Page 116 of Broken Dream
I keep digging.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jason
“No,” Dr. Steel finally replies, the gravity of the word hitting me like a punch. “I’m not saying ‘no surgery.’ What I’m saying is that we need to approach this responsibly.” She places a hand over her heart. “You’re not just a patient, Dr. Lansing. You’re a doctor. You know as well as I do that the success of any medical procedure depends as much on the patient’s mental preparedness and strength as it does on their physical condition. A good support system is also necessary, and I’m not sure you have that.”
Her words are reasonable. Logical. Utterly infuriating.
“Responsibly,” I echo, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “Is that why we’re sitting here, talking about therapists and court cases instead of discussing the actual procedure? Is that why you’re trying to convince me that I should be content with my life as it is instead of fighting for something better?”
“I’m not suggesting anything remotely close to contentment,” she replies calmly. “I’m suggesting preparedness, Dr. Lansing. Preparedness for all outcomes.”
I run my hands through my hair. “It’s almost like you think Dr. Patel and her team are going to fail. They’re the best at this.”
“I have every confidence in Dr. Patel and her team,” Dr. Steel says firmly. “But there are no certainties in medicine. Not even with the best surgeons in the world.”
“And you think I don’t know that?” My anger flares again. “I’m not some naïve kid, Dr. Steel. I was a surgeon once myself, as I’ve told you repeatedly. I know the frustration of a bad outcome. And as for this procedure, I know the odds.”
“Then you should also understand,” she says, “why it’s crucial to address your mental well-being before we proceed.”
I fall silent at that, unable to voice my frustration without resorting to shouting. She has an answer for everything, a rational counterpoint to every argument I make. And if she says the phrase mental well-being one more time, I may explode.
She looks at her watch and smiles. “I’m afraid our time is up. My job here was to assess your mental and emotional well-being with regard to this experimental surgery. While I believe you understand, objectively, what could happen, I’m not convinced that, given your past trauma and loss, you are emotionally ready to handle any possible outcome. I worry about your coping abilities, about your lack of a support system. And I say this with the highest regard for you, Dr. Lansing, both as a colleague and as a human being.”
I stare at her, the words sinking in like weights in water. The implication is clear—my surgery is on hold until I can prove to her, to them, that I’m mentally stable. That I can handle whatever happens next. It feels like a cruel joke.
She stands and extends her hand to me. “I’ll be in touch regarding the recommended therapist,” she says. “Dr. Carlos Engel is on the faculty here at the medical school. He specializes in the trauma of loss. I think he’d be a good fit.”
I look at her hand and then back at her face, my anger replaced by a cold numbness that seems to permeate my very bones.
Carlos Engel. He seems like a nice guy for a shrink, but I hardly know him.
So I guess I’ll play the part. Become an actor. Pretend I think psychiatry is beneficial, though it cost me my wife.
“Fine,” I say. “Thank you for your time.”
“You’re most welcome.” She grabs her coat off the rack and wraps it around her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet my niece. She should be waiting outside.”
My body goes rigid.
Angie?
Outside Pete’s office? This very office?
“I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind,” I say. “I need to think.”
She frowns. “I’m sorry. I told Peter I’d lock up the office when we were finished.”
Great. Just great.
I have no choice but to follow Dr. Steel out of Pete’s office.
Where Angie is sitting on the floor, reading something on her phone. She looks up when she hears us.
“Aunt Mel,” she says. Then her eyes widen. “And Ja— I mean, Dr. Lansing?”
“You know each other?” Aunt Mel asks.
