Chapter 27: A Man Can Dream, Can’t He?

July 1, 1986, McKinley, Ohio

“Michael Loucks,” I said, walking up to the nurses’ station in Internal Medicine. “I’m here for my first Preceptorship with Doctor Collins.”

The previous ten days had been relatively calm and uneventful, with the exception of Tasha not returning home, as Elizaveta and I had suspected would be the case. Clarissa seemed to be doing fine, and, to my surprise, had gone on a date with one of Jeannette’s lesbian friends. I had served with Father Alexi at the cathedral, and, as I had suspected might happen, he had been told he would be permanently assigned to Holy Transfiguration, once a protopresbyter had been appointed at the cathedral.

“Are you a priest?” the nurse asked.

“No, I’m a Deacon in the Russian Orthodox Church.”

“OK. Here’s your badge. Doctor Collins is in his office, and is expecting you. Down the corridor, first right, then first door on the right.”

I accepted the badge from her, clipped it to my pocket, then walked down the corridor, turned right, and knocked on the first door on the right.

“Come in,” a voice called out.

I opened the door and stuck my head in, “Michael Loucks.”

“Grab a chair. Mike OK? Or Michael?”

“Mike is fine,” I replied.

“Hospital administration warned me about your usual attire. I don’t have a problem with it, but we’ll need to gauge the patients’ reactions.”

“I have a black shirt and tie, along with black slacks,” I said. “It’s not a problem for me to change.”

“I’ll leave that up to you,” he replied. “You’ll be shadowing a Fourth Year while she does admissions, blood draws, checks IVs, chases labs and x-rays, and so on. We only do rounds in the morning, so you’ll miss those. According to Doctor Roth, you’re looking at trauma or surgery, so I suspect this will be boring for you.”

“I know it’s going to sound trite, but any opportunity to learn is valuable, and I don’t find anything to do with medicine to be boring.”

There was a knock at the door, and I turned to look, suppressing a groan when I saw who was there.

“Hi, Melissa,” Doctor Collins said. “This is Mike. He’ll be shadowing you.”

“We’ve met,” she said.

“Well, good then! Go ahead, Mike. My door is always open, so to speak. Knock if it’s physically closed.”

“Thank you, Doctor Collins.”

I got up and walked out into the corridor.

“Sorry,” Melissa said.

“If you can hack it, I can hack it,” I replied. “If you play it straight, I’ll play it straight, and we won’t have any problems.”

Melissa smiled, “I can. Remember, I asked you if you’d help me and you agreed.”

I had, though I’d hoped that it would never come to that.

“I remember,” I replied.

“I’m not really a bitch,” she said.

“Do you remember what I said to you when you asked me to help you?”

“You confused me by telling me something different from anything I’d ever heard before.”

“And?”

“You never thought I was a bitch, did you?”

“No. You had poor teachers, and it had the same exact effect that it would if we had poor teachers in medical school — a complete lack of understanding which could be fatal.”

“How do you tell the good teachers from the bad?”

“It’s a tricky business,” I said. “But I need to change. Where’s the locker room? I need to put on ‘civilian’ clothes.”

“There isn’t one. There are lockers in the lounge. It’s behind the nurses’ station.”

She followed me, but stopped at the door.

“It’s OK,” I said. “I have on gym shorts and a thin, long-sleeved t-shirt under my cassock.”

She followed me into the lounge, where I quickly changed into my ‘civilian’ street clothes, finishing by knotting my tie.

“Did Doctor Collins require you to change?”

“No, he left it to me. Ultimately, it won’t be a choice, because my choice of emergency medicine means my usual work attire will be scrubs. And according to what was said in our practical course on being a doctor, some hospitals are moving to have all doctors and nurses wear scrubs. We’ve already seen almost all nurses move away from the white uniforms with the caps.”

“You’re afraid it might put people off?”

I shrugged, “As a physician, my job will be to heal, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to ensure that happens. That’s Christ’s role as ‘Great Physician’ — to do that which is necessary to heal our souls, no matter the cost. You were taught that wasn’t possible, and I’d say that’s your first sign of a poor teacher — one who denies God’s power to save us.”

“I was taught that decision was made before the foundation of the world.”

“Then you were taught that God intentionally creates people who are damned to hell for eternity through nothing they have done. That god would be a cruel, evil monster, who gets off on torturing completely innocent souls!”

“I want to talk about this later, but now I need to draw blood from four patients and check IVs.”

We left the lounge, and Melissa led me down the main corridor and into the first room.

“This is Mike, a Second Year medical student,” Melissa said. “He’s shadowing me.”

I nodded to the patient and watched as Melissa checked the chart, then checked the patient’s IV and replaced the nearly empty bag. She took vitals, drew a vial of blood, and we left the room.

“It might be helpful if you told me what the situation was with each patient,” I prompted.

“Sorry! I haven’t been shadowed before.”

I suppressed another groan, wondering what I’d done for the universe to treat me this way.

“Then we’ll learn together,” I replied.

“Mr. Connery is day two post-op for a ruptured appendix. He’s on high-dose antibiotics, but shows no signs of peritonitis.”

“Thanks. I’d like a running commentary, if you don’t mind. Just tell me each thing you’re doing and why you’re doing it.”

“That didn’t happen on my internal medicine Preceptorship.”

“Speaking of poor teachers,” I said, shaking my head. “Nobody told you how to do this?”

“No.”

I sighed, “So you just do what the Fourth Year did when you were in this position, which they did because that’s how it was with them. That makes the poor teacher the Attendings who didn’t ensure the medical students knew they were supposed to be teaching, not putting on a performance.”

“I’m not sure I’d say that to the Attendings,” Melissa advised.

“It’s the only way anything will change. If we don’t speak up, who will?”

“I’m not exactly in a position to speak up,” Melissa replied. “I think everyone is looking for a way to fail me.”

“They probably are,” I replied. “Which means you have to be better than everyone else; maybe twice as good.”

“That’s impossible!” she protested.

“How badly do you want to be a doctor?” I asked.

“It’s all I’ve wanted to do since I turned fifteen, even though my dad felt I should marry at eighteen and have a litter of kids.”

“Let’s just say your dad does not have a history of good decision making.”

Melissa was quiet as we walked down the corridor so she could put the vial of blood into a small plastic bin which would be taken to the lab.

“Do you think them assigning you to me is a setup?” she asked as we walked towards the second patient’s room.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” I replied. “But if that was true, they erred seriously in their judgment.”

“Because you’ve, well, I guess forgiven me?”

“Call it giving you a second chance. You didn’t do anything specifically directed at me, though my friends can’t say the same.”

“How do you do it?”

“Christian love,” I replied. “You should try it sometime.”

July 2, 1986, McKinley, Ohio

“No way!” Clarissa protested on Wednesday morning when I told her about being assigned to Melissa Bush.

“It’s true,” I replied. “I didn’t tell you last night because I didn’t want to have it discussed by the group.”

“Your cross to bear?” Clarissa asked.

“The more I think about it, the more I suspect it’s HER cross to bear, but if she bears it, and plays it straight, she might actually make it through the program and Match.”

“And you’re OK with that?”

I shrugged, “She, like anyone, deserves a chance to correct the errors of the past. And, yes, before you ask, that includes her dad. That doesn’t mean either of them escapes all consequences of their bad behavior, but if they repent and turn from their sin, it’s incumbent on us to aid them in their journey. Would YOU want to be judged based on a single error?”

“There’s a difference between an honest mistake and premeditated murder!”

“Think that difference matters one bit to the patient who dies because a sponge was left in their abdomen after surgery? Or to their families?”

“Well, no.”

“I didn’t say Frank Bush shouldn’t be punished, even severely. But if he does repent, then he should have a chance for release, even if it’s thirty years from now.”

“Robby doesn’t agree.”

“I know, and he’s entitled to his position. That will be true even after he becomes Orthodox, so he can marry Sophia. We’re always allowed our private opinions, and only clergy are restricted from voicing them when they might be taken as official positions of the Church.”

“Do you disagree with the Church on anything other than sex and abortion?”

“Nothing dogmatic, obviously, or I wouldn’t have accepted ordination. Remember, the only true dogma is that which has been proclaimed to be so by the seven Ecumenical Councils. Anything else is subject to interpretation and application by the local bishop. You know my position on abortion; the key is, that like every other teaching of the Church, it’s not for me to impose it on anyone. I can teach, in love, but not command. As for sex, it’s not that I disagree with the teachings of the Church, but that I elected not to follow the teachings.”

“Because you like sex WAY too much to abstain for any period!”

“Perhaps,” I smirked.

“Is your pussy cat still insatiable?”

“I satisfy her very well!” I said smugly. “But if you mean is she still a very horny teenager, then yes, she is.”

“No complaints, I take it?”

“Do I LOOK like an idiot?”

“Well...” Clarissa smirked. “So, back to what we started with — you’re OK with the situation with Melissa?”

“I see it as an opportunity for me to bear witness to a much different version of Christianity from what she was taught, and an opportunity for her to demonstrate that she deserves a chance to be a doctor.”

“Do you think she should be?”

“As with salvation, that’s not up to me.”

“Can she actually teach you anything?”

“I can learn something from anyone,” I replied. “And in this case, she and I can learn from each other.”

“You’re a very strange guy, Petrovich.”

“If that’s news, Lissa, you haven’t been paying attention!”

July 4, 1986, McKinley, Ohio

“A day off!” Elizaveta exclaimed when we woke on Friday morning.

“Only because it’s not a Tuesday,” I replied. “Remember, next year, my clinical rotations do not allow for any holidays.”

“That’s so unfair!”

“To the people who would die if hospitals were closed for holidays?” I asked.

“Well, not when you put it that way.”

“This is the life we’ve signed up for, and it started a year ago.”

“Oh, I know,” Elizaveta replied. “I accept it, but that doesn’t mean I will never complain about it!”

“Far be it from me to deprive a Russian woman of her right to complain about anything in the universe which does not follow her commands or meet her expectations!”

“What are you trying to say, husband?”

“That I love you for being the feisty young woman you are!”

“And that’s all?”

“No, of course not! That’s simply one of many reasons!”

“Are we running this morning?”

“I had planned to,” I replied. “Or did you want to stay in bed?”

“We could work up a nice sweat in here!”

“But you just washed the sheets yesterday!” I protested with a silly grin.

“We have two spare sets!”

“If you’re sure...”

“Michael Peter Loucks, the sheets are NOT a concern!”

“Then I shall endeavor to mess them up to your complete satisfaction.”

“You’d better!”

An hour later, sweaty and satisfied, we got out of bed and went to the bathroom for a joint shower. After the shower, we dressed, then ate a leisurely breakfast, though given it was Friday, and we were past Pentecost, there was no bacon. It also meant we’d have PB&J sandwiches at the picnic, but I was used to that after twenty-three years of following the cycles of fasts and feasts, as well as the usual Wednesday/Friday fasts.

After breakfast, Elizaveta and I worked together to prepare our picnic basket and cooler. Once we had everything ready, we took a walk, then carried everything to the car for the drive to Milton Lake, where Jason had a large area staked out for our extended group of friends.

“Pete decided to go home for the three-day weekend,” Jason said after greeting us.

“How’s he doing?” I asked.

“He’s been seeing a counselor who specializes in helping the loved ones of someone who takes their own life. I think he’ll be OK in the end, but he’s not doing so hot right now. Fortunately, the research we’re doing occupies a lot of time. Fran and I make sure he visits regularly, and as you’ve seen, we encourage him to join us for our group outings.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Will do,” Jason replied. “I’m curious, are you swimming and playing football with us?”

“Yes. I have on shorts and a t-shirt under my cassock, and both Elizaveta and I brought bathing suits.”

I’d called the Chancery the previous afternoon to find out what Vladyka JOHN expected of me, and he was gracious to allow me to use my own judgment as to wearing the cassock during the day. I’d decided to wear it until we’d had our lunch, then just wear shorts and a t-shirt to play. I’d change into my bathing suit for swimming, then, when it was time for dinner, change back into my cassock, which I’d wear until the end of the day.

“Cool. I guess your new bishop is a bit less strict than your former one.”

“A bit,” I replied, “though Bishop ARKADY wasn’t against athletic attire or bathing suits, when appropriate.”

“So you could dance with Jocelyn without getting in trouble?” he asked.

“So long as it was completely chaste, yes.”

Jason laughed, “I don’t know Jocelyn nearly as well as you do, but the idea of her doing a ‘bump and grind’ with anyone, even her husband, is not something I’d expect to see.”

“True,” I agreed.

“Mike?” Sophia called out. “Could you or Jason come help Robby and the other one help me with our picnic basket and cooler?”

We went with her, and Jason, being stronger, helped Robby while I helped Sophia bring their picnic basket, cooler, and blanket to the area Jason had staked out. Clarissa arrived just then with a pretty redhead whom she introduced as her friend Tessa.

“You seem to be getting better,” Jason said to Robby.

“Yeah, it’s the uneven ground that has Sophia concerned, and she has a point. The last thing I need to do now is fall, when I’m getting so close to being able to move around more freely.”

“What’s up with the trial?” Gene asked as he and Jocelyn joined us.

“It’s on the 22nd. I honestly think jury selection will last longer than the trial, given that it’s a slam-dunk case, and he’s been willing to plead guilty. The penalty phase, where they decide if he gets the death penalty, is where he can make his arguments for a lesser sentence.”

“Not to open a can of worms,” Jason said, “but why not just accept something like twenty-five to life and skip the trial?”

“Mike’s position,” Robby replied.

I shrugged, “An opinion I hold strongly, for both secular and religious reasons.”

“I get the religious reasons,” Gene said. “But secular?”

“I don’t think the government should have the power to murder its own citizens. And before you say it, I know the Constitution contemplates it. That said, where do you draw the line? Execution for littering? Disagreeing with the government?”

“Oh, come on!” Robby growled, shaking his head.

“He has a point,” Jocelyn interjected. “Totalitarian governments kill their political opponents with regularity, even if they’re thinly disguised as accidents or ‘random’ killings. Think about what’s going on in Poland; a couple of years ago, the Polish Secret Police murdered Jerzy Popiełuszko, a Roman Catholic priest. And that’s just a recent example.”

“But weren’t the murderers tried and convicted?” Robby asked.

“Do you really think some low-level supervisor, or whatever he was, gave the actual order?” I asked. “Oh, sure, he said the words, but this is right up there with Mehmet Ali Ağca shooting Pope John Paul II. We know a government was behind it, most likely the Soviets. And, we also know the US doesn’t exactly have clean hands in the matter, though so far, nobody has been quite bold enough to make it official policy.”

“You seriously think the US government would do those kinds of things?” Jason asked.

“Ask Clark about police murdering blacks and getting away with it,” I replied. “Not identical, but again, the same problem — the power to kill is abused.”

“In THIS case?” Robby inquired testily.

“And that is exactly the problem,” I replied. “Once it’s permitted, there is nothing to rein it in except the whims of the majority. The Supreme Court struck down all capital punishment statutes, and it took all of four years for the Supreme Court to reinstate it, and only another year before Gary Gilmore was executed. Basically, since the seventies, we’ve gone on a killing spree while Europe has ended capital punishment. I think the last execution in Great Britain was in the 60s.”