Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I suppose she’s got me there. “I don’t need your judgment,” I snap back, anger flaring up once again. “I need your support.”
“And I want to give you that support. But it’s my job to ensure that you’re making a sound decision, not one based on desperation or the fear of being left alone in this condition.”
“I am not afraid,” I retort. “I’m determined.”
“Determination is important,” Dr. Steel says. “But so is understanding. Understanding that there are no guarantees with this surgery. Understanding that life may not return to exactly how it was before.”
“I do understand that.” The words come out more forcefully than I intend. “I understand it better than anyone, Dr. Steel. You’re not talking to someone off the street. You’re talking to a former surgeon.” I stand. “Do you not think I’ve had my own failures? That mistakes I’ve made haven’t led to terrible consequences for my patients, up to and including death? If there is one person who does understand the ramifications of this choice, it’s me.”
Her eyes flicker with something I can’t quite identify. “Good,” she replies. “Now we need to work on accepting it.”
Acceptance. The word hangs heavy in the room. Her response to what I just said doesn’t make sense. Acceptance of what exactly? The possibility that I may never regain full function of my hand?
I’ve already had to accept that.
Why the hell are we even having this ridiculous conversation?
“You’ve accepted the reality of your condition, yes,” she continues, “but accepting the potential outcomes of this surgery is a different matter altogether.”
I let out a laugh at that, unable to mask the irritation creeping into my voice. “You’re implying there’s something left to lose, Dr. Steel. I think we both know that’s not the case.”
She remains silent a moment longer. “Dr. Lansing,” she finally says, “there’s always more to lose.”
The room goes silent as her words settle in the air between us. I feel my resolve waning under her relentless matter-of-factness and the truth of her words. The energy to argue with her is draining away, leaving me feeling tired and old.
I’ve lost my child and my wife. I’ve lost the life I built, both at home and at work.
What more could I possibly lose?
And then I realize.
Angie.
I could lose her.
But that’s stupid, isn’t it? I barely know her. She’s a hot little student that I’ve been messing around with because it’s forbidden.
But even as I think those words, I know I’m lying to myself.
There’s something more with Angie. Perhaps if I lost the total use of my hand, she wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. People have broken off relationships for a lot less.
Already I know Angie wouldn’t do something like that, but still…
I could lose her.
Or I could lose my life. Patients sometimes die on the operating table for no apparent reason.
“Maybe you’re right,” I finally concede, my voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe there is more to lose.”
“I know this isn’t easy for you,” she says, her tone softer now. “But it’s important that we proceed carefully. That we consider all potential outcomes and ensure that you’re prepared for them.”
“And what if I’m not?”
I can see the empathy in Dr. Steel’s eyes as she leans forward, placing her notepad on the table beside her. “Then we work on getting you prepared,” she says gently. “You’ll need to go back to therapy.”
I shake my head vigorously. “I won’t. I won’t see Dr. Morgan again.”
“No, I don’t recommend that you see Dr. Morgan. I’ll recommend someone else.”
“So you’re saying no surgery.”
I want to shout. Tell her I hate her. Tell her she’s a bitch.
But that won’t help her decide I’m mentally fit.
It will convince her that I’m not.
So I say nothing. And I wait for her to speak.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Angie
Aunt Melanie’s text comes a moment after I send mine.
Yes, I’ll have time to see you. I’m at the hospital in a meeting. Meet me on the sixth floor in an hour.
Good enough.
I head on over to wait.
Funny that I haven’t looked into Jason.
So I start a search.
I’ve seen his faculty profile, but I want to know more.
What was Ralph alluding to?
The first thing I find out is that Jason Lansing is a pretty common name.
I sigh, pushing my hair back from my face. Adjusting the search parameters, I include his profession and the city of our university.
And a link catches my eye—an obituary. My heart skips a beat as I see it’s for a woman named Lindsay Lansing. The similarity of the surname is enough to pique my interest. I click on it.
The date on the obituary is three years old. The cause of death isn’t mentioned.
It is with profound sadness that we announce the passing of Lindsay Davis Lansing, a beloved wife, mother, and schoolteacher. Lindsay’s unwavering kindness, boundless love for her students, and devotion to her family left an indelible mark on all who knew her.