“I know. I’ve been watching your videos—the stuff you’re doing is mind-blowing.”
Yanika smiles. “It is. You should come and work for me, Carrie.”
I eat another falafel. Right now I would be delighted to move to this elegant, placid city. I would work under one of the best surgeons in Europe and at the end of the day I would come here and eat hundreds of these perfect falafels. But there is no place for my children or husband in this fantasy. I’ve already dragged them halfway across England; I’m not going to drag them halfway across Europe to resurrect a career I left “for good.”
“Phillip Gajus,” she says, mopping up baba ganoush with a flatbread. “He’s the clinical lead for upper GI at the Royal Devon and Exeter. That’s your nearest hospital, correct?”
“Yes. I’m hoping to meet with him soon, although it’ll be a while before I can apply for a proper job.”
“True. But if you have a really good mentor in place, you’ll have a smoother path back to work. Phillip’s excellent. And of course there’s Ragheed Ahmed down in Plymouth with the HPB service. I’ll email them both.”
Really? You’d do that? For me?I want to say, but I keep quiet. I was an excellent surgeon. I deserve help.
“I don’t do this for everyone,” she says, because of course she can read my mind. “You were different. I’m surprised you had kids. You never wanted them.”
I don’t remember saying that, but it’s entirely possible. I was still so young when I trained under her. I thrived on the adrenalized cadence of overwork and unending home study; parenthood was foundationally incompatible with my lifestyle back then.
“I have no regrets,” I say. “About having children, about quitting surgery. After they were born I cared only about keeping them alive and trying to recover. But I did recover. That’s why I’m here.”
“Of course, of course, I understand,” says Yanika, who doesn’t. “You are made of tougher stuff than most people, Carrie.” She checks her phone for a moment. “You impressed me from the off. And I know what you went through with that man in Thailand, by the way. It was on the news here in Sweden. And yet there you were at St. Mary’s two weeks later, working twice as hard, twice as intelligently, as surgeons several years ahead of you. That’s what Abe Karami said when I called him to ask him how you were doing.”
“Really?”
“Really. You seem surprised?”
“I thought I was in danger of losing my job at one point. It’s reassuring to hear he was pleased.”
“I know. Terrible situation, Carrie, but they had to dot theiri’s and cross theirt’s. I was one of the consultants who lobbied the hospital trust on your behalf. Said you’d only been dating the guy a few months; you’d been on and off with him in that time anyway—basically I told them they hadn’t a thing to worry about.”
I sit back, astonished. “Really?”
“Really!” she repeats, mimicking me. Yanika doesn’t smile much, but it comes easily when she’s teasing someone. “I’m sure you rememberthat week when you lost your mind entirely because you’d split up with him, or some other such drama.”
I’m laughing, too, now. “We actually hadn’t split up. It was all in my head. But it was my first real relationship. I was mad as a box of frogs.”
“You really were.”
“I didn’t know you’d interceded with the trust, too. Thank you.”
She takes a sip of her mango juice, shrugging. It’s nothing to her. “Back to this placement,” she says. “You’ll only ever be observing, of course, but it would be helpful for our paperwork to know where you’re at with reregistration.”
“I’m fully registered and licensed now. I’ve got a year’s reorientation and update training, then they’ll consider what level I’m to go back at.”
“I’m sure once they’ve seen you in action they’ll want you back practicing as a registrar. You’ll be taking the CESR pathway, I assume?”
I nod. This is the specialist registration route taken by doctors or surgeons who haven’t completed the GMC-approved training program, usually because they’ve trained in another country. I won’t be able to return to work at the grade I held when I left, but on this pathway I at least won’t have to go back to the very beginning.
“Well, congratulations, Carrie. Exceptionally challenging to get back in after so much time out. What’s it been? Six years?”
“Just over.”
She resumes eating. “Right, well, this placement. It’s four weeks, full time. You’d—”
I interrupt. “Actually—I wanted to say up front, so I don’t waste your time: I can’t do more than two weeks. My kids are still really young. This is the first time I’ve left them.”
Yanika puts her cutlery down. “Surgery is no less demanding than it ever was,” she says bluntly. “Are you sure you’ll be able to cope?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I’ll be going back part time when I get my first job.”
