Chapter 20: The Boiling Point

October 11, 1987, McKinley, Ohio

When I arrived home from church, I tended to Rachel’s needs, laid her in her crib to sleep, then called the chancery in Columbus. The call was answered by the answering machine with a message saying Bishop JOHN was out of town and would return late in the evening, so I left a message asking for a meeting on Saturday.

I remembered I hadn’t called Sheila despite promising to call her during the week, so I picked up the phone and dialed her number in Cincinnati.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Mike,” I said.

“Hi. I thought maybe you had decided not to call.”

“Just busy,” I replied. “Between my clinical rotations, Rachel, karate, band practice, and church, I have no time.”

“You’re going to burn out if you aren’t careful!”

“Actually karate and band practice are my chosen forms of stress relief. And being in church helps me remain at peace.”

That was true, though the other stuff at church was doing exactly the opposite, but I couldn’t really discuss that with Sheila, even though she was, in a way, part of it. I’d mentioned single parents to Father Nicholas, and Sheila was one of them, along with Tasha and Elaine. I’d met a couple of nurses in the same situation as well.

There were, I’d heard from one of the nurses, support groups for single parents, but it was obvious from the way she described it that it was almost all women. Joining such a group would, undoubtedly, result in some judgmental person or persons running to Father Nicholas or the bishop to complain. I simply couldn’t understand why someone would do that, unless it was a personal vendetta such as Nik.

“It seems as if you don’t have any free time when we could meet and talk.”

“If you’re willing to drive to McKinley, next Sunday afternoon would work, or even Monday or Wednesday evening, but I don’t get home until about 6:30pm, which would mean a long drive for you late in the evening.”

“Do you get any time off?”

“Not really, no. My next time off will be after my first year of Residency.”

“When is that?”

“I’ll get a vacation sometime around June of 1990.”

“No way! What about Thanksgiving and Christmas?”

“If I’m on shift, I work. Hospitals don’t close for holidays! My current hours are 6:00am to 6:00pm Monday to Friday, and this rotation goes through the end of November. I’ll work all day on Thanksgiving, and no, there is no day off in exchange. I don’t know my schedule for Pediatrics, but it’s entirely possible I’ll have to work Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and New Year’s Day.”

“That has to suck.”

“I knew what I was signing up for,” I said. “Nobody hid that from me. I was surprised to discover no vacations after our first year of med school, but if I’d thought about it, I’d have realized that, too. And, just so you know the full score, Residency, which starts in June of 1989, is between ninety and a hundred hours per week, with thirty-six-hour shifts.”

“Holy crap!”

“As I said, I knew that going in.”

Which was also true of my situation as a deacon, though the difference was that the training requirements were just that — requirements, while the potential for lifetime celibacy had been so improbable that I didn’t truly consider it possible. Sadly, improbable didn’t mean impossible.

“What about next Sunday?”

“That would be fine, though by the time I get home from church, we’ll only have a few hours before I join my friends from church for what we call ‘Dinner Club’. It’s something we started right after I married.”

“I do want to talk to you about baptizing Michael, so maybe I could come to church. It seemed as if there were two separate services from the service book I used, and some people didn’t show up until right before the main service, whatever it’s called. Is that OK?”

It would actually likely cause more chatter, but to refuse to allow someone to come to church was, for me, beyond the pale. I’d have to let Father Nicholas know she’d be at church, and be careful not to say anything about seeing her after church, but there was no way I’d say ‘no’ to her request.

“That would be OK. The first part is Matins, or morning prayer. The second part is the Divine Liturgy, which is the Eucharistic service. It’s perfectly acceptable to show up towards the end of Matins, which probably half the people do.”

“Not to be too forward, but could you invite a friend to this dinner?”

And have Tasha murder me, I thought. Not to mention the trouble it could cause at church, especially given the rumors and gossip about me.

“I could, but it wouldn’t be wise, at least at this point.”

“Just as friends, Mike.”

“I know, but ... it’s complicated and there are things going on which I can’t really talk about right now.”

“Are you in trouble for something?”

“No, but I seriously cannot discuss it at this point.”

“OK. I’ll plan to be at your church next Sunday around 8:45am.”

“That sounds good,” I replied. “I’ll see you then.”

I decided to simply take the bull by the horns and called Father Nicholas at home.

“What can I do for you, Deacon?” he asked after Matushka called him to the phone.

“My friend, Sheila, from Cincinnati, is going to come to liturgy next Sunday,” I said. “She asked me about baptizing her son, and I’m going to talk to her about it.”

Father Nicholas sighed, “Are you intentionally trying to poke people in the eye?

“Are you saying I should refuse to discuss the Church with an inquirer? Are you saying Jesus was wrong to eat with prostitutes and publicans? She’s neither of those, and we are just friends.”

“Deacon...” Father Nicholas began.

“Tell me, Father, who is acting like a Christian, and who is acting like a Pharisee?” I asked.

“You know that’s not the point,” he protested.

“Actually, it’s exactly the point,” I said firmly, knowing I sounded as if I was reprimanding him, which, in a way, I was. “I’m not going to spend the next sixty years avoiding situations that might offend hypocritical and Pharisaical individuals at Saint Michael, Holy Transfiguration, or the Cathedral. That is, after all, what you’re implying.”

“Deacon, you’re out of line,” Father Nicholas said.

“So was Jesus, so I’m in good company,” I replied snarkily, because I’d simply had enough.

“Have you spoken to His Grace?”

“He was out of town, so I left a message requesting a meeting for Saturday. I’m going to write out my request to be returned to the order of the laity and hand it to him on Saturday. I expect to be immediately suspended from serving until he makes his decision.”

“It didn’t have to come to this, Deacon,” Father Nicholas said ruefully.

“No, it didn’t,” I replied. “But it’s not of my making. And if you’re about to accuse me of intentional provocation, I challenge you to show how what I am doing is any different from how I conducted myself before Elizaveta’s repose. And her death did not change the Gospel nor the imperative to proclaim it.”

“Again, you know that is not the point.”

“I know no such thing,” I replied flatly.

“I’m going to have to call His Grace,” Father Nicholas said. “You’ve left me no choice.”

“That’s fine, Father. I don’t want you to get in trouble with him. As of right now, I no longer feel as if I am a deacon of the Church. I will, of course, abide by all clergy guidelines and wear my cassock and ryassa until relieved of the obligation to do so. I’ll be at Vespers, but I won’t serve unless directed otherwise by His Grace.”

“Please do not discuss this with anyone, Deacon.”

“That I can’t promise,” I said. “I do need counsel, so I may discuss it with one of my mentors, but I’ll be careful.”

“Mike, I have to insist.”

“Fine, Father,” I said flatly. “Let me know what His Grace says.”

“I will. Have a good day, Deacon.”

“You too, Father.”

I hung up the phone and realized my blood pressure was up and I needed to calm down. I picked up my guitar and began playing, hoping that would bring down my stress level. I really wanted to speak to someone, but I couldn’t do that without directly disobeying Father Nicholas, something I couldn’t in good conscience do. Playing my guitar wasn’t helping the way I had hoped, so I put it away, checked on Rachel, then went to the main house where I was happy to see Anna and Geno.

“Would you mind watching Rachel for an hour or so?” I asked Anna. “I want to go for a run.”

“Of course! Do you want to bring her here?”

“She’s sleeping, and I really don’t want to mess up her schedule, so if you’d sit with her in the cottage, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course!”

She, Geno, and I went back to the cottage, I went to the bedroom and put on sweats and my running shoes, then left the cottage. I elected to run the same five-kilometer course Elizaveta and I had run before she’d had to stop as her pregnancy advanced. I tired much more quickly than I had in the past because I hadn’t been running, but I pushed on to complete the entire five kilometers before returning to the cottage for a shower. Once I was dressed, I thanked Anna and Geno and they left.

I felt a bit better, though I really wasn’t in a mood to have dinner with my friends because I would have real difficulty concealing my emotional state, and refusing to say what was bothering me would create even more concern. Of course, canceling would create similar questions unless I fibbed, and I wasn’t about to do that.

Just before 5:00pm, as I was getting ready to leave for Anicka’s house, the phone rang.

“Deacon Michael’s Residence,” I said. “Deacon Michael speaking.”

“It’s Father Nicholas. His Grace wants to see you as soon as possible. He understands your limited availability and wondered if you would be free for dinner tomorrow at my house.”

“My shift ends at 6:00pm,” I replied. “But there is no guarantee I can leave immediately. I’ll let Doctor Gibbs know I have an important meeting, and she’ll do her best to accommodate.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario?”

“A major set of traumas late in the day where I have to stay. The chances are small, but I think we’ve seen how small chances can actually come to pass.”

“Quite so. I’ll plan the meal for 7:00pm, which will give us some leeway. Can you arrange for someone to watch Rachel?”

“Yes. I’ll ask Serafima and Elias, and if they aren’t available, I’ll ask Mark and Alyssa.”

“Then we’ll see you tomorrow evening. Have a good night, Deacon.”

“You, too, Father.”

I hung up, not at all surprised that the bishop was coming to see me, and that meant I had to write out my letter. I decided it was best to do it when I came home after dinner, though it wasn’t going to be an easy letter to write. I finished getting ready to go to dinner, packed Rachel’s things, then carried her out to the car for the drive to Anicka’s house.

We had a nice evening, and I managed to conceal my negative feelings and spiritual difficulties from friends. I arranged with Serafima and Elias to watch Rachel, and they accepted my stated reason — dinner with Father Nicholas. I didn’t stay late at Dinner Club, opting to head home before 9:00pm so I had time to write the letter and get to bed at a reasonable time.

When I arrived home, I put Rachel down, hoping she’d stick to her schedule, and went to Elizaveta’s Mac to type my letter to Vladyka JOHN. It took an hour to get it just right, and I toned it down from my initial draft, which had been more like my conversation with Father Nicholas earlier in the day. In revising the letter, I realized I owed Father Nicholas an apology for my tone, which I would give him in front of the bishop.

The letter completed, I said my evening prayers, then got into bed, happy that Rachel had stuck to her schedule.

October 12, 1987, McKinley, Ohio

“Doctor Gibbs,” I said from the door of the Attending’s office early on Monday morning. “Do you have a moment?”

“Sure, Mike. Come in.”

I shut the door but remained standing.

“I have a meeting with my bishop tonight at 7:00pm, so, if at all possible, I need to leave on time.”

“Is this what I think it is?”

“I’m forbidden from speaking about it to anyone,” I said.

“Got it,” Doctor Gibbs said knowingly. “We’ll do our best. What will change?”

I shook my head, “I seriously cannot speak to anyone about it.”

“OK. Sorry for pushing.”

“You’re my mentor and my friend,” I said. “It’s not only expected, it’s right, but in this case, I simply can’t say anything.”

“I understand. You know if you need to talk, I’m always available.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

I left her office and was headed towards the lounge when Nurse Ellie stopped me.

“Doctor Nielson needs you in Exam 2,” she said. “Eight-year-old with a head lac.”

I nodded and went to Exam 2.

“Nurse Ellie said you needed me,” I said.

“I’d like you to suture this forehead lac, please.”

“Who do we have here?”

“Jimmy,” Doctor Nielson replied. “He’s eight.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Playground collision,” he said. “They were playing kickball and he was running to first base. He and the first-baseman collided, forehead to forehead.”

“Any LOC?”

“No. Just a lot of blood.”

“Typical of a forehead lac,” I replied. “Nurse Ellie, I’ll need a suture kit, 4-0 nylon, saline, an irrigation syringe, a syringe with a 25-gauge needle, lidocaine, Betadine, and a stick swab, please.”

“Right away, Mike,” Nurse Ellie replied.

“Hi, Jimmy,” I said to the boy lying on the exam table. “I’m Mike and I’m going to get you stitched up. The first thing I’m going to do is give you some medicine that will numb your forehead. OK?”

“A shot?” he asked.

I nodded, “Yes.”

“I HATE shots!” he protested.

“Jimmy...” his mom said from the corner where she was standing.

I turned to her and said, “It’s OK. I don’t like shots either! Does Jimmy have any allergies or dietary restrictions?”

“No.”

I turned to Jimmy. “If I try and sew your cut without it, it’s going to hurt worse than it does now. I have a suggestion, if you want to hear it.”

“What?” he asked apprehensively.

“First, what kind of candy do you like?”

“M&Ms!” he declared.

I had, when I’d gone to the grocery store, bought an assortment of candy to supplement the suckers, and had several things in the pocket of my lab coat, including, fortunately, M&Ms. I pulled them from the pocket of my lab coat and handed them to him.

“Now THAT is a magic trick!” Jimmy’s mom said.

“You can have these when we’re done if you let me fix you up.”

“OK! What are you going to do?”

“Let’s cover your eyes,” I suggested. “That way you won’t see the needle, and you don’t have to worry about anything splashing. Are you OK with that?”

“I think so,” he said.

“I’ll give you the medicine, then put in about ten stitches. That won’t hurt because of the medicine I’m going to give you.”

“OK,” he agreed.

“Nurse Ellie, 10x10 surgical sponge please, folded over once, and surgical tape, please.”

I got up and washed my hands, then put on gloves, and sat down on the stool next to the exam table. Nurse Ellie prepared everything I’d asked for and put it on an instrument tray.

“Cut two pieces of surgical tape, please, Nurse; about two inches long.”

She did that, and I taped the sponge in place to cover Jimmy’s eyes.

“Just relax, Jimmy,” I said. “It might sting a bit when I give you the medicine, but that won’t last long because it will numb the entire area.”

“OK,” he said nervously.

I filled the syringe with lidocaine, then administered it via the direct wound infiltration technique. Because of the length of the laceration, I needed five one-milliliter injections. but Jimmy only winced on the first one, as the lidocaine began to take effect immediately.

“All done with the shots,” I said. “You were a champ! Now I’m going to clean your forehead and use saline, which is clean water with salt, to rinse out the cut. I promise you won’t feel a thing.”

Nurse Ellie poured Betadine into a basin and I used the stick swab to apply it to Jimmy’s forehead, ensuring the area around the laceration was well covered. I helped him turn his head, then irrigated the wound with saline. I saw no debris of any kind, which meant I was ready to debride the edges of the wound, and ensure I had good edges for closure. I only needed to remove a bit of dermis, and once I’d done so, I was ready to being suturing.

“4-0 nylon on a needle driver, please, Nurse.”

Nurse Ellie handed me the instruments.

“I’m going to use interrupted sutures,” I said.

She moved to the correct position to assist, and I began suturing. As I did so, I recalculated how many sutures I’d need and came to thirteen. I was tempted to space them slightly further apart to make twelve or slightly closer to make fourteen, but decided I’d go with thirteen. When I finished, Doctor Nielson examined my work.

“Very good, Mike. Nice spacing, clean, neat, and good wound closure.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

I removed the surgical sponge which was covering Jimmy’s eyes and Nurse Ellie handed me a mirror without being prompted. I held it so Jimmy could see the sutures.

“Cool!” he exclaimed.

“Boys!” his mom said, shaking her head.

I chuckled, “We do tend to be easily entertained and scars are par for the course!”

“How bad will it be?”

“He’s eight, and given the location just above the eyebrow. It’ll be obvious at first, but fade over time. I’d say by the time he graduates from college you’ll only see it if you look for it.”

“Bummer!” Jimmy declared causing Doctor Nielson and me to laugh and his mom to shake her head.

“Doctor Nielson?” I prompted, as I couldn’t give the aftercare instructions without his approval.