Have you ever had the sneaking suspicion that everyone is staring at you, but because they all smile and continue to speak to you politely, you think you are just being paranoid? Only to later find out that your paranoia was actually instinct, because the next time you enter the ladies' room you discover that your skirt has been tucked into your underwear all day long? Well, today feels like my skirt is in my underwear, except I'm wearing pants. This would be pressing on my mind more, except that Lacy still hasn't called me and she has been staying with Mark for two days. Two entire days, my sister has been in Mark's apartment doing God-knows-what. I've been studying. That's it. I refuse to talk to anyone or discuss anything other than the surgery. But rumors have swirled in those two days, and if I were to guess, most of the hospital thinks I'm either a highly-paid escort on the side or just your average neurosurgeon nymphomaniac.
I do my rounds while obsessively checking to see if I have a text or voicemail from Lacy. Based off the looks I'm getting from half the nursing staff, I can safely wager they think I'm sexting or setting up an appointment with my next "John".
Mark changes out Mr. Rodriguez's fluids. He sees me check the volume on my cell phone.
"It's only been two days. She's mad. She'll call you back. She's safe and sound," Mark tells me.
"Staying with you, my knowing you, it doesn't sound safe."
"Safe and sound on my couch. Come on, what kind of guy . . . don't answer that. Look, she needed someone who she doesn't have a history with, someone who accepts her for who she is."
That is a low blow and he knows it.
"I accept her!"
Mostly.
"You don't get it. It's not easy trying to be you, trying to compete with you and your success."
"I never asked her to be me or compete with me."
"That doesn't mean she wasn't trying."
An orderly comes in, interrupting our quiet argument, and grabs Mr. Rodriguez's food tray. As he turns to leave, I hear him make kissy noises behind my back. I turn around to chide him when he puts his hand up to Mark for a high-five. Mark gives it to himâthe high-five, that is.
"There it is. The guy my sister is safe and sound with. Right."
"Sorry, it was a dude impulse. Where were we?"
"It was a douche impulse and I was leaving."
You know what I don't have time for anymore? Listening to other people tell me that I'm not living my life to their standards, which if put up to observation are lower than mine.
"Just the person I was looking for. We need to talk."
I look up as I enter the hallway. Dr. Strong has apparently been waiting for me. Great, here we go.
"Sure, what can I do for you?" I ask, as he begins walking ahead of me toward his office. This can't be good. He isn't even looking at me.
Being asked to Dr. Strong's office is kind of like being called to the principal's office. If you did something wrong, you head there knowing what you did, thus you can begin creating a defense. But if you did nothing wrong, you head there wondering why you were called, going through every moment of every day, confusing yourself into thinking you are guilty of something but have no idea what that thing could be. I may know why he is calling me in. I did leave a mock surgery unannounced and in a huff. But it has been two days. Surely that is water under the bridge? So, by the time I walk into his office I'm flustered, defensive, and feeling very vulnerable. All of which are a bad combination under any circumstance.
He gestures for me to take a seat, so I do.
"I don't think I need to remind you how important this upcoming surgery is. What it could mean for this hospital, your career, the other team members' careers, my career, or the patient whose life will be in your hands. Do I?"
"No."
"Then why are we here? What is going on, Dr. Matthews? You stormed out of a practice run after lighting my 3D brain on fire."
OK, so he just let it simmer for a couple of days. Water not under the bridge.
"It's personal and I won't let it affect my work any longer. I've been on track the last two days."
"I may be chief of surgery, but I'm human, too. Kate, what's going on?"
He is human. He has been the best boss and mentor a woman like me could have asked for. I take a deep breath and look at the floor. I haven't had anyone to talk to, and although it may seem a little unorthodox to talk to the Chief of Surgery about a personal problem, I don't have anyone else. I should tread softly, but also give some kind of explanation so he will drop this here and now.
"It was all a big mess that I was trying to handle . . . trying to be something that I clearly am not. My sister was here . . . she is here, but now she is at Mark's . . . let's say she's gone and I let Dr. Meadows get into my head, which is not professional and I should just ignore her, because she clearly hates me . . . but that's neither here nor there, and I didn't want Dr. Wells to think . . . forget it," I look up at him. Get a grip, Kate. "My personal life is basically a disaster. My career is what's important to me. I promise it won't be affected again."
I'm not sure if I said too much or not enough, but he has the most puzzled look on his face. Maybe I've confused him?
"Kate, you've been working your whole life for this opportunity. You can be the greatest. Stay focused on what is important to you, not on what's important to anyone else around you, except for what's important to me. And that is for you to believe in yourself and prove to everyone what I've told the board and every science journal publication in this country and abroad: that you are the best damn neurosurgeon, hands down. As for Dr. Wells, he's looking to you as a partner on this. This is his opportunity, too. You owe it to him to do your best. Not to mention, our patient deserves your best. And the best is what I believe you are."
And there it is, laid out for me. Everything that I have worked for is on the line. I know it, and so does Dr. Strong. I need to fix this thing with Lacy so I can do my best for my patient and everyone else involved. My sex situation is a thing of the past or the future, but it is not right now. I shake his hand and he hugs me.
"You can do this," he says, showing me to the door.
After work, I decide to go to every bookstore in a ten-block radius of Mark's apartment. Luckily, I find Lacy at the very first one, sitting on the floor in the drama section, reading.
She sees me coming and looks back down at her book. I could walk away, let this fester longer than needed, but like most festering wounds it's best to treat it before it spreads, gets out of control, and kills you. I don't want my relationship with my sister to die.
I slide down next to her, lean my back against the Chekov section, and decide I may as well just jump in before she does. I'm the one who owes her an apology.
"Hi. I'm sorry about everything. You should be free to be whatever you want without judgment or ridicule. You're beautiful, smart, funny . . . you're amazing."
Lacy closes the Uta Hagen acting book she has been perusing and looks at me. Her eyes look clear and calm. I haven't seen her look like this in years.
"Thanks. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about school. I didn't want you to think I was a failure."
Here is a moment where sisters can either bypass the drama or jump head-first into it. I could get pissed off that she is making her life choices (or lack thereof) about me, and berate her a bit over her putting her shit on me. Or, I can choose to let her off the hook and understand that her telling me that she doesn't want to fail me is really about her fear of being perceived as a failure or her fear of failing herself. So, I choose to bypass the drama so we can get to the hug faster.
"I'd never think you're a failure," meaning it with every ounce of my being.
She relaxes and holds my hand, "It's just that your life has real meaning. People need you. Everything I want to do seems so frivolous in comparison."
See, I would have never gotten that if I'd given her "what for." I must remember this in all my interactions. Or at least try.
"Doing what you're meant to do is never frivolous, Lacy. But I'm unclear, what is it you want to do again?"
I know what she wants to do. It's written in the books and Playbills, but I want to hear her say it out loud.
"This is hard to admit, but after much reading and self-evaluation, it seems that I was trying to be you. Problem was, I hate hospitals and sick people, and I could never wear those ugly scrubs."
"If I'd known you were trying to be like me, I would've put a stop to this medical school story you've been telling sooner."
"Like that would have worked. I had to find my own way, like you found your own way."
She leans on my shoulder and we sit there for a moment, remembering what it feels like to be sisters again. I smell her hair. It smells like my sister's hair, a combo of Suave Strawberry shampoo and Pantene hairspray. She puts her hand on my leg, and I feel the weight of her kind touch. I touch her hand and remember how soft she keeps them, but how she still chews her nails and lets her polish peel off instead of taking it off with remover. I pull her in close, because I need her as much as she needs me. Now is my time to show her that I'm here for her. Not because I haven't been here for her, but because she didn't think I was. We all think we are alone when we aren't.
I wipe the tear dripping down my cheek, a bi-product of my relief to have her near me again.
"I remember sitting through all of those god-awful school productions you were in, and the only consistent thing about them was that you were always the best one up there. And each time, you made me feel like I was living the story that you were in. When you played Ophelia, I was so sad that Hamlet didn't love her. You made me feel like I was her."
"Really? Because she was cray-cray."
"Yes, I know, but not the point, stay with me. She was in love. Something I'd never felt. Not like that. But because you let people in and you feel so deeply, you were able to show me what it was like to love so hard that you were willing to die for it. I could never do what you've done. Reveal yourself like that. Not in a million years. The world needs you, just as much as they need me. I physically save people, but you do something bigger. You make them feel less isolated. In a way, you save their souls."
Lacy sits up and turns her body to face me.
"Kate, I'm going to be an actor. Live in the city and do theater," she tells me with confidence.
"Sounds like a promising plan and highly uncertain future."
I'm supportive, but I'm also a pragmatist at heart.
"Doesn't it?! Don't you love it?"
She hugs me tight. I can feel the relief in her body. We both start to cry.
"And you wanted to be like me," I joke, between sniffles.
"Katie," she says, pushing away from me and holding me by both arms. "I hope you don't give up on the whole sex thing."
I liked it better when we were fixing her.
"Why is this so important to you?"
"Because sex can lead to love or love can lead to sex. Either way, you deserve both."
"I'll take that under advisement. But let's stay focused on your life tonight. That is, if you're coming home with me?"
"Of course I am."
"Really? Because if you and Mark are . . ." I trail off, unable to say it out loud.
"No, he was just letting me crash on his couch."
Whew! So he wasn't lying to me. She was on the couch. Good girl.
We head back to my apartment and order Vietnamese takeout. Lacy combs through job listings on Craigslist while I study the recent blood work done on our surgical patient. We drink some wine and talk and talk until we fall asleep together in my bed. My bed, the ocean of safety, has one more body in it tonight. Not a lover, but a sister. And it feels the safest it has ever felt. Lacy hugs one of my pillows and I hug another. With our backs touching, we drift off to sleep. We are both embarking on separate and vastly different journeys, but we are supporting each other, being each others compass when we are lost and being each others life raft when we feel like we are drowning.