I knew Hastings would be in, because he always was this early, so I picked up my tablet, pulled up what I needed, and headed down the hall to the corner office. It wasn’t ostentatious, he wasn’t that sort of man, but it was large and well appointed. Hastings took pride in the way it looked, and really, I couldn’t blame him for that. The door was open, but his gaze was locked on his screen, so I wrapped my knuckles against the wood. He looked up, and his smile seemed genuine.
“Come on in, Emery.” The way he said my name was slightly patronizing, and I couldn’t lie, it rankled just a bit. He always insisted everyone call him Dr. Hastings, but he didn’t afford me the same courtesy.
“Do you have a minute?” I asked, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.
“I’m always happy to provide a consult and guidance to you,” he said, and he smiled, but seriously, that tone. I wasn’t a child. But I ignored that too. As I crossed the floor, he gestured to the chair on the public side of his desk. “Have a seat.”
I didn’t sit, but instead moved so I was standing beside his desk. I took a few seconds, trying to decide what to say. When I was sure my voice would be steady, no emotion whatsoever leaking through, only then did I speak. “Elias Becker has MS.”
I set the tablet down on his desk, the radiologist's report on full display. Hastings gave it the barest of glances. He was shocked. I could tell by the wide eyes and the rapid blinking. He opened his mouth but I didn’t give him a chance to get a word in.
“If you recall, you insisted that an MRI was unnecessary and that I was putting him through the test for no reason. Despite the fact that I’d done my due diligence and ruled out everythingelse that could be causing his symptoms. Magnetic resonance imaging was the next step, and unfortunately in this case, it confirmed my suspicions.”
Something passed over his eyes, and after a second, he cleared his throat. “While I’m sure that’s true—”
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” I butted in, doing exactly that. And honestly, I wasn’t that sorry. “But I want to be clear I’m not trying to make this some ‘gotcha’ moment. Simply an illustrative point to highlight the way in which you’ve treated me. I am an incredibly capable doctor. I’ve worked hard to become so.”
“Now, Emery,” he said, chuckling condescendingly. “If I had any doubts about your capabilities, I wouldn’t have hired you. But it takes years to hone the practice, yes? And we should always be learning.”
“I agree.” It took everything in me not to react outwardly. “Which is also why I’m diligent about my CMEs. Why I research and why I ask questions of you when I need your expertise. I don’t have your experience. I value your mentorship. What I don’t appreciate, however, is you second guessing me, accessing charts of my patients to see what I’ve done or said, and going around me to speak to said patients.”
He looked affronted. “I don’t do that.”
“You do,” I said firmly, still working to keep my tone from being accusatory. Even though I would be well within my rights, I didn’t want this to turn into some dick measuring contest. “I can give you at least seven examples off the top of my head. Mr. Becker being one of them.”
Hastings wasn’t used to being confronted, and I could see the bluster forming. I had to give him credit that he actually took a moment to think about what I said. Of course, that credit was erased the second he spoke.
“I’m just trying to keep you from making the mistake so many young doctors make. I’ve seen it time and again. Newly minteddoctors want to be the heroes, finding that rare disease when the truth is ultimately far simpler. I’m sure you can understand that, Emery.”
“I do, Bob.” Using his first name, and the nickname he went by to friends and family no less, was perhaps a touch petty. I could admit that I liked the way he bristled at hearing it. But I needed to keep this professional. I took a quick breath. “But I’ve treated hundreds of patients since I started, and ninety-five percent of them have been exactly that. The cold, or flu, strep throat or ear infection, or whatever else that it presented itself to be. Since you’ve been auditing me so closely, I know you’ve seen this.”
I thought the man had been listening to my thought process, but instead he’d been ready to fire back with a different example. “What about Cassie MacBain’s little girl? You had that poor mother worried about Hashimoto’s in a child.”
I stared him down. “I’m still not convinced Riley MacBain doesn’t have thyroid issues, though the diet changes seem to have helped. Mrs. MacBain trusts you, as do I, I might add. But I wasn’t grasping at straws, and you can’t say that I was.”
Hastings spluttered, and then after a second, slumped. It was as though he deflated, all the fight going out of him. I kept my gaze on him, watching as he worked through whatever was going on in his mind. Eventually he heaved a sigh.
“This is my practice,” he eventually said, voice low. “I built it from nothing when the residents of Russell Crossing still had to travel to Briarwood for primary care and Westfield for any urgent needs. I am, perhaps, a bit of a control freak.”
The last was said with a bit of humor, so I smiled and let a small chuckle escape. Now we were getting somewhere. I leaned a hip on the desk and shoved my hands in the pockets of my slacks.
“I get it. And honestly, all I’m asking for is trust. Trust that I know what I’m doing. Trust in my knowledge. Trust that I will ask if I need your opinion or expertise.”
Dr. Hastings took a breath, offered me a smile, and then a single nod. “All right.”
“Thank you. And thank you for listening and understanding. I won’t keep you any longer.” I tipped my head, retrieved my tablet, and headed toward the door. I didn’t want to push things any further because I did understand his point of view.
“Dr. Harrington.” His voice stopped me in my tracks and I had to wipe the little smile off my face before I turned around. When I did, Dr. Hastings was smiling, his fingers steepled in front of him. “You approached this very respectfully, which I appreciate and commend. But I have to ask, if this was bothering you, why did it take you so long to bring it up?”
I could tell by his tone this was a test of my mettle and that was fine with me. I had an answer at the ready.
“You’re my boss, sir. And as I said, I do appreciate your mentorship and experience. I want to always be learning. I enjoy working here and I understood your need to make sure I was the best fit. But when the situation became untenable, when it became you questioning my ability to treat my patients in the best way possible, I had to act.”
Hastings let that sink in, then he dropped his hands and sat forward, attention back on his computer screen. “I knew I made a good choice when I hired you. Have a good day.”
Dismissed, I left his office and headed back to my own. I wanted to run, but I made myself walk. The instant I made it through the door, I shut it firmly behind me, scrambling to get my phone out of my pocket.
It had gone well. Better than I hoped, honestly, and there was only one person I wanted to share the news with.
