What are you up to?”
I study my Diet Coke and peanut butter crackers. “Lunch. How about you?”
She sighs wearily. “Lunch was a disaster. Tantrums. Food throwing. I have no idea what’s with them. I sat them in front of a video a little while ago just to regain my sanity.” Her voice softens, regaining a comfortable intimacy that pushes any remnants of GG from my thoughts. “ Anyway … How are you feeling? Are you ready for the meeting?”
“I think so. It’s in about an hour. I was just about to get changed.”
“Are you going to ask him about the job?”
“After last Saturday night, I don’t think I have a choice.”
In the background, I hear Katie shriek, “Mine! Mine!”
“ Good God, ” Sally growls. “We’ll talk later. Good luck, okay? I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I put my phone down just as a hand claps me hard on the shoulder from behind, hard enough to make me wince in pain.
“Hey, Slick, what’s up? Chatting with the old ball and chain?”
I scoot around to face the owner of the hand, whose bulky frame towers over me.
“Hey, Larry. Wait, what are you doing here? Are you operating today? Was I supposed to help you?”
He laughs good-naturedly. “Easy, Slick. Always on top of things, aren’t you? Don’t worry. You didn’t miss anything. I was just checking on some new laparoscopic equipment coming in. Pretty cool stuff. Wait until you get to play with it.”
Larry is my primary mentor and far and away my favorite professor. He has close-cropped, jet-black hair and a homely, open, amiable face that’s dotted with old acne scars. Even though he tops out at well over six feet, four inches, Larry is surprisingly quick—so quick, in fact, he was an all-American linebacker at a Division I college. In the OR, as anywhere, Larry radiates a vibrant, manic energy: darting around constantly, always moving, always talking. I’ve never seen him sit still. He can’t stand inactivity. Inactivity to him means inefficiency and wasted time. “Momentum!” He likes to exclaim in the OR when things aren’t moving fast enough for him, “We need more momentum!”
And, man, he is an awesome surgeon. One of the best I’ve ever seen. He makes getting through the toughest operations seem like spending a sunny day lounging around at the beach. I’ve never seen him break a sweat or lose his cool—and I’ve seen him in some pretty tough situations. Even the other faculty members quietly acknowledge how good he is: a big deal for surgeons, who are usually reluctant to subject their egos to the kind of bruising it takes to admit someone else might be better in the OR.
Someday, I want to be the kind of surgeon that Larry is. I want to command that kind of respect.
He frowns at me, concerned. “Hey, you okay, Slick? You look kind of … I don’t know, wiped, or something. A little pale.”
“Nah, I’m okay. I just haven’t been out in the sun enough lately.” After talking with Sally, I’m now a little wound up by the prospect of my upcoming meeting with Dr. Collier, which is probably why I’ve lost some of my color. But I would never admit that to Larry. I don’t want him to think that I’m weak—physically or mentally.
“Good. Hey, Steve, I saw a sweet case this morning in clinic. A big right adrenal aldosteronoma.”
The prospect of a highly unusual and interesting surgical procedure is enough to temporarily quiet the butterflies knocking around my stomach. “Oh yeah? An aldosteronoma? I don’t think I’ve seen one of those.”
“It’s a pretty rare beast. Even with my referral pattern, I’ve only seen three others over the last few years.”
“Laparoscopic adrenalectomy?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Do you know when you’re going to do it?”
“She’s on the schedule for next week.”
“Awesome.”
“Yeah. Hey, by the way, how’s that job hunt going?”
“Okay. I think Northwest Hospital might be getting ready to make a firm offer.”
“Good for you.
I study my Diet Coke and peanut butter crackers. “Lunch. How about you?”
She sighs wearily. “Lunch was a disaster. Tantrums. Food throwing. I have no idea what’s with them. I sat them in front of a video a little while ago just to regain my sanity.” Her voice softens, regaining a comfortable intimacy that pushes any remnants of GG from my thoughts. “ Anyway … How are you feeling? Are you ready for the meeting?”
“I think so. It’s in about an hour. I was just about to get changed.”
“Are you going to ask him about the job?”
“After last Saturday night, I don’t think I have a choice.”
In the background, I hear Katie shriek, “Mine! Mine!”
“ Good God, ” Sally growls. “We’ll talk later. Good luck, okay? I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I put my phone down just as a hand claps me hard on the shoulder from behind, hard enough to make me wince in pain.
“Hey, Slick, what’s up? Chatting with the old ball and chain?”
I scoot around to face the owner of the hand, whose bulky frame towers over me.
“Hey, Larry. Wait, what are you doing here? Are you operating today? Was I supposed to help you?”
He laughs good-naturedly. “Easy, Slick. Always on top of things, aren’t you? Don’t worry. You didn’t miss anything. I was just checking on some new laparoscopic equipment coming in. Pretty cool stuff. Wait until you get to play with it.”
Larry is my primary mentor and far and away my favorite professor. He has close-cropped, jet-black hair and a homely, open, amiable face that’s dotted with old acne scars. Even though he tops out at well over six feet, four inches, Larry is surprisingly quick—so quick, in fact, he was an all-American linebacker at a Division I college. In the OR, as anywhere, Larry radiates a vibrant, manic energy: darting around constantly, always moving, always talking. I’ve never seen him sit still. He can’t stand inactivity. Inactivity to him means inefficiency and wasted time. “Momentum!” He likes to exclaim in the OR when things aren’t moving fast enough for him, “We need more momentum!”
And, man, he is an awesome surgeon. One of the best I’ve ever seen. He makes getting through the toughest operations seem like spending a sunny day lounging around at the beach. I’ve never seen him break a sweat or lose his cool—and I’ve seen him in some pretty tough situations. Even the other faculty members quietly acknowledge how good he is: a big deal for surgeons, who are usually reluctant to subject their egos to the kind of bruising it takes to admit someone else might be better in the OR.
Someday, I want to be the kind of surgeon that Larry is. I want to command that kind of respect.
He frowns at me, concerned. “Hey, you okay, Slick? You look kind of … I don’t know, wiped, or something. A little pale.”
“Nah, I’m okay. I just haven’t been out in the sun enough lately.” After talking with Sally, I’m now a little wound up by the prospect of my upcoming meeting with Dr. Collier, which is probably why I’ve lost some of my color. But I would never admit that to Larry. I don’t want him to think that I’m weak—physically or mentally.
“Good. Hey, Steve, I saw a sweet case this morning in clinic. A big right adrenal aldosteronoma.”
The prospect of a highly unusual and interesting surgical procedure is enough to temporarily quiet the butterflies knocking around my stomach. “Oh yeah? An aldosteronoma? I don’t think I’ve seen one of those.”
“It’s a pretty rare beast. Even with my referral pattern, I’ve only seen three others over the last few years.”
“Laparoscopic adrenalectomy?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Do you know when you’re going to do it?”
“She’s on the schedule for next week.”
“Awesome.”
“Yeah. Hey, by the way, how’s that job hunt going?”
“Okay. I think Northwest Hospital might be getting ready to make a firm offer.”
“Good for you.
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