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“Sir, as I’ve told you. You simply stayed too long and to do so further jeopardizes your ability to come back to the United States for a set period of time.” The immigration officer on the phone talks in circles, but the gist of it is that my sponsor, Dr. Albert Conners died before he finished filing my sponsorship paperwork last year. It’s taken them this long with all the bureaucratic red tape to catch up to me. His protégé and my rival obviously didn’t bother to file my petition for residency. Of course it would be Dr. Nash’s screw up I have to fix. Good with kids and cancer research, but a total asshole to the rest of his colleagues here, especially me since I threaten his top spot.
A glance at my watch indicates I have to make afternoon rounds, but not before I envision strangling the immigration officer through the phone. She keeps giving me the run around, talking in circles and I think that maybe a part of her is enjoying the hassle this is causing me. I can stay, but I can’t stay, and no one, not even the immigration officer can give me a clear answer as to why or how to fix it except I need three copies of everything notorized. I’ve already spent fourty-five minutes dealing with this bullshit calling three different agencies within the US Department of Immigration and Naturalization to no avail. Apparently saving lives doesn’t rank high on good reasons to miss filing my visa extension or permanency for residency, but still.
The piles of unopened mail are stacked high on my desk along with what ifs that permeate my brain. I’m not terribly organized. I practically live and breathe working at the hospital. My house pretty much looks unlived in and I sometimes sleep on the reclining chair I moved here from the labor and delivery floor because it’s more comfortable than the futon this office came with.
Grasping at straws I say by way of explanation hoping this will buy me some time, “I’m half Canadian.”
“We were not aware of this, but regardless you might do better relocating to Toronto for the time being until the paperwork is properly filed.” Because I’m sure they’ll need triplicate fucking copies while I twiddle my thumbs up North. No thanks.
“I can’t just relocate to my mother’s country until this is fixed.” Her tone leaves me flabbergasted. I raise my voice hearing the patronizing breath she takes through the phone. Personally, I’d never been to Canada, not even for a medical conference, but I don’t tell her that. The vein in my forehead pulses. This is a problem of my own making, but I don’t want anyone, especially my patients to suffer.
“Then you’ll have to return to your country of origin.” Yeah, that is so not happening. Between the UN conveys that couldn’t deploy food and water to the refugees, there was nothing left of my dad’s hometown in Georgia since the military occupation well over a decade ago. My remaining relatives live on the coast of the Black Sea while mom and dad moved to London. No way in hell am I going back there. My work is here. My life is here. Just last week there had been an attack from a terrorist group at the capitol city airport.
“Ma’am, I am a doctor. I work at a children’s cancer center. My patients depend on me. There are stipulations for researchers and those in medical fields and engineering.” I know at least that much.
“As I have explained several times Mr. Lazare, you need to be on a plane out of American in less than fourty days in order to comply.”
“It’s Doctor Lazare. Doctor. Milo. Lazare.” I grit my teeth. This is obviously going nowhere. “My patients are getting experimental chemotherapy treatments. I can’t just leave America.” The throbbing vein is about to pop dealing with this paper pusher who is of little help to me.
“I’m sorry but those are the rules, Dr. Lazare. Fourty days. Contact me if you have further questions.” She lacks empathy scolding me with her smug shit eating grin I imagine through the phone. I bet this woman kicks puppies and steals candy from kids.
“Fine.” I roar disconnecting the call. I think of all my kids bravely battling the cancer ravaging their little bodies and I’m helpless to help them if I’m not here.
I swing my chair around looking out the equally small window in my office. A sea of cars from my ocean view of the parking lot sit below me. My steel grey BMW bike rests in my designated spot. I’d give anything to get outside and ride my baby right now taking it outside the city to open it up on the roads near the coast. The privilege of achieving materialistic comforts as opposed to the dirt floor hovel my dad grew up in isn’t lost on me. I don’t have anything left in Georgia to return to. Even going to my parents home in London isn’t a huge hardship, merely an inconvenience because it isn’t by choice. Life isn’t fair. I know this. My patients know this first hand, but I had hopes my banked karma would get me out of this mess.
Distraction made me miss the soft knocking. Another harder knock and I swing back facing the door.
“Come in.” I growl turning back to shuffle papers I should be reading and sorting so I can find the right ones to file the Visa extension.
“Bad time?” I look up and see my favorite patient’s aunt standing in the doorway. Correction, I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I do. This woman in front of me is one of the reasons why Maisy Roberts will grow up to be a spitfire because I’m determined to cure that little girl. I think she’s technically a family friend turned godmother, but you can see the love and devotion she has for the little girl and I admire that.
“Piper is it?” I try to remember the names of the supportive people in my patient’s lives, but it’s hard. I have so many and my focus is on them, not necessarily pretty relatives and friends. However, Piper is easy to remember. With an unusual name she is pretty damn hard to forget. Coming around the hall on my rounds one afternoon I was gifted to see Piper playing a game with Maisy in one of the therapy rooms. Her laughter and smile warmed me that day after delivering bad news to another patient. I took the good in this work when I could. Piper visits often, at least four or five times a week for hours at a time. Not that I paid much attention, or noticed the tiny lock of pink hair in her ponytail that matches Maisy’s.
Maisy’s mother, Diana mentioned once that Piper works at a gym and it shows. It’s hard to overlook her tight, lean muscular body under her workout clothes which seem to be the only thing I ever see her wearing on her visits. My hands could span her trim waist with ease though they would prefer getting tangled in her long dark hair. Clutching the edge of my desk, I dismiss those thoughts thankful for the metal frame in between us.
“Yes.” She doesn’t fully come into my office without looking in the hall first before shutting the door behind her leaving us alone. I sit up in my chair watching her. A floral scent tickles my nose pleasantly and kills the sterile hospital smell that usually lingers in here. I’m staring at her from head to toe taking in the loose top and skin tight pants that look painted on her body indecently while hot pink sneakers that look more suited to a twelve year old cover her tiny feet.
“What can I help you with? I’m about to do rounds shortly so I’ll be checking in on Maisy.”
I watch her shift from foot to foot and wring her hands in front of her. She’s never sought me out before and I’m curious.
“Uh, I was speaking with Diana, and uh…”
“Is Maisy alright?” I stand grabbing my charts. I flip through to hers and note the current chemo regimen we are using on her leukemia. That little girl is a heck of a fighter and I have a good feeling we will be able to get her into remission on this round.
She grabs my hand in hers. It feels familiar, right almost. God it’s so warm and distracting with her touching me. She’s the kind of woman that makes it hard to focus if I’m not careful.
“Maisy is fine. It’s just that Diana has this strange idea that you’re leaving before her treatment finishes.” Piper steps closer, and the movement shifts her ponytail letting me inhale her distinctive scent. Its honeysuckle and maybe lavender. Those bright yellow flowers that grow in bushes around my house. Annoying to cut back and once I do, I always regret getting rid of them when the smell doesn’t make it to my bedroom balcony. I have a feeling Piper isn’t going away either.
“Oh. That.” I brush it off. Amazing how quickly gossip travels in this place, and I put the charts down. I’ll have to speak to the charge nurse on the floor, nip this in the bud. There’s no need to worry anyone. According to the immigration officer I had fourty days to figure this out and I would, but I don’t tell her that.
“Diana said you could be deported and banned from returning because you’ve been here a while.” A worried expression wrinkles Piper’s face. “Can they do that? Legally?”
Exhaling a breath I step away raking my hands through my hair. It’s probably better than grabbing her and shaking her though I miss her contact no matter how brief.
“I honestly don’t know. I guess they can do whatever they want.” It’s part fear and one I hadn’t truly considered. These things didn’t happen, or at least they shouldn’t. I came here for medical school on a student visa filled with hopes and dreams. I hadn’t met the full residency requirement because I changed jobs due to funding and research opportunities never staying in one place long enough to file. Of course wanting to get ahead is costing me now that I am settled in one place.
“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t be asking you these questions.” Her ponytail sways over her shoulder, a swish of dark hair and a peekaboo lock of pink tempts
