Perfectly Reasonable by Linda O'Connor

license. He has epilepsy and hasn’t had a seizure for seven years – until three weeks ago. He was partying, celebrating his wife’s pregnancy, and forgot to take his medication. The next day he had a seizure. He doesn’t want you to write it down because he’ll lose his driver’s license for a year. He needs it, especially now with the baby coming. He swears he’ll never forget his medication again. What do you do?”
    “Put myself in his shoes. You gotta feel sorry for him. A bun in the oven, his livelihood on the line. I’d have to say I’d side with the dude and pretend he never told me.”
    Margo nodded and rolled the paint on the wall. “The following week he’s driving on the highway, has a seizure and causes an accident, killing three people, one of them your Aunt Teresa.”
    Trace jerked back with a wince. “Shit. Not Mother Teresa. Harsh.”
    Margo shrugged. “Empathy isn’t about avoiding harsh decisions. It’s about supporting patients when those harsh decisions come down the wire.”
    “So you tell the dude that you have to write it down and watch all hell break loose.”
    “Pretty much. Make sure that it’s fair and necessary in your head and then try to explain it. In this case, the law states that you have to disclose the information. So the decision is out of your hands. But it doesn’t make it any easier to tell the patient.”
    “What would you say to him?”
    “Tell him that you don’t have any choice, you have to write it down. Apologize. Brainstorm possible solutions with him. Offer to advocate for him. Get him seen by a neurologist to assess whether his condition is changing. Stay calm while he vents.”
    “Basically sit by helplessly.”
    Margo smirked. “Pretty much, yup.” She turned and looked at him. “Although it surprises me how much better patients feel when their feelings are validated. Knowing that someone commiserates with them is often help enough.”
    “Misery loves company?”
    She tilted her head. “Yes. But more, we acknowledge that it is a rough go, and other people in their situation would also find it difficult.”
    Trace nodded.
    “K. Here’s another. You’re a surgeon.”
    Trace’s face lit up. “Always wanted to be a surgeon.”
    Margo laughed. “You operate on a three-year-old child to remove a mass. During the operation, the specimen is sent to a pathologist and you’re told it’s cancer. Immediately following the surgery, you tell the parents. Obviously they’re devastated. The next day, the pathologist calls you and tells you that now that they’ve had a chance to look at the sample more closely, do further testing, and consult another pathologist with more expertise, they’ve determined that it’s benign. It’s not cancer.” She paused. “What do you do?”
    “Call the parents with the good news.”
    Margo nodded.
    “Apologize and explain,” he added.
    “Good. Say they’re angry for putting them through hell, would you lay the blame on the pathologist?”
    Trace thought for a moment. “Be hard not to. But no. They’re doing the best with what they’ve got. But it might change the way I do things. Like wait until they’re sure.”
    “Yes, very good. You’re a team. You shouldn’t diss the team members. It’s done and no good will come of it. Apologize and thank the stars that the result didn’t go the other way.” Margo dipped the roller in the paint. She turned to raise an eyebrow at Trace. “More?”
    “Yes, but let me get some cereal and another coffee. Do you want anything?”
    “Any of those muffins left?”
    Trace pointed to the container still sitting on the island counter. “Help yourself. I’ll get you a plate. Coffee?”
    Margo shook her head. “Just the muffin.”
    Trace returned with a bowl of Cap’n Crunch cereal and a plate for her.
    Margo set her brush down and walked over to sit on the stool at the island. “Aren’t you too old to be eating sugar for breakfast?”
    “Breakfast of champions.”