the mood to hear about this.”
“When did you show up?”
“Right before dinner, I guess.”
That relieved her a little. “And just what did Brett tell you?”
“Claire, I really don’t feel like going over this.”
“You assume you know what’s going on. That’s not fair, Cerelli. You don’t trust me.”
“Are you wearing my ring?”
Her right hand grasped her left ring finger. She still hadn’t put the ring on since Brett had cleaned it for her in the lab. “I do wear it. I just—”
“Save it, Cl
aire. Engagement is a commitment, just like marriage. It’s to one person. And I’m not about to jump into marriage if you are acting this way now.”
“Me? You don’t trust me. And the last time I checked, trust is a pretty important component of a relationship’s foundation.”
“Trust? How can you twist this and blame me for this?”
“John, I’m not blaming you. I just want you to stop jumping to conclusions and hear me out.”
She heard John breathing into the phone. “Okay,” he snapped. “Tell me your side.”
“He surprised me with the dinner. I didn’t know he was going to do it. It wasn’t my idea.”
“Did you like it?”
“Sure, but women like that kind of treatment.”
“But you’re not supposed to get that treatment from anyone except me. That’s the deal.”
“So what was I to do? Tell him to pack up and get out? He was just doing me a nice favor. He’s a surgery resident. He knows what internship is like.”
“Why does he have a key?”
“He doesn’t.”
“He told me you gave him one. Otherwise, how could he have gotten in to surprise you? And just because he cooks you a meal doesn’t mean he gets to have a sleepover.”
“It’s not what you think, John. Remember what I told you about the little girl who died in the CT scanner?”
He sighed again. “Yes, but what’s that—”
“Let me finish. Her father is suing me for malpractice. And someone called my house the other night and called me a baby killer, and said he’d be watching.”
“Who? The father?”
“I don’t know. The caller wouldn’t identify himself. But it’s made me so scared that staying in my house alone frightens me.”
“So I guess Brett is just being a good Samaritan and volunteering to stay overnight to protect you, huh? Give me a break! He has other intentions, Claire.”
“We don’t sleep together, John.”
“Just what do you do after a romantic dinner with wine?”
“You know what happens when I drink wine. Remember that New Year’s Eve party at Amy and Larry’s? One glass of wine and I—”
“I remember, Claire. That’s what scares me.” He paused. “Okay, just what did you do?”
She bit her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t remember exactly. I think I just passed out on the couch.”
“Oh, that’s rich. This Brett has eyes for you, and you get drunk, and he’s got you right where he wants you.”
“I told you I didn’t sleep with him.”
“And you also said you don’t remember what you did. How do you know?”
“I asked Brett.”
“You asked him? You were that unsure?” John’s voice was booming.
Claire started to cry. “I’m sorry, John. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
John’s breathing was heavy in the phone for a moment. This conversation wasn’t going the way she wanted.
“I’m sorry, too,” he responded. “I wouldn’t have wanted it to be this way.”
“Why don’t you come back up? We can talk this out.”
“It seems to me that you have all the support you need right there.”
“John, don’t do this. Don’t push me away.”
“I’m not pushing, Claire. I’m holding you with open arms. You’re the one who chose to run away from Virginia. You’re the one who chose to walk away from me—”
“I’m not walking away—”
“Having a candlelight dinner with your doctor friend is walking away.” John’s voice was strained, and his voice choked when he tried to speak again. “Send me the ring, Claire. I’ve still got enough self-respect to not allow myself to be mistreated.”
“This is your decision, John.”
“No, Claire, you made these choices. I’m just requesting that you stop playing games with my heart.”
She hung her head. She was exhausted. John was hurt. And as much as she hated to admit it, even if she had been faithful not to actually sleep with Brett, she hadn’t been faithful in her heart. “Okay.”
The finality of the decision hung with sober silence until John spoke again. “Have a good year, Claire. I’ll pray you find your dream.”
With that, she heard a click, and the line went dead.
Claire stood blankly staring at the phone, as her own anger erupted. “God!” she cried as she smashed the phone to the counter. “I thought this dream was your calling. But just what will it cost?”
Her head sank to the countertop next to the sink and she began to weep.
Winter struck Lafayette in mid-November and continued dealing out fierce blows until even thick-blooded Northerners prayed for relief.
Back in Stoney Creek, Della formed an HD support group which met on the first Monday of each month. Margo finished the genetics testing program in January and received the news that she was negative on the coldest day the Apple Valley had seen in three years. Two weeks later, Kyle was back and Margo bought a new minivan. “Survivor guilt,” a common response to testing negative to Huntington’s disease, was not part of Margo’s experience. She left a curt phone message on Claire’s answering machine telling her that everything was wonderful and that Margo didn’t need to think about the family curse being passed through her genes, at least.
Clay’s life continued to disintegrate. He made it to work on most days, but one day in midwinter, he showed up at the cabinet shop visibly intoxicated. When his boss sent him home, he went instead to a local airstrip, where he demanded to go skydiving. A fight with a pilot ensued, and Clay spent the day in the county jail sobering up, and now faced charges of assault and battery, public drunkenness, and violation of his restricted driver’s license. Clay continued to assume that his eventual manifestation of HD was inevitable, and refused all urgings by Della and even by Dr. Jenkins to get genetic testing. Why should he pay to find out something he already knew? And why shouldn’t he drink? He was going to die young anyway.
Claire forged ahead through a month of orthopedic surgery, a second month of sitting hearts, and a month of plastics. In the dead of winter, she took the ABSITE (American Board Surgery Inservice Training Exam) and scored second among her intern group, having been edged out by Dr. Chris “Pepper” Bearss for the top spot and an opportunity to stand up in grand rounds for Dr. Rogers to see. For two weeks following the exam, Brett, who was taking the ABSITE for the second year in a row, seemed particularly bummed. Claire suspected he hadn’t done well, but didn’t want to upset him by bringing it up.
After she sent back John’s ring, Claire spent some time with Brett, but she was careful to stay focused and cautious not to get too close. Brett seemed to accept his role as friendly confidant with limited happiness, and Claire could feel his desire to move to the next level. She made it clear she wanted some space before another romance. She wanted time to focus on climbing the pyramid. But she could sense his interest, and privately enjoyed the lustful way he gazed at her when he thought she was unaware. They still played, “If I were the program director,” and Brett assured Claire that she would be chosen, but anguished over his own performance, and convinced himself that he was in spot number nine. He needed only one person in the top eight to fail. Or he needed to score big on a grant which would allow him to stay in Dr. Rogers’ lab for one more year so he could compete with next year’s intern group.
Claire wasn’t convinced of her security in the residency. She easily counted eight other competent interns, and feared that her upcoming malpractice suit would forever cast her in a negative light with Dr. Rogers. The selections for second-year slots would be made in May, so those cut from the program would have a few months to scramble for jobs elsewhere. That meant that Claire had only two months until the first cut. Two months to find out if her dream would stay alive.
Communication with John was infrequent and strained. For Claire, it was painful and left her feeling hollow. It was worst during her
nights at home. She wore his football jersey for two weeks after sending back his diamond. After that, she tossed it to the floor in the back of her closet and kicked it behind the remnants of a college genetics project on blood-typing.
Without John’s urging for her to get an HD test, Claire put the issue of genetics testing on the back burner. For the most part, HD was her own private family secret, and she functioned around being at risk the way a driver tries to ignore a dirty windshield. The question was always there, but disregarded. She didn’t have the time or the emotional energy to contemplate a positive test result. When Margo tested negative, Claire rejoiced, but quietly feared that at least one of Wally’s children statistically should have HD, and if it wasn’t Margo, her own chances seemed higher. And so Claire busied herself with her hospital work and desperately tried not to think about HD.
But when she stumbled, or dropped an object, or lost her train of thought, or did any of a myriad of the small imperfect things that characterize normal human life, she caught herself wondering, Could I end up dancing like Daddy? The thought terrified her, saddened her, and fanned a faint glow of anger toward God that threatened to become a fire of resentment.
The steps leading toward a malpractice trial were agonizingly slow, and to Claire’s horror, it appeared the trial would be under way right about the time Dr. Rogers selected the second-year residents. Witnesses were deposed and examined by both the plaintiff’s attorney and the defense. During the depositions, the attorneys had a chance to question the witnesses, and hopefully gain a better understanding of the case and avoid surprises at the trial. Present at each deposition, Sierra Jones’s parents would huddle quietly with Ramsey Plank on one side, and Claire sat with her attorney, Franklin Peters, hospital attorney Peter Ondrachek, and Emmit Grabowski, CEO of Lafayette University Hospital, on the other.
In November, Ramsey Plank questioned the medical experts that the defense had gathered. In December, Franklin Peters deposed the experts that Ramsey Plank had garnered. In March, Ramsey had deposed Claire McCall, and agreed that Franklin could also question the plaintiffs, Roger and Celia Jones.