acreage along the east side of Lafayette, bordering the Danberry River. An asphalt jogging trail meandered for three miles along the river, providing a welcome refuge for Claire and other urban dwellers wanting to escape the sterile city blocks of concrete downtown.
The river here was only a few hundred yards wide, but two or three miles to the east it widened into Oyster Bay which, in turn, emptied into the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Birds were abundant. Claire had counted two great blue herons and a score of Canada geese, and as she rounded thebend, she smiled at a group of children who threw bread to a growing number of seagulls.
It was outside, close to creation, where Claire had always done her soul-searching. Her memories of important decisions seemed inseparably linked with the locations where she’d made them. A decision to return to school to seek a medical education was made at Painter’s Lake, just at sunrise, with the sun a brilliant orange ball pushing from the surface of the water. The image of Chimney Rocks, shiny after a surprise rain shower, would forever remind her of her decision to pursue a career in surgery. Her decision to marry John Cerelli was made on a hike to Smith’s Mill during peak autumn color. She could point out the exact boulder where she had made up her mind. And her decision to follow Christ was made during a youth retreat at a campfire rally next to Bear Creek Falls.
Running had also become a time of reflection for Claire. Whenever she seemed to be in mental overload, it always seemed to lessen her stress to pound it out on the pavement for a few miles.
Today, like so many times before, she sought an inner reserve, some strength to prod her to continue to her goal. Claire was proud of her self-sufficiency. She reminded herself of the sense of calling that had motivated her toward surgery, and of the hurdles she had already overcome. Slowing to a walk, she picked up a flat stone and threw it out onto the river’s surface. It skipped a dozen times before sinking. She stood, watching the spot where it had disappeared from view.
She thought of the pyramid, and of her inadequacies on her first day as a surgical intern. She thought of her relationship with John and how she’d broken the promises she’d made to God to remain pure. She thought about her father and the royal mess he’d made of their family. Here, far from home, she felt isolated and incompetent.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, “I haven’t slowed down enough to talk to you for a long time. I’m not doing so well on my own.”
Chapter Six
C laire arrived at the entrance to the SICU with five minutes to spare.
The medical students, Rick Gentry and Sally Barringer, were already there, coffee in hand.
“Hi, guys.”
Sally yawned and Rick grunted. “Morning, Dr. McCall.”
“Call me Claire.”
Sally protested. “Dr. Hayes said we should use professional titles when we’re in the hospital.”
Rick imitated Beatrice’s soft voice. “It fosters professional conduct and establishes the proper authority of the house staff over the medical students.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Believe me, we’ll get along fine, even if you call me Claire. I know I’m a doctor. You will be too, soon enough.”
“Not unless I survive this rotation,” Sally responded, pushing a rebellious strand of blond hair behind her ear.
“You’ll survive,” Claire said. “I made it. You’ll make it.”
“Sure,” Sally responded. “I’ll survive long enough to make it to my internship. And then I’ll be eaten alive.”
Just like me. Claire nodded numbly and stayed quiet. She couldn’t seem to formulate an encouraging response.
Beatrice arrived and curled her lip at Rick. “What happened to you?”
He looked down at his blood-splattered scrub pants. “I spent most of the night holding a retractor so Jeff—er, Dr. Parrish—could do a liver resection.”
The remaining members of the team arrived together, and Rick held up a
The river here was only a few hundred yards wide, but two or three miles to the east it widened into Oyster Bay which, in turn, emptied into the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Birds were abundant. Claire had counted two great blue herons and a score of Canada geese, and as she rounded thebend, she smiled at a group of children who threw bread to a growing number of seagulls.
It was outside, close to creation, where Claire had always done her soul-searching. Her memories of important decisions seemed inseparably linked with the locations where she’d made them. A decision to return to school to seek a medical education was made at Painter’s Lake, just at sunrise, with the sun a brilliant orange ball pushing from the surface of the water. The image of Chimney Rocks, shiny after a surprise rain shower, would forever remind her of her decision to pursue a career in surgery. Her decision to marry John Cerelli was made on a hike to Smith’s Mill during peak autumn color. She could point out the exact boulder where she had made up her mind. And her decision to follow Christ was made during a youth retreat at a campfire rally next to Bear Creek Falls.
Running had also become a time of reflection for Claire. Whenever she seemed to be in mental overload, it always seemed to lessen her stress to pound it out on the pavement for a few miles.
Today, like so many times before, she sought an inner reserve, some strength to prod her to continue to her goal. Claire was proud of her self-sufficiency. She reminded herself of the sense of calling that had motivated her toward surgery, and of the hurdles she had already overcome. Slowing to a walk, she picked up a flat stone and threw it out onto the river’s surface. It skipped a dozen times before sinking. She stood, watching the spot where it had disappeared from view.
She thought of the pyramid, and of her inadequacies on her first day as a surgical intern. She thought of her relationship with John and how she’d broken the promises she’d made to God to remain pure. She thought about her father and the royal mess he’d made of their family. Here, far from home, she felt isolated and incompetent.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, “I haven’t slowed down enough to talk to you for a long time. I’m not doing so well on my own.”
Chapter Six
C laire arrived at the entrance to the SICU with five minutes to spare.
The medical students, Rick Gentry and Sally Barringer, were already there, coffee in hand.
“Hi, guys.”
Sally yawned and Rick grunted. “Morning, Dr. McCall.”
“Call me Claire.”
Sally protested. “Dr. Hayes said we should use professional titles when we’re in the hospital.”
Rick imitated Beatrice’s soft voice. “It fosters professional conduct and establishes the proper authority of the house staff over the medical students.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Believe me, we’ll get along fine, even if you call me Claire. I know I’m a doctor. You will be too, soon enough.”
“Not unless I survive this rotation,” Sally responded, pushing a rebellious strand of blond hair behind her ear.
“You’ll survive,” Claire said. “I made it. You’ll make it.”
“Sure,” Sally responded. “I’ll survive long enough to make it to my internship. And then I’ll be eaten alive.”
Just like me. Claire nodded numbly and stayed quiet. She couldn’t seem to formulate an encouraging response.
Beatrice arrived and curled her lip at Rick. “What happened to you?”
He looked down at his blood-splattered scrub pants. “I spent most of the night holding a retractor so Jeff—er, Dr. Parrish—could do a liver resection.”
The remaining members of the team arrived together, and Rick held up a
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