Page 24 of You Loved Me Once
“I can’t afford...”
“Hey,” I stop her. “You’re my patient and there are a lot of things we can look into. I don’t want you to worry about that. My nurse Martina is very good at getting financial help for patients.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits with tears in her eyes. “How do I tell my fiancé that...that I won’t be a complete woman anymore? That I can’t carry our kids?”
I make a mental note to help her find a support group and counseling as well as financial help, if it comes to that. Lindsay is twenty-six years old and it’s possible she’ll have a complete hysterectomy if I find what I believe I will. I can’t imagine having to make this choice at her age.
“Believe me, this isn’t what I want to do, so if I get in there and it’s not what I think it might be from looking at the scan, I’ll take what I have to. We will have our reproductive team there in case there are any eggs they can freeze, and then you could at least have a surrogate, but I want you to be prepared for whatever the possibilities are.”
Most of my patients have already had eggs harvested, but Lindsay wasn’t one of them. She couldn’t afford it, but since I’m going in, it won’t be considered an elective procedure. If I can get anything for her, I will.
“The possibilities have ended,” she says looking out the window. “I don’t care. Take it all.”
I take another step closer, place my hand on her shoulder, and watch her lip quiver. “I’m going to do what I can, okay?”
She nods.
“Why don’t you call your fiancé and family? I’ll schedule you for tomorrow morning and give you some time to talk to everyone.”
A tear falls down her cheek and my heart breaks for her. “I really hoped...”
“I know. I did, too.”
Of all the patients I met today, Lindsay was one I most wished I could help. She’s young, and I thought her case would show the most promise. Most of my patients are in their late thirties to early forties, married, and some already have kids, but Lindsay doesn’t. This could’ve possibly given her the life she envisioned.
Lindsay doesn’t look back at me. She stares out the window with tears streaming down her face. I pat her arm once, and quietly leave.
Feeling helpless sucks.
I walk to the nurses’ station and fight back my own wave of emotions. Today has drained me in so many ways, but seeing the pain and devastation in Lindsay’s eyes was the icing on the cake. How can this job be so rewarding and utterly heartbreaking at the same time? When it’s good, it’s great, but when you have to deal with the ugly parts...it’s too much.
“Schedule Lindsay Dunphy for exploratory and possible hysterectomy surgery tomorrow morning at eight, please,” I tell the surgical nurse on the desk. “Ensure the reproductive team is available as well. Also, she is to be removed from the trial.”
My phone dings with a text.
Westin: Are we still doing dinner?
Shit. I look at the time and hunger hits me in the face. I didn’t even realize it was past eight and I haven’t eaten a thing all day. The last thing I want to do is see Westin tonight. I haven’t even considered what it will be like seeing him. I’ve never lied to him, and it’s not something I’m looking forward to doing now if he asks about my patients. I’m not ready to talk to him about what all of this means.
Coming face to face with Bryce has brought up everything from my past and I worry that I can’t do this. On the other hand, how the hell do I cancel on Westin after dinner...and whatever more came with it...was my idea?
My life is a shit show.
Westin put his neck on the line for me and I owe him this much. I’ll have to find a way to put my crap aside.
Me: I’m leaving in a few. Your place?
Westin: I have a pizza waiting.
Me: Great. I’m starving and today has been stressful.
I’m hoping he reads the warning and will understand if I’m not myself.
In so many ways, today has been awful. But it’s not over yet. I have one more blow of bad news to deliver. Putting Allison off is wrong, and I need to deal with it now. My chest tightens because this isn’t medically necessary, but it’s mentally and—at least in my head—ethically required. Treating her, lying to her, and knowing that I might not be able to be objective, is never going to work.
There’s no easy way to do this. I’m going to have to look her in the eye and tell her that I can’t treat her, and let herhusbandexplain why.
I put Lindsay’s file down and start to walk toward Allison’s room with heavy feet. Dread fills me with each step I take and I wonder if I can really take her out of the trial. Can I walk in there and admit that I’m too weak to do the right thing and tell her the truth about my relationship with her husband? Will she understand that what she asked of me is impossible now? I know in the pit of my soul that this is the right thing, but then why does it feel wrong? I stop walking, press my back against the wall, and breathe.
