“Is this much drama really warranted, Dr. Richards? I’d think you’d be glad to not work with me. Less stress for you in the OR,” he drawled. “I’m not creating a situation. I’m getting a clinic open to serve more patients. I thought you’d be as pleased about that as I am.”
“Seeing more patients is always good. But there’s an agenda attached to that, and it has to do with me,” she said between her teeth. “Just so you know, when I contact the mission management, I’m telling them about how you think your surgeon status makes you godlike. But you know what?” Lord, she hated that her voice quivered, making her sound weak. “You’re not a god. You’re not, no matter how much you want to play like you are.”
“I have no illusions of being a god. If I was, my life would be different, believe me.” All cool relaxation left his voice, the harsh planes of his face looking etched from stone. “Maybe it’s past time for you to see that none of this is about you, and never has been. It’s always been about the patients facing death. Facing pain and suffering and lifelong complications. About the people who love them and who are devastated when a surgery goes wrong, or a condition is left untreated. About those left behind having to pick up the pieces of their lives. It always has been, and always will be, and I have to believe you care about them as much as I do.
“I’ll see you in the OR in the morning. Maybe you can get your meeting in Lima scheduled for tomorrow night. Then get your stuff ready so you can go to Huancayo with Dr. Eduardo Diaz when he gets here the day after.”
He swiveled toward the hotel, and Annabelle watched the back of his tall, broad form as he walked, his shoulders stiff, his posture proud. Watched the heavy hotel doors close, leaving behind the smothering cloud of disapproval. Of pity for who she was and convictions about who she could never be. It rolled over her, consumed her, until she couldn’t breathe.
Blindly, she stumbled to the pathway into the woods beside the hotel, sucking in air.
We heard you’re homeless again, Annabelle. Can you tell us how many different schools you’ve attended this year?
Let’s see what clothes are in the office storage closet, Annabelle. We’ll just throw away the ones you’re wearing.
Go to college? That’s just silly, Annabelle. You need to set realistic goals.
She smacked her palms against the rough bark of a wide tree. Rested her forehead against it and gulped air, welcoming the painful prickling against her forehead.
Only one person in her life had believed in her back then. One special high school guidance counselor who had seen past her dirty clothes and face. Noticed how focused she’d been on her studies, how she’d got good grades despite being yanked in and out of different schools every time her mother’s drug-and alcohol-fueled life had got messy, which had been most of the time. She’d learned early that the only way she would survive the hunger, the bad living conditions, being utterly alone when her mother left for weeks on a bender, was to be smarter, work harder than everyone else around her. To read and to dream.
That special counselor had introduced her to a group promoting medicine as a career path for high schoolers to consider. The instant she’d walked into that hospital, met doctors and nurses and technicians, had seen the amazing equipment and felt the busy, pulsing rhythm of the place as it treated people and saved lives, she’d known that becoming a doctor was all she wanted to do.
Everyone had constantly tried to send her in a different direction, warning her it wouldn’t be easy. And it wasn’t. But nothing ever had been. Working two jobs while going to college, then medical school, had been the best years of her life. For the first time, she’d believed all the dreams she’d had over the years could really come true. Had seen her path and run without stopping. Applied for every scholarship she could dig up. Worked hard to get the kinds of grades that added academic scholarships to the needs-based ones. Once she’d finished medical school and moved on to her training residency in Philadelphia, she’d been blessed with the mentorship and support of a few special doctors and administrators there. Wonderful people who’d found extra grant money for her to survive.
Her tough times were history. Behind her. Not who she was now, and not who she’d ever be again.
Except that wasn’t true, was it? A part of her would always be that poor little girl with filthy clothes and dirt on her skin being judged by everyone around her. Being found lacking, pathetic, incapable, no matter how hard she worked to try to prove she could be more than that.
For long moments she let herself wallow in the painful memories. The terrible, negative feelings. The ridicule and doubt. Remember the past that still clung to her shoes, no matter how hard she stomped her feet, or how fast she ran to knock off every embarrassing and ugly thing that proved her status as a misfit. And she prayed that, on top of everything else, Daniel would never know where she’d come from, and who she really was.
She drew in long, deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Using the meditation techniques that had helped her move into a world completely different from the one she’d grown up in. To find the steely determination she’d had to call on her whole life, her resolution that she’d go from being on the lowest rungs of society to someone who helped those still there. After long minutes she stiffened her spine and stood tall.
Dr. Daniel Ferrera was just a nasty bump from her past that she’d had the misfortune to run into again. But she wouldn’t allow him to hurt her, or make her think less of herself. Wouldn’t let him or anyone else make her forget why she was here. Wouldn’t waste another moment thinking about a man who chewed people up and spit them out with the excuse that he was doing it for a good reason.
She had important things to accomplish here, and one of the biggest was getting the hospital school meeting set up. She would do whatever it took to convince them of why they should partner with the Chicago hospital where she worked, and save the school, turning it into a charter school that offered medical career path options to poor, disadvantaged high school kids like she’d been, changing lives for the better in the process. The way her own life had been changed.
Once that was done she’d go to Huancayo and do the best she could there. Focus on the chance to help children and adults with problems that made it harder for them to live comfortably and happily.
It didn’t take a heart surgeon to make a difference in people’s lives. It just took someone with heart, and that was at least one thing she knew for certain she had enough of.
* * *
As much as Daniel tried to keep his interactions with Annabelle completely normal during surgery the next morning and throughout the day, the strain between them hung in the room like a thick cloud.
He’d always prided himself on being tough but fair. But something about Annabelle seemed to bring out an extreme version of his stern and unyielding side. The scowls she’d sent on and off all day made him start to hear it and see it in himself, and he knew that was something he had to fix.
Ultimately, the only thing that mattered was delivering the best care they could all give to each and every patient. Not anyone’s fragile feelings. After all, delicate surgeries weren’t a popularity contest or touchy-feely bonding with medical friends, they were about results.
But part of good patient care was having a cohesive team that worked well together. Something he’d allowed himself to forget when he’d first seen her here, letting his distrust of her overflow into the OR. Five years ago she’d earned his conviction that she shouldn’t be working on these kinds of surgeries, and he stood by what he’d said and done back then. But her work here had