Chapter 59: Could Things Get Any Worse?

November 17, 1985, Columbus, Ohio

“Do you think Vladyka was saying that he expects to reassign Father Herman and for Deacon Vasily to be laicized?” Elizaveta asked once we pulled out of the parking lot at the Cathedral.

“I’d say he certainly thinks that’s a real possibility, and maybe even the most likely outcome. And I get the strong impression there are other problems in that parish.”

“But everything was OK when you were there, right?”

“I wasn’t in a position to know,” I replied. “I was head acolyte and I’d just been confirmed as a catechist when I graduated from High School. Even when I was ordained a subdeacon at Saint Michael the Archangel, I wasn’t privy to any of the pastoral concerns. And now, I’m only privy to some.”

“Do you know things you haven’t told me?”

“It’s probably better if I don’t answer that question and you accept that I’ve told you everything I’m permitted or feel is necessary. It’s going to be the same with patients. And with regard to Holy Transfiguration, you know as much as I do, because the bishop included you in the conversation.”

Elizaveta laughed softly, “Yes, he did. I’m sorry, Mike.”

“There’s no need to apologize! It was a legitimate question, and we’re still working out how this will work between us with patients and people at church.”

“You know, I don’t recall ever seeing a Typika done.”

“It’s basically the Divine Liturgy without the anaphora, using reserved eucharist. I’ve only actually seen one, when I was thirteen and Father Herman’s grandmother passed away and he missed a Sunday, so Deacon Vasily did a Typika. But usually, except in extreme circumstances, the only time they’re done is in mission parishes. We’ve had recent seminary grads or retired priests cover for Father Nicholas when he’s on vacation, which is the same as when Father Herman was gone.”

“So why not do that now?”

“That might be what happens, but there also would be a transition period if there isn’t a priest available right away. Obviously, Vladyka can’t really speak to anyone else about it because rumors would spread.”

“Among the clergy?!” Elizaveta gasped.

“If we were Donatists, I’d say that’s a reasonable question,” I chuckled. “But we aren’t. Clergy are just as human and mortal as the rest of the world! Or, do you think I suddenly became perfect and incapable of sinning when the bishop laid his hands on my head?”

“No, obviously not!” she declared.

“Gee, thanks,” I replied flatly.

“You asked!” Elizaveta giggled.

“I did. But you see my point, right? The bishop needs to keep this close to his vestments until he’s ready to say something publicly.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Remember, Paul had to remind Timothy about the problems of gossip and busybodies, and James makes a point that anyone who claims to be religious and doesn’t watch his tongue is deceiving themselves about their faith. And, of course, Proverbs 23 - ‘He who guards his mouth and his tongue, guards his soul from troubles’.”

“So how do you know when it’s OK to say something and when it isn’t?”

“Well, the first principle I’d follow is that if you aren’t sure, you keep your mouth shut. But otherwise, I’d say you have to consider if what you’re saying is both necessary and helpful to the person you’re talking about. Take Vickie, for example. I know you talk to her and her sister fairly regularly, but I don’t ask you about it because there’s no need for me to be involved and no need for me to know. I’m assuming you’ll speak to Father Nicholas if there’s some concern that needs his attention.”

“So similar to how you’ll handle medical cases - you only speak to people who need to know and who can potentially help the patient.”

“Yes, though I can discuss things in a general way to tell you how my day was; you know, five gunshot wounds, six stabbings, and so on!”

“Wait! Are you being serious?”

“No,” I chuckled, “at least not for McKinley. Supposedly the ER in Chicago, which was the first one anywhere, has days where that’s the number they see in an hour!”

“Whoa!”

“Here, it’s more likely to be auto accidents, sports injuries, heart attacks, sudden illnesses, and, of course, ‘hold my beer and watch this’.”

Elizaveta giggled, “You mean being a boy?”

“Pretty much!”

“Did you ever do anything dumb like that?”

“Not that I can remember, and Liz would remind me of it constantly if I did!”

“Girls don’t usually do that kind of thing, do they?”

“Not in my experience,” I replied. “But I didn’t hang out with large groups of kids like, say, the sports teams, cheerleaders, or drama. And my karate school made a big point about self-discipline.”

“Will you start karate again?”

“Eventually, but probably not until after the first year of Residency.”

“Is that something our kids could do?”

“We had students who started in first grade, so yes, I’m sure they could, if they were interested.”

“I’d prefer they didn’t play football. I just think it’s too violent.”

“What about ice hockey?”

“I’ve actually never seen a hockey game. Is it violent?”

“It can be, but nothing like football. And if we’re talking dangerous, baseball can be extremely dangerous. Pitchers have been severely injured by line drives. And back in ‘76, when the Reds won the World Series by sweeping the Pirates and Yankees, Steve Yeager, who plays for the Dodgers, was severely injured while he was in the on-deck circle. Bill Russell was batting, and when he hit the ball, the bat shattered, and a large jagged shard of wood from the barrel of the bat hit Yeager in the throat. He needed emergency surgery on his throat to repair his esophagus. Later, he convinced the Dodgers trainer to design a throat protector, and you see most catchers using that today.”

“Maybe soccer?”

I chuckled, “I suppose, though slide tackles can cause serious leg injuries.”

“Golf?”

“We had a girl come into the ER because she was hit in the head with a golf club during the school team’s practice rounds.”

“MINI golf?”

“Not much exercise there,” I chuckled. “Fundamentally, nothing is one-hundred-percent safe. There are levels of risk, and really, that’s what this comes down to - how much risk you want to take. Does what happened to Jocelyn make you think we shouldn’t be driving?” I asked.

“No.”

“And it certainly doesn’t make you believe in speed limits!” I chuckled.

“You know, if you drive faster, we could be home sooner and have time to fool around before our guests arrive.”

“That’s true,” I replied, keeping the same speed.

“Husband...”

“What?”

“Drive faster!”

November 19, 1985, McKinley, Ohio

On Tuesday, I walked into the hospital with Clarissa, Maryam, Peter, and Fran, all of whom were doing preceptors at the hospital; only Sandy was missing, as she was at a private-practice OB/GYN.

“I hope you have an exciting shift,” I said to Peter and Maryam, who were assigned to the ER. “That’s the best way to learn.”

“Well, I sure won’t!” Fran said, shaking her head. “Radiology is boring as hell.”

“But we do need to know how to read x-rays, right?” Maryam asked.

“Sure, but that’s not what I’m doing; I carry x-rays to the wards, help with the mobile x-ray unit, and so on. Nobody even shows me the x-rays.”

“So ask!” Clarissa replied. “That’s how I got to stand closer to the operating table. I simply went up to the surgeon and said I couldn’t see very well from where they told me to stand. He allowed me to come up by the operating table.”

“And in the ER, you’re right up close, unless you’re a complete idiot,” I replied. “I hope you guys like Doctor Gibbs.”

“She’s awesome!” Maryam gushed.

“Yeah, if you’re not Melissa,” Peter said. “What a bit ... uh, sorry.”

“I think Mike agrees with you,” Clarissa interjected. “He’s just too polite to say it.”

“Is she still on scut?” I asked.

“Yes,” Peter replied. “And I don’t think she’s getting off anytime soon. Her attitude hasn’t changed at all from what I’ve seen in three weeks.”

“Jill is awesome,” Maryam said. “Though I think Nurse Ellie is interested in Peter.”

I laughed, “Nurse Ellie is interested in anyone who is male! I fended off her flirting for eight weeks!”

“But she knew you’re married and clergy, right?”

“I don’t think that matters to her,” Peter said, shaking his head.

We split at the sidewalk, with Maryam and Peter going to the ER, and the rest of us going in the main entrance so we could go to radiology, surgery, or, in my case, pediatrics. I took the stairs, rather than the elevator, and went to Nurse Julia to find out what I should do.

“Well, other than continuing to frustrate Ellie in the ER, you should go find Doctor Sumner. Doctor O’Neill is off today with influenza.”

“Thanks,” I replied with a wry smile. “Do you know where I can find Doctor Sumner?”

“I believe he’s in 208 with a patient.”

“Thanks again,” I replied.

I walked down the hall and found room 208, knocked, waited five seconds, and then went in.

“Hi, Mike,” Doctor Sumner said. “I’m sorry but we’re shorthanded, so I’m going to need you to run labs today. Head down and bring back what they’ve finished, along with a status on what they haven’t. They’re shorthanded today, too.”

“Yes, Doctor,” I replied.

I quickly made my way down to the ground floor, then to the window at the lab. I requested all of Doctor Sumner’s labs, as well as anything else for Pediatrics, and then asked for the status of any outstanding lab work. I wrote down everything the tech said in my notebook, then took the sheaf of lab reports back up to Pediatrics, where I found Doctor Sumner at the nurses’ station.

“I have six of the eight lab reports,” I said once he looked up from the chart he was updating. “The other two will be ready within the hour.”

“Thanks. We just admitted a patient from the ER. Would you call for an orderly, and then go down and bring him up, please? His name is Jack Kerry. Please make sure you bring his chart. See Julia when you come back up.”

“Will do!” I replied.

I went to the phone on the wall behind the nurses’ station, looked at the directory on the wall next to it, and dialed the number for ‘patient transport’. I repeated what Doctor Sumner had told me, confirmed the information, then headed down to the ER to meet the orderly.

“Hi, Mike!” Peter exclaimed when I walked into the ER. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to bring Jack Kerry up to Pediatrics. An orderly will be here in a moment. Busy?”

“Very. One of the school busses was hit by a pickup. Most of the kids are OK, but a couple of them have lacerations or contusions. Yours had a mild concussion, but we don’t have room to keep him down here for observation. He’s the one who was hurt the worst.”

“I bet the waiting room is full of frantic parents.”

“Nate has his hands full, that’s for sure. I’m going to bring Jack’s parents in, so they can go up with you.”

“Cool,” I replied.

A minute later he was back with Mr. and Mrs. Kerry and took them into Trauma 1. I waited for the orderly who arrived a minute later with a gurney, and we went into Trauma 1.

“Hi, Mike!” Doctor Gibbs called out. “Here for our patient?”

“I am. Doctor Sumner asked me to bring him up.”

“Jack, this is Mike. He’s a medical student. He and the orderly will take you up to Pediatrics. Mr. and Mrs. Kerry, you can follow along and Mike will take you to the Pediatrics Attending, Doctor Sumner.”

“I need his chart, please,” I said.

“Let me make some final notations, then we’ll move Jack to the gurney and you can be on your way.”

Two minutes later Doctor Gibbs, the orderly, whose name was Tom, and Nurse Ellie helped Jack scoot from the treatment table to the gurney.

“Call me, Mike,” Doctor Gibbs said.

“I will,” I replied.

“You can call me, too!” Nurse Ellie said with a bright smile.

“I think Elizaveta might object,” I replied. “Ask Doctor Gibbs about her.”

Tom, the Kerrys, and I left the trauma room, with Tom pushing the gurney and me guiding from the front.

“What’s with the different clothes?” Jack, who I guessed was about ten, asked.

“Jack!” Mrs. Kerry reprimanded. “Be polite!”

“It’s OK, Mrs. Kerry,” I replied. “I’m not dressed the way everyone else is and Jack’s just curious. Jack, I’m a deacon in the Russian Orthodox Church, and I wear a cassock in public - that’s the blue robes I have on under my medical coat. If I was working in the ER, though, I’d be wearing scrubs like the other doctors.”

“Our deacons don’t dress like that,” he said.

“Jack, be polite, please,” his mom pleaded.

“Mrs. Kerry,” I replied gently, “I don’t believe he’s being impolite. The way to learn is to ask questions. Jake, what church do you attend?”

“First Methodist,” he replied.

“Does your pastor wear a robe similar to mine?”

“Yes, but only during the service.”

“Well, in our tradition, all members of the clergy wear our cassocks anytime we’re out of the house. We have other vestments, which are fancier, which we wear during our services.”

“Aren’t you a bit young to be a deacon?” Mr. Kerry asked, to his wife’s clear exasperation with the questions.

“Yes. Usually, our deacons are either studying for the priesthood or are ordained later in life. There were a set of odd circumstances which led to me being ordained about four months ago.”

We got into the elevator and I pressed ‘2’ to take us up. When we arrived at the admitting desk, Nurse Julia directed us to room 211, where she and the orderly helped Jack scoot into the bed. Once he was situated, Nurse Julia checked his vitals and updated the chart. Just as she’d finished, Doctor Olson came into the room and checked the chart.

I ended up spending the rest of the afternoon running between Pediatrics, Radiology, the lab, and the ER. Whatever strain of influenza was going around had left nearly every department shorthanded, except the ER, because they had priority to call doctors from other services to the ER when necessary, and they’d needed to do that because of the ‘mass casualty’ incident - the bus crash.

“That was crazy!” Maryam declared when we all met outside the main entrance of the hospital just after 5:00pm. “We saw forty patients just from the bus crash!”

“I take it every kid needed to be examined?” Clarissa inquired.

“Yes,” Maryam replied. “But other than one kid with a mild concussion and one kid with a nasty laceration on his arm, nobody was really hurt.”

“Was the waiting room as crazy as I imagine it to have been?” I asked.

“As you would expect with around seventy frantic parents,” Peter replied. “Maryam and I spent almost the entire shift moving kids and parents in and out of treatment rooms.”

“And I ran around between the lab, Radiology, and the ER,” I replied.

“We were busy with all the ‘rule-out’ x-rays,” Clarissa said. “But radiology is STILL boring as hell.”

“I always wondered about that statement,” I chuckled. “Given the view of hell as a place of torture and suffering, I’m not sure how it could be boring! So ‘boring as hell’ would be like ‘sleep like a baby’ which implies sleeping soundly even though babies wake up every couple of hours to eat and have their diaper changed!”

“Or ‘cat nap’ meaning a short nap,” Peter replied. “My cat slept for hours and hours in the sun without budging!”

“Eat like a bird meaning eating very little,” Clarissa said. “Given the amount they eat compared to their body weight!”

I smirked, “Jumbo shrimp? Military intelligence? Or, one of George Carlin’s other favorites - business ethics.”

“See you all in a couple of hours at study group!” Clarissa declared as we walked into the parking lot and split to walk to our cars.

When I arrived home Elizaveta handed me a letter from the Clerk of Courts in Harding County. I grabbed a letter opener and slit open the envelope.

“I’m called to give testimony in Sasha’s annulment hearing on December 5th,” I said, reading the subpoena.

“By Sasha? Or Deacon Vasily?”

“It doesn’t say. It simply says that the Court requires me to appear on the 5th.”

“What could they possibly ask?”

“Well, when Sasha first got pregnant, she and Tasha asked for my advice, and I was at the house when Sasha revealed that she was pregnant. I suppose they can ask if I thought she was pressured in any way, or what Father Deacon Vasily said and did.”

“You didn’t tell me about that, though it was before we started seeing each other.”

“Basically, Deacon Vasily reacted as I would have expected. He was upset, but once he calmed down, he handled things in a Christian manner, at least as far as I’m aware. I don’t know the details of his conversations with Vika’s biological father, nor about anything that was said to or about Yaroslav, except the little bit that Tasha told me.”

“Do you think it really matters?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know enough about it to say. According to Father Nicholas, who spoke to Mrs. Malenkov, because Sasha was a minor, the presumption is that she didn’t actually consent.”

“Hang on! I consented!”

I nodded, “Yes, you did. But until you turn twenty, you could basically go to court and say your dad forced you to marry me and that Father Nicholas and Vladyka ARKADY pressured you into it so I could be ordained. And the Court would basically believe you.”

“That’s crazy!”

“I agree, but it also appears to be the way the law works. And it does make sense, if you think about it. If the girl says she was forced by her parents, should the Court just accept her parents saying they didn’t force her into it? It’s an impossible situation, so the Court has to err on the side of the girl.”