Page 97 of Broken Dream
“You think I can’t?” I shoot back, my patience wearing thin.
“I have no opinion on the matter,” she says gently. “I don’t know you. The board simply wants to ensure that you’re adequately prepared for all scenarios, good or bad.”
“Your concerns are noted,” I reply tersely. “But let me make myself perfectly clear. I am willing to take any risks associated with this surgery if it means regaining some semblance of my old life. So can we move along?”
The room goes quiet as everyone exchanges glances.
Dr. Stanich finally breaks the silence.
“Very well,” he says, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach. “You have two choices, Dr. Lansing. You can meet with Dr. Steel, and if she believes you are mentally fit to handle the surgery, the hospital will allow Dr. Patel and her team to perform it here.”
“What’s my other choice?”
“Find another hospital,” he says.
My jaw tightens. The audacity of him—of them—to tell me that I have to jump through their hoops or find another hospital, like it’s as simple as changing clothes. This is the best facility in Colorado, a top hospital in the country with state-of-the-art equipment. I trained here, practiced here.
“Is that a threat, Roger?” I ask, my voice low.
“It’s not a threat,” Dr. Stanich says calmly. “It’s your choice.”
“Your free will, Dr. Lansing,” Dr. Frohike adds.
“Dr. Lansing,” Dr. Stanich says. “This isn’t about punishing you. It’s about making sure that we’re acting in your best interest.”
I scoff at his words. My best interest. As if any of them could truly understand what that is.
“One shrink couldn’t help me.” I glare at Dr. Morgan. “What makes you think another one can?”
Dr. Steel folds her hands on the table before her, those bright-green eyes of hers meeting mine. “There are no guarantees, Dr. Lansing,” she says, her voice calm. “And I am not here to ‘help’ you in the general sense of the word. I’m here to make an assessment, nothing more.”
“Your opinion could block my surgery,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Only if I believe it’s not in your best interest,” she replies.
My best interest—that seems to be today’s catchphrase.
I look at each face around the table, one by one. They’re not individuals to me. They’re a tribunal passing judgment.
“I’ll tell you what’s in my best interest.” I stand abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “My best interest is reclaiming my life, my career—whatever remains of it.”
“And what if you can’t?” Dr. Steel’s words slice through the tension in the room, her tone still even. “What if, despite your surgeon’s best efforts, the surgery fails? Can you handle that?”
“Are you implying that I’m too weak to handle failure?” I snap back.
“No,” she answers calmly. “I’m asking if you’re prepared for it.”
“Preparation has nothing to do with it,” I scoff. “None of us is ever truly prepared for anything.”
“Perhaps,” she concedes. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. And that’s all we’re asking of you, Dr. Lansing. To try.”
I ball my hands into fists. The arrogance of these people, thinking they can tell me what’s best for me.
“I don’t need to try.” I scowl. “I am ready. Completely and utterly ready.”
Dr. Steel leans back in her chair, studying me with her thoughtful green eyes. “Are you ready to live with the possible consequences, though? If it fails, if it causes more harm? Can you handle that?”
I grit my teeth and hold her gaze. “I’m not afraid of the consequences.”
