Today becomes like all the others. It is a routine of checking on my patients and scheduling consultations. Being one of the few neurosurgeons in the United States with my resume, I book up pretty quickly. So, once my consultations are spaced out and my schedule cleared, I start rounds. Mark usually does these with me when he is on my schedule. Today, he is.
We are standing in Mr. Rodriguez's room. Mark checks his vitals as Mr. Rodriguez snores loudly. Usually, Mark and I would be cracking jokes, but things have changed since he became a fixture in my apartment without my invitation. He looks up and watches someone outside the patient's door. I turn and watch Bodhi talking to Grace. She is touching his arm and flirting. I turn back to Mark who gives me a look.
"You're going to let her get away with that?"
"With what?"
"Come on, she's with your guy."
"He's not my guy."
"OK, clearly you are in denial, but I'm not going to let her take away the one good thing that has happened to you, ever," he says, slamming down his clip board onto Mr. Rodriquez's legs and heading for the door.
I step in front of him, "Wait!" He stops. "Not that it's any of your business, but I wasn't with Bodhi last night. I wasn't with anyone . . . in particular . . . at all."
Mark lets this sink in. "So who were you with?"
"Maybe I wasn't with anyone," I say defensively.
"Wait? You mean you were alone in your room last night?"
"Yes, I was listening to music. Why are you asking me that? A girl can listen to music loudly and be alone."
"You were alone?"
"Yes, did I stutter?"
And Mark's face lights up. I know I'm in trouble now.
"Holy masturbationathon! You were alone last night? I have a new hero!"
Mr. Rodriguez opens his eyes. "What did I miss?"
"A lot," Mark tells him.
I'm out of here.
I open the door. Bodhi and Grace are down the hallway. All clear. I head toward my office. Mark is on my heels.
"Kate, wait. I shouldn't have said that." He's caught up with me now. I'm going to ignore him. Just an entire wing to walk and down five flights in the elevator. Surely I can lose him at some point. He's still talking. "But I am impressed. You should be proud!"
"Proud of what?" I ask, not going with my gut to ignore him. He pulls me in every time.
"Of your passion! You bring so much energy and focus to everything you do," he continues, tripping on his feet behind me. "That's why you're so good at everything, I guess. Me, on the other hand, I let life wash over me. I mean, when I masturbate I'm usually watching a show about hillbillies mating possums while I simultaneously shove half a gallon of peach ice cream into my pie hole. Most of the time, I don't even know if I came or just projectile-vomited from too much dairy. There's nothing in my life I'm truly passionate about. And after listening to you last night with your . . . vibrator? Amazing. I am truly in awe of not only your focus but your triathlete-like stamina. Across the board, slow clap, my friend. Amazing."
Everything around me goes into slow motion. I swear I can hear my own heart beating and it's going half speed. I turn and grab Mark by his collar.
"You were listening to me?"
"You were awfully loud, and Lacy said it was OK."
This is getting worse by the second.
"You think it was OK to sit outside my bedroom door with my sister and listen to me?"
"Actually, we were on the fire escape, because I had buzzed you five times and got no response. I heard the music, pulled on the fire escape, climbed up, and, well, I couldn't tear myself away."
"And Lacy? She joined you at some point?"
"She did. She had a pizza. So, we had pizza and listened to you."
I want to strangle him.
He must sense the end is near, because he begins to back pedal. "Ok, so when I say it out loud it sounds really creepy and weird, but in the moment it felt perfectly natural."
"There is nothing perfectly natural about eating pizza and listening to someone having sex," I growl, trying to keep my voice down.
"Technically, yes, but technically you were masturbatingânot having sex."
"Technically, sex is masturbation. And technically, you are the biggest creep I've ever met."
I release him and storm down the hallway. I turn the corner and run right into Grace. She looks at me, disheveled and red in the face. Great, more to add to her arsenal.
Remember that skip in my step? It's gone. It's dead to me. I'm defeated. The valve is closed again and I'm chock-full of stress and the shame of being a sexual being. I know that is wrong, but I can't seem to find any other emotion.
Sitting at my desk, focused on my surgery. That is the only thing I can do right now to push everything and everyone else away. I open my laptop and begin. I rehearse my laser movement with a pen and Vivaldi. I'm in my mind, conducting a symphony of nerves, tissue, and veins. An hour goes by and as I head to the close of my mock surgery, I hear noise emanating from beneath Vivaldi's Four Seasons. I ignore it. It's just a patient in the hallway. I continue, but the moaning won't go away. Are they doing triage outside of my office door? I open my eyes and am about to head to the door, when I see what is playing on my laptop. It's the porn from the Aphrodite website. It must have embedded into my computer and now it's taking it over. I try to shut it off, just as my Vivaldi comes to a close and the two porn actors moan and groan at full volume. Turn off! My cursor freezes. I hit ctrl/alt/delete. Nothing. Nothing? Really?
I nearly drop when I hear knocking on my door.
"Just a second!"
I unplug my computer. Damn batteries. I close the laptop. Why won't this damn thing shut off?
"Kate!" I hear Bodhi yell through the door. Mind you, he's yelling because it sounds like someone is either dying in my office or getting properly laid. Let's go with the former.
I grab the laptop and duck behind my computer as I see him peek through my office window. I'm shaking the computer, because we all know how well that works, when the door flies open and Bodhi barges into my office. "Enough! You've got to stop this and get control of yourself!"
Surprised, I stand up and throw the laptop against the wall. It crashes to the floor and the heavy breathing is gone.
"What's up?"
Bodhi heads toward my desk. He looks behind it. What is he looking for?
"Were you watching . . . ?"
"Nope, was not. I was hacked. Got a computer virus," I tell him, grabbing my lab coat and heading to the door.
"I think we need to talk, Kate."
"Nope, we do not need to talk. That I know for sure."
"Do you have a problem?"
"No, I have a mock surgery to perform. That's all I have. You ready?"
I open the door and wait for him to follow me. He doesn't.
"Some of the staff feel that you may not be as focused as you should be. And after our date, you know, with all your extra-curricular activities, I just need to know if you are up to the task here?"
"Who said I'm not up to the task? Who?"
"That's not the point."
"The hell it's not. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm here to work." I hold open the door for him to leave. I'm not the one running this time. He shakes his head and walks past me. "I'm sorry."
"Damn right you are," I tell him. He walks down the hallway. I follow him, burning holes with my eyes into the back of his head. Jerk.
This is the first mock surgery with the entire team, which means Grace is in the O.R.
My mask is on. We are all scrubbed in. This is just like a real surgery, except we are still using the 3D brain print-out. Bodhi and I work together. Mark and Sandy stay in rhythm and we move with ease. That is until Grace gets bored with the harmony in the room.
"So, Kate, how are you? You've seemed a bit distracted lately."
"I think we should stick to the task at hand, Dr. Meadows," Bodhi says curtly.
"Does she have to be in here?" I ask, not looking up. I'm a pro. She can't faze me. I hear the microphone turn on from the observation deck where Dr. Strong, Amir, and Peter are observing.
"Dr. Matthews, Dr. Meadows is the anesthesiologist. So, yes, she will remain in the O.R.," Dr. Strong says, confusion in his voice.
I continue with Bodhi. Then Grace lets out an audible gasp. My hands continue to move, but my mind is on her again.
"Do you mind?"
"What? Just looked a little dicey," she explains.
The microphone turns on again. "Dr. Meadows, is there a problem?"
Grace turns and looks at Dr. Strong through the glass window, "She just looked a little shaky."
"Dr. Matthews? Are you alright?" Dr. Strong asks.
"Yes, I'm fine."
I give Grace the stink eye. She turns her attention to Bodhi.
"So, Bodhi. You want to catch another show tonight? The hubby is out of town and the kids are with their friends, so I'm free until the sun comes up."
Focus, Kate. Don't go there. So, they went out at some point. And her husband is out of town, so that would mean she is doing everything she can to seduce Bodhi while she has the opportunity.
"We can discuss that outside of the O.R.," Bodhi tells her. They make eye contact. OK, so now he's hiding something from me. Not that he needs to, I'm not dating him. He can do whatever he wants to do with whomever he wants. But I can't let it go. I feel jealousy rear her ugly head and all the mean things Grace has said to me bubble to the surface. I let it rip.
"Grace, why don't you date your husband, or is he tired of the same old stringy meat night after night?"
Yes, I said it. It was wrong, but it felt good. My eyes meet Mark's. I can tell by the expression in them that his jaw has dropped.
"How dare you," Grace warns me.
But I can't stop. I stepped in it and now I'm going to wipe it off.
"Just saying, professional baseball player. Not exactly marriage material. Sure you're playing the field while he's out of town, but he is playing a new stadium week in and week out. How many different women are you sharing your bed with? Mark? How many cities have a professional baseball team?"
"Well, Kate," he starts, clearing his throat, "If my estimate is correct, there are fourteen in the American league and sixteen in the National league."
"You're crossing a line, little girl."
"Doctors, let's not do this. We're professionals," Bodhi interjects.
"My marriage isn't any of your business! It's private," Grace growls.
"Not according to the men who come in and out of it." I can't stop. I'm getting in deeper and deeper, but I feel lighter with each insult.
"What do you mean? What are you implying?"
I look her dead in the eye. "I'm saying, I'm tired of you butting into my life. Judging me for what I am or what I'm not. You're fair game if I am. Here's the deal, people. I'm just trying, like the rest of you, to have a life outside of this place. And if you won't let me, who's going to? You're supposed to understand me."
"I understand," Mark says quietly.
"Not you," I tell him. "Bodhi! You were supposed to get me. But you don't. Just like everyone else. I'm still the weird girl that doesn't belong. It doesn't matter if I'm ten or twenty-nine. It doesn't matter what I do. I don't fit with anyone."
I look down. My 3D brain print-out is smoking from my laser. I've killed it. I let my personal life take over. Everyone is staring at me. I've failed. And I do it, I run. I drop the laser and run out of my O.R.
I walk home crying. I'm crying about my lost childhood, my failed friendships, missed holidays with my family, dismissing Chad when he first asked me out, and not allowing anyone inside my heart. I cry now that I'm aware of everything I'm not capable of taking on. Before I only did what I was good at. I didn't need confirmation of my weaknesses. Sure, now I know that Grace doesn't have it all. She just does a better job at doing it all. It makes me mad that my life was interrupted, and now I'm not sure how to get it back to the way it was before. The way it worked.
As I drag into my apartment, I see Lacy sitting at the counter staring at a piece of paper. She looks up, crumples it, and tosses it into the trash.
"Where have you been?"
"Work."
"You left work two hours ago. Mark called me."
"Oh, great. Well, I hope you two will be very happy together, watching porn and eating pizza together."
No, I'm not letting that go.
"Why are you mad at me?"
God, I'm glad she asked me. I let Grace have it, so why not my sister?
"You know, Lacy, before you decided to crash here, I was perfectly happy being career-obsessed. I knew my place in life."
"You don't really believe that, do you?"
"I do. I do believe that."
"OK, then that's just sad."
"No, it's not. I'm not sad. It was a choice. It's a way of life. I did a brief assessment of my life on the walk home, and I realize now that even though I can find plenty of moments where my life could be described as sad, those sad moments made me who I am. I mourn that lifeâthe one I didn't exactly choose but took on. I do a lot of good when I'm focused on medicine. My way of life is not the tragedy you make it out to be."
"Being a virgin at twenty-nine is a tragedy. It's only a way of life if you're a nun."
"Maybe from where you're standing, but losing someone on an operating table is a real tragedy. And if I don't focus up I could kill someone. If I have to sacrifice falling in love, getting married, and being with the man I love so just one of my patients can live, I will do just that!"
"Do you hear yourself? Are you still a virgin because you honestly think having sex will keep you from saving someone's life? You're not God. You're just a person. A grown woman with needs. When are you going to live your life for just you?"
"I tried that this week and it failed over and over and over again! Sometimes our needs have to be compromised. Something you obviously are not willing to do. You're a student, but I haven't seen you open one text book since you arrived. You act like life is a vacation! What is going on with you? When are your exams, exactly? What are you even studying?"
I'm on a tear. I grab the Shakespeare book she has been reading and a book titled The Art of Acting.
"Why are you using your valuable time reading all of this make-believe? Biology and Anatomyâthose are real. Those are what you are studying in school."
"That's rich coming from someone who can't get laid."
"I can get laid, just not by the first guy who tells me I'm pretty! Maybe if you had standards and didn't give it away so freely you'd be happier. Ever think of that?"
Lacy grabs the books from me and shoves them into her bag, "You're the one who asked for help, not me."
"Well, I'm good on my own, thanks."
"Right. I forgot. You're the smart one. You've got it all figured out, while the rest of us can't even decide . . . "
"What? Decide what, exactly?"
"Forget it. I'm sorry, it's my fault. I failed you. What can I say, I'm on a roll."
She slides on her boots and leaves. Failed me? I can't figure her out. Then I remember the paper she was reading when I came in. I go to the trash and open the balled-up wad. It is from Ohio State University.
Dear Ms. Lacy Matthews,
Based on your low attendance and at the recommendation of the Dean of Students, we regret to inform you that you have been dismissed from the Biological Science Studies program at Ohio State University.
We wish you luck in your future endeavors.
I spend the next six hours calling Lacy and wandering the city, going to every place I think she might be. I ask strangers if they have seen her. They all ask me if I have a picture of her in my phone. My answer is always a disappointing "no." It is disappointing to them, but each time I say it out loud, "no, I don't have a picture of my sister in my phone," it sinks in deeper and deeper that I have been a horrible sister to Lacy. If I could find her, I could tell her. I finally make it home and Mark is calling me.
"Kate?"
"Mark? Have you heard from her?"
"She's here with me."
"Oh, thank god. I'll be right there."
"Kate, she doesn't want to see you right now."
"What?"
"She needs a little time."
My sister doesn't want to see me, adding another notch to my belt of failed relationships. I am oh for four in just under a week. I turn off my phone and stare at the open door to my guest room. I have gotten used to her being in my place. I like it. I like her. I pick up the phone to call someone, just to talk, but I have no one to call. Lacy is with Mark, my only friend.