jogging anymore, I am so tired? How do I
tell her that I work twelve hours a day and that I’m a wreck when I get home?
“Why don’t you wait until
Dad gets his pacemaker, Mom? Once he’s recovered from the operation and feels
better, we can re-examine the situation. Besides, dementia and Alzheimer patients
have a hard enough time dealing with familiar surroundings, let alone moving
them from one city to another.” I paused when I heard my mother sobbing
quietly. “Just stop that, Mom. Dad will be fine. You’ll see. You’re the strong
one now. And he needs you more than ever. Okay?”
“I hear you, Heather. I
know you’re busy. You’ve got a whole future ahead of you, and all I ask is your
support…”
“I know, Mom. And all I
am suggesting is that you guys wait until Dad gets his pacemaker. Apart from
that, you should talk to John and Eliot (my brothers). They might have a better
solution than the one I can offer you.”
“But they’re not doctors,
Heather. You are. You would know what to do.”
“No, Mom. Even if you
asked me, legally I cannot help Dad. It’s against the law to treat a member of
the family. Too many things can go wrong when a doctor is emotionally involved
with a patient. Besides, I could not stand you hating me for the rest of your
life if anything happened to Dad while I was treating him.”
“So, in the meantime, all
I do is wait, is that right?” Mom sounded frustrated.
“That’s not what I said.
Ask John and Eliot to lend a hand from time to time. They live next door, for
Pete’s sake. And after Dad’s operation, we’ll see how he is.”
“Okay, okay. I
understand. I’ll phone you to let you know when they’ve scheduled him for the
pacemaker.”
“That’s good. I’ll also
call you in the meantime, if I think of something else we could do to help Dad,
alright?”
“Right, dear. Have a good
night now. Kiss-kiss,” she said, before we hung up.
Tiffany looked at me when
I turned to her. “Parents are the worst!” she said with a tentative smile. I trusted
her to tell me exactly how I felt.
Chapter
11
It was a relief when, the
next day, Dr. Kerry told us that for the next few days we were going to follow
in the shadow of Dr. Slosberg. Apparently, he was the genius among the
neuro-surgeons working along the eastern seaboard. He had published a number of
articles regarding intracranial cancerous legions; various neurological
diseases affecting the brain and a couple of monographs describing some of the
difficult procedures he had undertaken. In short, the guy was a celebrity among
neuro-surgeons. All of what he had written, I had read while at university. In
his forties, the man inspired respect somehow. He was not taller or better
looking than any other man I had seen, but there was something about him that
commanded your attention. And I wasn’t alone in feeling that way. Most of the
interns seemed to be of the same opinion. Of course, we all had read his articles,
we also had heard about his exploits in the operating theater and there were
numerous examples of his successes described in most of our students’ textbooks.
So, that morning, Tiffany
and I were looking forward to meeting the man. To listen to him describe his
patients ailments and, strangely enough, I, for one, was even waiting for his
questions with bated breath. Silently, I compared him to Jeff. To me, Slosberg
was the surgeon par excellence. From what I had heard, he was attentive,
respectful of his patients’ emotions, and certainly compassionate toward the
families of those afflicted by irreversible diseases. Jeff, on the other hand,
was all precision. He was the perfect surgeon. His technique, his dexterity,
and his professionalism were irreproachable. However, his ego seemed to drop a
large blotch of ink on a perfectly clean pad. He showed his skills to every one who cared to look. As for his manners toward his
patients and their families, rumor had it that he visited them just
tell her that I work twelve hours a day and that I’m a wreck when I get home?
“Why don’t you wait until
Dad gets his pacemaker, Mom? Once he’s recovered from the operation and feels
better, we can re-examine the situation. Besides, dementia and Alzheimer patients
have a hard enough time dealing with familiar surroundings, let alone moving
them from one city to another.” I paused when I heard my mother sobbing
quietly. “Just stop that, Mom. Dad will be fine. You’ll see. You’re the strong
one now. And he needs you more than ever. Okay?”
“I hear you, Heather. I
know you’re busy. You’ve got a whole future ahead of you, and all I ask is your
support…”
“I know, Mom. And all I
am suggesting is that you guys wait until Dad gets his pacemaker. Apart from
that, you should talk to John and Eliot (my brothers). They might have a better
solution than the one I can offer you.”
“But they’re not doctors,
Heather. You are. You would know what to do.”
“No, Mom. Even if you
asked me, legally I cannot help Dad. It’s against the law to treat a member of
the family. Too many things can go wrong when a doctor is emotionally involved
with a patient. Besides, I could not stand you hating me for the rest of your
life if anything happened to Dad while I was treating him.”
“So, in the meantime, all
I do is wait, is that right?” Mom sounded frustrated.
“That’s not what I said.
Ask John and Eliot to lend a hand from time to time. They live next door, for
Pete’s sake. And after Dad’s operation, we’ll see how he is.”
“Okay, okay. I
understand. I’ll phone you to let you know when they’ve scheduled him for the
pacemaker.”
“That’s good. I’ll also
call you in the meantime, if I think of something else we could do to help Dad,
alright?”
“Right, dear. Have a good
night now. Kiss-kiss,” she said, before we hung up.
Tiffany looked at me when
I turned to her. “Parents are the worst!” she said with a tentative smile. I trusted
her to tell me exactly how I felt.
Chapter
11
It was a relief when, the
next day, Dr. Kerry told us that for the next few days we were going to follow
in the shadow of Dr. Slosberg. Apparently, he was the genius among the
neuro-surgeons working along the eastern seaboard. He had published a number of
articles regarding intracranial cancerous legions; various neurological
diseases affecting the brain and a couple of monographs describing some of the
difficult procedures he had undertaken. In short, the guy was a celebrity among
neuro-surgeons. All of what he had written, I had read while at university. In
his forties, the man inspired respect somehow. He was not taller or better
looking than any other man I had seen, but there was something about him that
commanded your attention. And I wasn’t alone in feeling that way. Most of the
interns seemed to be of the same opinion. Of course, we all had read his articles,
we also had heard about his exploits in the operating theater and there were
numerous examples of his successes described in most of our students’ textbooks.
So, that morning, Tiffany
and I were looking forward to meeting the man. To listen to him describe his
patients ailments and, strangely enough, I, for one, was even waiting for his
questions with bated breath. Silently, I compared him to Jeff. To me, Slosberg
was the surgeon par excellence. From what I had heard, he was attentive,
respectful of his patients’ emotions, and certainly compassionate toward the
families of those afflicted by irreversible diseases. Jeff, on the other hand,
was all precision. He was the perfect surgeon. His technique, his dexterity,
and his professionalism were irreproachable. However, his ego seemed to drop a
large blotch of ink on a perfectly clean pad. He showed his skills to every one who cared to look. As for his manners toward his
patients and their families, rumor had it that he visited them just
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