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I saw a mini me in the corner of my mind, holding the shovel and waving, and I flipped the apparition off. I watched every white coat in the room lean a little further in to hear the end of my short career.
I hesitated with my answer, now completely avoiding Peirce’s murderous stare.
“Okay…It’s the art of practicing medicine, Mr. Carson. There are plenty of facts and a ton of theories. We have to keep practicing to make theory a fact in all sciences.”
“Answer me without a bunch of philosophical bullshit, Dr. Whitaker,” Lance said, his stare heavy on me.
I heard a med student chuckle and glared in his direction for a split second before continuing.
Floor is all yours now, idiot. Eight years of college and you were a doctor for ten minutes.
I continued, anyway, my insides churning. “They have been trying to cure this disease for far too many years and I am telling you there is only one. The only cure for cancer is to fight and survive. There are more advanced treatments available every day. Dr. Pierce thinks you can’t survive the fight. I say you can. I say we can shrink it enough to operate and get it out and keep you fighting. You will be very, very sick. This is very close to a lethal dose, but it may work. They want to keep you comfortable while you die. I want you to fight death.”
“Dr. Whitaker! Don’t you think if I thought that was an option I would have suggested it?” I heard Pierce growl my name and turned to him.
“It is an option, sir. An option you didn’t suggest because of the risk of losing what time he has left. Mr. Carson wanted my honest opinion. Well, now you have it,” I said, addressing Mr. Carson while sweat gathered on my forehead.
“I am his doctor and mine is the opinion that matters,” Pierce said, dismissing me, my whole spiel circling the drain.
“I asked her, Todd Pierce. Don’t pull that shit with her when I asked her,” Mr. Carson barked.
I looked between the two and quickly realized this was a debate I wanted no part of. They were obviously good friends and I immediately saw the small amount of sadness in Pierce’s eyes that he let show. “False hope breaks hearts, Lance. You know that.”
“Hope is all you have when you are dying,” Mr. Carson shot back.
“This could kill you the first day,” Dr. Pierce said in a low, rushed tone.
“And it could save me, couldn’t it, Dr. Whitaker?”
“It could,” I answered quickly “I could give you the probability and—”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I just want to fight. It’s pretty much die or die anyway at this point. You told me to fight and I’m listening.”
“You won’t survive,” Pierce said emphatically, his words coming out harsh.
“I wasn’t going to, anyway,” Mr. Carson shot back, meeting him with an equal measure of tenacity. “So, Dr. Whitaker, when do we start the fight?”
“Today,” I said, watching my tone carefully so there wasn’t a trace of victory in it. I was walking a very fine line.
“Good,” Lance said enthusiastically, looking to me as he nodded. “Give me the treatment, order it now. And, Peirce, not a word to her about this entire conversation. This was my decision.”
“I won’t say a word to her about it, Lance. You have mine. Go on, Whitaker.” Pierce sighed on an exhale, not meeting my eyes.
“Yes, sir.” I turned on my heels and gave the orders.
I did a small strut down the hall and quickly felt my nerves get to me and went back to my new second home to empty my bladder. I knew I hadn’t suggested the treatment to Lance Carson just to one up Pierce. I prayed then it would work. I brushed off the sickness with my new excitement still fresh and walked to my tiny closet sized office. I picked up the phone immediately to dial Josh and tell him about my small victory, but decided to text Rose instead. Josh never took a real interest in my career. He didn’t understand my passion for my field. While he was somewhat supportive, it was a lacking factor in our relationship. One that I was sure would only wear on our connection as time progressed. In one of the few fights we’d had, he’d gone so far to mention that he was tired of my endless rants about work and that I needed to find a hobby or a new outlet.
I hadn’t looked at him the same since.
I was writi
ng up charts when Dr. Peirce poked his head in.
“So are you pregnant, Dr. Whitaker?”
“No.”
I looked up to see him leaning in the doorframe. I could tell in his formative years that he had been one hell of a lady killer. He had salt and pepper hair and his eyes were a beautiful rich brown. He was a handsome older man, though I couldn’t stand more than a few hours at a time with his brash personality. I saw a trace of a small smile grace his lips.
