“Look at you, Thomas, you’re like a spring wound too tightly.” Patricia reached over to stroke her son’s arm, but Thomas evaded her touch by pushing back his chair and standing up.
“The situation is driving me crazy,” admitted Thomas.
“When do you think you’ll be chief?” asked Patricia, watching her son begin to pace back and forth like a caged lion.
“God, I wish I knew,” said Thomas through clenched teeth. “But it better be soon. If not, the department will be in shambles. Everyone seems to be going out of their way to destroy the cardiac vascular program I set up. Boston Memorial is famous because my operating team made it so. Yet instead of letting me expand, they are constantly cutting down my time in the OR. Today I learned that my surgical time is being reduced again. And you know why? Because Ballantine made arrangements for the Memorial Teaching Service to have free access to a large state mental institution out in the western part of the state. Sherman went out there and said the place was a cardiac surgical gold mine. What he didn’t say was that the average mental age of the patients was less than two years. Some of them are actually deformed monsters. It makes me furious!”
“Well, won’t you be backing the house staff on those cases?” asked Patricia, trying to think of the positive side of the issue.
“Mother, they are mentally defective pediatric cases, and Ballantine plans to recruit a full-time pediatric cardiac surgeon.”
“Well, then, that won’t affect you.”
“But it will,” shouted Thomas. “It will put more pressure on me to cut back my OR time.” Thomas felt his temper rising. “My patients will either have dangerous delays before surgery or will have to go elsewhere.”
“But surely your patients will be scheduled first, dear.”
“Mother, you don’t understand,” said Thomas, making an effort to speak slowly. “The hospital doesn’t care that I only take on patients who not only have a good chance of survival but are worth saving. To build the reputation of the teaching school, Ballantine would rather sacrifice valuable OR time for a bunch of imbeciles and defectives. Unless I become chief I won’t be able to stop them.”
“Well, Thomas,” said Patricia, “if they don’t give you the position, you’ll just have to go to another hospital. Why don’t you sit down and finish your dinner?”
“I can’t just go to another hospital,” shouted Thomas.
“Thomas, calm down.”
“Cardiac surgery requires a team. Don’t you understand that?” Thomas threw his napkin into his halfeaten food. “You’ve upset me!” he shouted irrationally. “I come home for once expecting a little peace and you upset me!” He stormed out of the room, leaving his mother wondering what on earth she had done.
Walking down the upstairs corridor, Thomas could hear the surf breaking on the distant beach. The waves must be four to six feet high. He loved the sound. It reminded him of his childhood.
Snapping on the light in the morning room, he looked around. The white furniture had a harsh, cold appearance. He hated the way Cassi had insisted on redecorating the room. There was something brazen about it despite the lace curtains and flowered cushions.
He stayed for only a short time before going back to his study. With trembling hands he found his Percodan. For a while he entertained the idea of returning to town to see Doris. But soon the Percodan began to make him feel calmer. Instead of going out into the frigid night, he poured himself a Scotch.
CHAPTER 13
* * *
CASSI HAD HOPED that she’d become accustomed to the ophthalmologist’s light, but each time Obermeyer examined her was as uncomfortable as the last. It had been five days since her surgery, and except for the insulin reaction, the postoperative course had been smooth and uneventful. Dr. Obermeyer had come by each day to peer into her eye for a moment, always saying that things were looking good. Now on the day of her scheduled discharge, Cassi had been escorted over to Dr. Obermeyer’s office for one last “good” look, as he called it. To her relief, he finally moved the light away.