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“Really?” she said instead. “When did this come about? And why? We’ve discussed Ahmad’s condition and—”
“Dr. Foster explained that another surgery isn’t the best course of action right now,” Sarah said. “Apparently there’s a clinical trial that Ahmad may be eligible to participate in that would be better for his type of cancer. And less invasive than surgery.”
“And less risky,” Charles Jefferson added. “Ahmad has gone through so many surgeries already.”
London had to concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths without it looking as though she was trying to concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths.
“I understand your hesitancy,” London said. “As you know, there are always risks with surgeries, but we have done everything we can to mitigate those risks. And as much as I respect my colleague here, I have to disagree with his assessment regarding the clinical trial. There’s an inherent risk just by the nature of it being a trial.”
In coordinated movements that were so synchronized it seemed scary, Sarah and Charles Jefferson looked at each other before looking to their son and then to Dr. Foster and then to London.
“I think we’ll take our chances with the trial for now,” Sarah said. “We can always revisit the idea of surgery, right?”
“His tumor can grow,” London pointed out.
“Or it can shrink with the treatment he’ll receive as part of the trial,” Dr. Foster said.
London avoided glancing at him because she knew she would go completely apeshit if she saw his face, which would not be a good look in front of a patient and his parents.
She smiled at the Jeffersons and sent Ahmad anit’ll be okaywink before turning and saying, “Dr. Foster, can I have a minute?”
His overly bored expression as he followed her out of the hospital room sent London’s rage into the stratosphere. She did her best to maintain her calm as she marched down the hallway. She dipped into the unoccupied jungle-themed room. The moment Peter Foster closed the door behind him, she whirled around and went in.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” London yelled, so angry she could barely form the words.
“You do not have ownership over a patient,” he countered.
“I have been part of Ahmad Jefferson’s care for the past three years. How dare you even talk to his parents without consulting me or the attending surgeon on this case, let alone suggest they cancel his surgery!”
A dull pain began to pound at the base of her skull.
“It didn’t take much convincing for them to change their minds, which should tell you that they don’t want their son going through another surgery. The problem with you surgeons is that you don’t consider an alternative treatment. You think slicing into someone is the only way to go. And from what I’ve heard about you, you’re more arrogant than most.”
This motherfucker…
“Don’t ever try to pull something like this again,” London said.
She swayed slightly as a wave of dizziness slammed into her.
“Dr. Kelley?”
Foster reached for her, but London slapped his hand away.
“Stay away from me and stay away from my patients,” she told him. “Go peddle your clinical trials to some…one…”
London felt herself tipping over but could do nothing to stop the fall. Peter Foster caught her before she tumbled to the floor. She tried to right herself but couldn’t seem to do it. Her limbs were rubbery, her balance completely off.
“Dr. Kelley!”
She heard Foster’s voice coming from what seemed like yards away, even though he was right next to her, propping her up. The monkeys painted on the walls looked as if they were really swinging from the tree limbs. London blinked hard.
Foster walked her over to the hospital bed. She sat, but she refused his offer to help her lie down.
“I’m okay,” she said.
She was not. Her vision was clearing, and Foster’s words no longer sounded as if he were speaking to her from the bottom of the ocean, but she wasn’t sure she could honestly categorize how she felt as being okay.
Kia Jackson rushed into the room, with an entourage following in her wake. London didn’t even try to avoid their fussing.
