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I’m about to make some major decisions that will change my life radically. I’m considering selling my part in the medical oncology practice I built to train as a surgical oncologist. That’s seven years of intense study and training that would keep me away from home and my mind occupied.
My family wouldn’t understand, but if I do this maybe I’ll be able to help more patients and save more lives. It’s important to me.
I haven’t talked to anyone about this yet. If I do, they’ll probably tell me I’m insane and to quit oncology once and for all. They don’t care that I’m one of the best in the country or that people need doctors like me. My family wants me to get a life and be happy—like it’s possible.
It feels like everyone’s urging me to pivot and explore other possibilities. They say there are numerous specialties in this field. I wouldn’t doubt that they’ve done extensive research. I’m waiting for one of them to start a presentation with graphics and statistics so they can convince me to move to something else.
According to Jude, my twin brother, I should seek a specialty that’s more preventive and less soul-crushing. Or even better, I could go into music. It’s an art that’s ingrained in my DNA.
My mother also believes that oncology is slowly dimming my light. Bleeding my heart and draining my soul—not sure what that means but I beg to differ. I’m in the business of saving lives. Who the fuck cares about my soul? It’s already condemned to an eternity of darkness.
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Gabriel Ludwig Decker.” Mom uses a severe tone, pretty close to the one she used when we were children, and she was disappointed in something Jude and I did.
The lady might be the spokesperson for positivity, but she knows how to scold her children like a pro.
“You wound me, Mom. You truly are my favorite lady,” I say, sounding slightly dramatic.
“Leave the theatrics to Jude, Gabriel.” And I guess she’s right. After all he’s a wanna-be-actor and former hockey player among a lot of other things—coach, music producer, and musician. He even tried to play rugby.
In my opinion, our family should be on his case, not mine. We’re the same age, and he can’t figure out what he wants to do with his life. Shouldn’t they worry more about Jude figuring out his future instead of critiquing mine?
“So, what can I do for you, Mom? I’m sure you’re as busy as I am today.” I lay it on thick, hoping she gets the hint that I’m not in the mood for social calls and leaves me alone.
As I mentioned, I love my mother dearly, but it’s best if I use a few tricks to cut the call short and hope I get off her radar for a day or two.
“I need you to pick up Lyric at the airport,” she says. “Your sister arrives tonight from Paris. As you know, your dad is out of town. I’m going to be at Gracie’s. It’s my turn to babysit Coco.”
Ah, we’re prioritizing Collette Bradley-Aldridge, or, as everyone calls my newborn niece, Coco. This seems like a perfect opportunity for some light teasing.“Seriously, your grand-niece is more important than your own daughter?” I ask with a playful tone.
“When your sister decides to jet back home on a whim without notice, I’m left with little choice but to ask for your help,” she responds.
“Why me? You do realize you have five other children who might be able to do this, right?” I remind her, resisting the urge to point out that Lyric is an adult and perfectly capable of arranging her own transportation. “I could just have a driver pick her up.”
“We’re her family and I’m sure she’ll want you to be there instead of some stranger,” Mom insists.
“I’ll send someone she knows,” I counteract.
“Are you busy tonight? If I recall your practice closes at five. You need to stop overworking and try to have a life.” Mom is just not letting this go.
“On Tuesdays, I usually get out of work at nine because I do rounds at the hospital,” I throw out a lie and an arbitrary time, hopefully this is enough.
When I get to my office I’ll get a service car or have one of the family drivers pick her up. Later in the week I’ll have a long talk with my sister. There has to be a good reason why she cut her trip short. Unless . . . this is an intervention.They have done it before. Where they gather everyone and just have the talk. Among their greatest hits are: you need to move on from the past and learn how to love again. You’re too young to avoid dating. And my favorite: get a life.
Have a little faith in them, Gabe. It could be something else. But what if something happened to Lyric?
Well, she’s old enough and this isn’t my problem, I tell myself. This is another reason why I need to move away from everyone. I can’t keep solving all their problems.
“Perfect, you have plenty of time to go home, change, and pick up your sister. I’ll text you the flight details,” she states in her usual no-nonsense, motherly tone.
“Can’t you ask one of your other children?” I insist.
“What other children?” she responds immediately. “You’re the only one in Seattle. You’d know if you bothered coming to breakfast last Sunday instead of avoiding us for the past three weeks.”
I flinch, but recover almost immediately and try to defend myself. “I wasn’t?—”
“But you were,” she interrupts. How is it that she always sees right through me? “I know you’re struggling with something and want to handle it alone—as usual. But let me remind you that you have a family—two capable parents who care about you and have some life experience. I beg you, don’t shut us out, Gabe. Whatever you need, we’re here for you. Always.”
I’m at a loss. I don’t even know what I need or want. That’s a lie. I know, but I can’t have it so I have to do what I can. All I manage to say is, “Thank you, Mom. I’ll fetch Lyr. Just send me all the details.”
