Broken Dream, page 20
“I’m no lawyer,” she says, “but I’m fairly certain that in any experimental surgery, part of the informed consent that you sign will include a waiver in the consent process where the patient agrees not to hold doctors or hospitals liable for known risks of the procedure. These are of course not enforceable in the case of negligence or misconduct. And it certainly wouldn’t take away your right to sue in the case of gross negligence, fraud, or intentional misconduct.”
“But I’m willing to sign away those rights,” I say.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in. “And I’m telling you, Dr. Lansing, that it doesn’t make a difference. No court in the world will uphold an agreement if it’s deemed unconscionable or grossly unfair, which waiving your rights to sue in case of negligence or misconduct would certainly be.”
I sink back into my chair. “So what does all this mean?” I ask, struggling to keep the frustration out of my voice.
“It means,” she begins gently, “that we need to focus on your mental well-being first. We need to ensure that you’re mentally ready and strong enough to cope with any outcome from the surgery.”
“All right, then.”
She presses her lips together. “And after today, Dr. Lansing, I’m not sure you are.”
I flinch at her words as if I’ve been slapped. Her calm, steady gaze stings more than any outburst would.
“I want to help you,” she continues, “but I need you to be open with me. You need to be prepared for the worst while hoping for the best.”
Her words echo in my mind, yet they feel distant and unreal. Prepared for the worst. But what’s worse than waking up every day in this broken body? What’s worse than the fear that I’ll never regain what I’ve lost?
“I appreciate your candor, Dr. Steel,” I manage to say through gritted teeth. “I am aware of the risks, and I am prepared to face them.”
“Are you really, though?” She leans forward, her gaze searching mine. “Or are you just saying what you think I want to hear?”
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.
* * *
Lindsay grew up with a passion for education and a deep desire to nurture young minds. She earned her degree in education from the University of Boulder and spent her career inspiring children to learn and grow, believing every student deserved a champion. Lindsay’s classroom was a haven of encouragement, creativity, and laughter, reflecting her own vibrant spirit.
* * *
Lindsay faced unimaginable heartbreak with the loss of her cherished daughter, Julia, at the tender age of three.
* * *
She is survived by her loving husband, Dr. Jason Lansing…
My heart drops out from under me.
This woman was Jason’s wife.
And she had a daughter, who I assume she had with Jason.
This man who I’ve become entangled with has faced two tremendous losses. No wonder he’s been so hard to read.
It was only three years ago. He’s probably moved on a little bit, but he’s still grieving his wife. And I can’t even imagine what he feels about his child.
They must have died only a few months apart. I read the rest of Lindsay’s obit.
She is survived by her loving husband, Dr. Jason Lansing, her sister, Marla (Christopher) Delgado, her brother, Logan (Cynthia) Davis, and her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Barry (Lisa) Davis.
* * *
In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in Lindsay’s name to the Boulder Food Pantry to continue her legacy of compassion and support for children and families in need.
* * *
Lindsay will be remembered for her grace, her warmth, and the love she shared with the world. She now rests alongside her beloved Julia, leaving behind a legacy of strength and love that will forever be cherished.
Finding myself immersed in this personal tragedy makes me feel uncomfortable. But then again, Ralph brought this up. He started this game, and whether I like it or not, I’m immersed in it now.
No further mention of the daughter. Another quick search uncovers her obituary, and this one truly brings me to tears.
First a photo. A beautiful child with dark hair and green eyes like her father. Ruby-red cherub cheeks and a sweet smile.
It is with broken hearts that we announce the passing of Julia Lindsay Lansing. Julia’s life, though far too short, was a bright and beautiful gift to all who knew her.
* * *
Julia brought boundless joy and love into the lives of her parents, family, and friends. Her laughter was infectious, her curiosity endless, and her smile could light up even the darkest day. She loved animals, drawing pictures with her favorite crayons, and cuddling with her cherished stuffed frog “Fwoggie.”
* * *
Julia’s days were filled with the simple wonders of childhood—playing in the park, singing songs with her parents, and exploring the world with wide-eyed innocence. Her sweet nature and radiant spirit touched everyone she met, leaving behind memories that will be treasured forever.
* * *
Julia is survived by her devoted parents, Dr. Jason and Lindsay Lansing, whose love for her was boundless and unwavering. Her presence in their lives was a profound blessing, and her memory will remain forever in their hearts. She is also survived by her grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Barry (Lisa) Davis, plus an aunt and uncle on her mother’s side.
* * *
In honor of Julia’s love for animals, the family asks that donations be made in her name to the Boulder Animal Shelter.
* * *
Julia’s brief but beautiful life will always be remembered as a testament to the power of love, joy, and innocence. Though she is gone from this world, her light will continue to shine in the hearts of those who loved her.
I grab a tissue to wipe away the tears that have accumulated on my cheeks. Jason’s parents aren’t mentioned, nor are any aunts and uncles from his side. Are his parents dead?
My God…
Jason lost his daughter.
Then a few months later, his wife.
It doesn’t say the cause of Lindsay’s death, but I’m betting she took her own life.
Any couple would seek counseling of some sort after losing a child. They were probably seeing someone. But it clearly didn’t work for Lindsay.
Which explains why Jason is so skeptical of psychiatry.
I wipe the remaining tears from my eyes and blow my nose into the tissue.
Poor Jason.
Once a renowned surgeon and now a widower who lost a child and is relegated to teaching anatomy lab to first-year medical students.
Then it hits me.
The injury to his hand. Could it be related to his daughter’s death? A ski accident or something? We are in Colorado. It’s a pretty common occurrence.
I can’t help myself.
I keep digging.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jason
“No,” Dr. Steel finally replies, the gravity of the word hitting me like a punch. “I’m not saying ‘no surgery.’ What I’m saying is that we need to approach this responsibly.” She places a hand over her heart. “You’re not just a patient, Dr. Lansing. You’re a doctor. You know as well as I do that the success of any medical procedure depends as much on the patient’s mental preparedness and strength as it does on their physical condition. A good support system is also necessary, and I’m not sure you have that.”
Her words are reasonable. Logical. Utterly infuriating.
“Responsibly,” I echo, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “Is that why we’re sitting here, talking about therapists and court cases instead of discussing the actual procedure? Is that why you’re trying to convince me that I should be content with my life as it is instead of fighting for something better?”
“I’m not suggesting anything remotely close to contentment,” she replies calmly. “I’m suggesting preparedness, Dr. Lansing. Preparedness for all outcomes.”
I run my hands through my hair. “It’s almost like you think Dr. Patel and her team are going to fail. They’re the best at this.”
“I have every confidence in Dr. Patel and her team,” Dr. Steel says firmly. “But there are no certainties in medicine. Not even with the best surgeons in the world.”
“And you think I don’t know that?” My anger flares again. “I’m not some naïve kid, Dr. Steel. I was a surgeon once myself, as I’ve told you repeatedly. I know the frustration of a bad outcome. And as for this procedure, I know the odds.”
“Then you should also understand,” she says, “why it’s crucial to address your mental well-being before we proceed.”
I fall silent at that, unable to voice my frustration without resorting to shouting. She has an answer for everything, a rational counterpoint to every argument I make. And if she says the phrase mental well-being one more time, I may explode.
She looks at her watch and smiles. “I’m afraid our time is up. My job here was to assess your mental and emotional well-being with regard to this experimental surgery. While I believe you understand, objectively, what could happen, I’m not convinced that, given your past trauma and loss, you are emotionally ready to handle any possible outcome. I worry about your coping abilities, about your lack of a support system. And I say this with the highest regard for you, Dr. Lansing, both as a colleague and as a human being.”
I stare at her, the words sinking in like weights in water. The implication is clear—my surgery is on hold until I can prove to her, to them, that I’m mentally stable. That I can handle whatever happens next. It feels like a cruel joke.
She stands and extends her hand to me. “I’ll be in touch regarding the recommended therapist,” she says. “Dr. Carlos Engel is on the faculty here at the medical school. He specializes in the trauma of loss. I think he’d be a good fit.”
I look at her hand and then back at her face, my anger replaced by a cold numbness that seems to permeate my very bones.
Carlos Engel. He seems like a nice guy for a shrink, but I hardly know him.
So I guess I’ll play the part. Become an actor. Pretend I think psychiatry is beneficial, though it cost me my wife.
“Fine,” I say. “Thank you for your time.”
“You’re most welcome.” She grabs her coat off the rack and wraps it around her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet my niece. She should be waiting outside.”
My body goes rigid.
Angie?
Outside Pete’s office? This very office?
“I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind,” I say. “I need to think.”
She frowns. “I’m sorry. I told Peter I’d lock up the office when we were finished.”
Great. Just great.
I have no choice but to follow Dr. Steel out of Pete’s office.
Where Angie is sitting on the floor, reading something on her phone. She looks up when she hears us.
“Aunt Mel,” she says. Then her eyes widen. “And Ja— I mean, Dr. Lansing?”
“You know each other?” Aunt Mel asks.
“He’s my anatomy lab professor,” Angie says.
Shoot me. Just shoot me now. HIPAA be damned. It’s clear I was meeting with Dr. Steel, and Dr. Steel is a renowned psychiatrist.
Yeah, shoot me now.
“Nice to see you, Angie,” I say as nonchalantly as I can.
“You too, Dr. Lansing,” Angie says, her voice trembling just a touch.
“Dr. Lansing and I were just discussing some hospital board business,” Dr. Steel says.
Nice save.
Problem is that no one’s going to believe it.
“Thank you for your time, Dr. Lansing.” She offers me her hand. “I’ll be in touch.”
Normally in this situation, I’d reject her handshake. But since Angie’s right there, I take her hand weakly. “I appreciate it. I think we can get this all settled.”
“I’m sure we can.”
I nod to her and Angie, and then I walk down the hallway toward the elevator.
What a mess.
I’ve been living in a hole for so long.
Grieving my daughter, grieving my wife. Grief never goes away, but it does get easier to handle.
Mostly I’m angry.
Angry that the two most important people in my life were taken away from me, along with my ability to do my chosen profession.
