11:37 PM
I'm so tired. I am so tired.
I come in, dump my bag on the floor, throw the mail on the desk. A couple of envelopes on top of the stack hesitate, and then slide off and crash to the floor. I leave them there -- I'll deal with it later. I lean my cane against the desk chair, wincing a little as I shift my weight to my left leg, and shrug off my jacket.
I throw the jacket over the back of the chair and look over the living room. My chair looks so inviting -- I'm stiff and sore and just ready to drop -- but no books, no TV tonight. I can feel myself crashing.
I take a Vicodin, stop off in the kitchen for a drink, and head off for the bedroom. I stay focused on getting undressed -- I don't feel like falling and I don't feel like thinking about all the other stuff yet. Shirt off, into the closet. Shoes. Jeans. Pillows, pills, light. And now I'm alone in the dark.
After our little celebration, I spent some time looking at baby Kalamata's CT and taking care of some other things. Chase and then Foreman came by and said good night, and finally Wilson came back.
"Ready to go?" I asked.
"Yeah," he replied. "Well... no." He looked to the wall for a long moment.
I waited. Finally he looked up again. "You hungry?"
We ended up taking a drive in the Vette. We drove around for a while, stopped someplace for burgers and fries. A couple of times he looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't speak up.
I didn't know what to say, either. We'd already gotten the thank-God-Vogler's-gone out of our systems, and I didn't want to think about it for a while. I still need to finish Cameron's file, and I have no idea what I'm going to do about Chase. I'm still not sure how much he blabbed to Volger.
And what's Wilson going back to? I knew the board would hang me out to dry, but... him! Why is he going back? How can he face them? How can they face him? And he hasn't said a word about how this all went over with Julie.
I stared at my cold french fries. Cam's file on my desk -- my fault. Wilson and the board -- my fault. This is all my fault. And I can't let myself start thinking about Naomi, not yet, not here -- if I had handled this better, maybe...
"Hey.
"Hey."
Wilson's voice cut into my reverie -- or was I just nodding off? I looked up. God, he looked tired.
"I said, are you ready to go?"
I crumpled the burger wrapper. "Yeah."
I kept an eye on him as we crossed the parking lot. I did this to him.
He stepped aside to let me unlock the passenger door. I hesitated.
"Another spin on the interstate?" I asked, my hand palm up, ready to toss him the keys.
His eyes narrowed, but only for a moment before he chuckled softly. "Not tonight. But I will collect on that sometime."
We drove back to the parking garage. "See you tomorrow," he said, and got into his own car.
And now I'm back home. I should be happy, and for a couple of hours this evening I was elated, but the buzz is over. I'm so stiff, I ache all over, and I know that Vogler's gone but the nightmare isn't over yet. And this whole thing is all my fault.
It's a familiar refrain. I'll deal with it tomorrow. I start letting myself think about Naomi, about the embolus, about how we could have handled it better. My brain starts feeling more comfortable, reassured with clinical matters to think about; my body is feeling much more comfortable now that I'm in bed and don't have the big angry giant breathing down my neck any more. I can feel myself crashing, quickly sliding into sleep.
I come in, dump my bag on the floor, throw the mail on the desk. A couple of envelopes on top of the stack hesitate, and then slide off and crash to the floor. I leave them there -- I'll deal with it later. I lean my cane against the desk chair, wincing a little as I shift my weight to my left leg, and shrug off my jacket.
I throw the jacket over the back of the chair and look over the living room. My chair looks so inviting -- I'm stiff and sore and just ready to drop -- but no books, no TV tonight. I can feel myself crashing.
I take a Vicodin, stop off in the kitchen for a drink, and head off for the bedroom. I stay focused on getting undressed -- I don't feel like falling and I don't feel like thinking about all the other stuff yet. Shirt off, into the closet. Shoes. Jeans. Pillows, pills, light. And now I'm alone in the dark.
After our little celebration, I spent some time looking at baby Kalamata's CT and taking care of some other things. Chase and then Foreman came by and said good night, and finally Wilson came back.
"Ready to go?" I asked.
"Yeah," he replied. "Well... no." He looked to the wall for a long moment.
I waited. Finally he looked up again. "You hungry?"
We ended up taking a drive in the Vette. We drove around for a while, stopped someplace for burgers and fries. A couple of times he looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't speak up.
I didn't know what to say, either. We'd already gotten the thank-God-Vogler's-gone out of our systems, and I didn't want to think about it for a while. I still need to finish Cameron's file, and I have no idea what I'm going to do about Chase. I'm still not sure how much he blabbed to Volger.
And what's Wilson going back to? I knew the board would hang me out to dry, but... him! Why is he going back? How can he face them? How can they face him? And he hasn't said a word about how this all went over with Julie.
I stared at my cold french fries. Cam's file on my desk -- my fault. Wilson and the board -- my fault. This is all my fault. And I can't let myself start thinking about Naomi, not yet, not here -- if I had handled this better, maybe...
"Hey.
"Hey."
Wilson's voice cut into my reverie -- or was I just nodding off? I looked up. God, he looked tired.
"I said, are you ready to go?"
I crumpled the burger wrapper. "Yeah."
I kept an eye on him as we crossed the parking lot. I did this to him.
He stepped aside to let me unlock the passenger door. I hesitated.
"Another spin on the interstate?" I asked, my hand palm up, ready to toss him the keys.
His eyes narrowed, but only for a moment before he chuckled softly. "Not tonight. But I will collect on that sometime."
We drove back to the parking garage. "See you tomorrow," he said, and got into his own car.
And now I'm back home. I should be happy, and for a couple of hours this evening I was elated, but the buzz is over. I'm so stiff, I ache all over, and I know that Vogler's gone but the nightmare isn't over yet. And this whole thing is all my fault.
It's a familiar refrain. I'll deal with it tomorrow. I start letting myself think about Naomi, about the embolus, about how we could have handled it better. My brain starts feeling more comfortable, reassured with clinical matters to think about; my body is feeling much more comfortable now that I'm in bed and don't have the big angry giant breathing down my neck any more. I can feel myself crashing, quickly sliding into sleep.
1 Comments:
I think I'll sneak in a hug, Doc--it's sort of like working on an animal after it's been hit by a *tranq* dart. A person *knows* they’d get clawed to death or eaten if they tried anything when the animal was fully *awake.* ;-) I realize… It's a dastardly thing of me to do when you're out of it. ;-) But, after what you've been through, *someone* should hug you. And, as the resident warm n' fuzzy 'designated hugger,' that would be me. ;-) {{{{{{{Doc}}}}}}}} You can *whack* me with your cane for getting ‘fresh’ when you feel better… ;-)
I hope you have a long, deep, peaceful and dreamless sleep, after the living Hell you've gone through over the past days and weeks.
It's too much to process, right now. But, even though Cameron (and probably not a few other people, as well) think you're rather 'godlike,' you're not the one who told Vogler to donate 100 million dollars to PPTH, come in and try to tear everything apart. You, along with Cuddy and Wilson, *stopped* Vogler in his tracks. Saving patients won out over fudging studies and artificially padding profit margins.
It may not feel like a victory, right now. But, it *is.* Wilson, Cuddy and you were all amazing. Sure, Cuddy was temporarily blinded by dollar signs. And, even Wilson's political and social prowess couldn't do much against someone as tyrannical and evil as Vogler, although he did his living best. As for yourself, well, it's no shock that the political and social arenas aren't your particular fortes. Yet, together, you *stopped* that monster. I wish it hadn't been at the cost of Naomi's life, as I'm sure everyone at PPTH wishes, too. Vogler, that swine, as much as murdered that woman.
But, thanks to y'all, no more patients will suffer or die due to Vogler's conscienceless greed and unethical manipulations. I'm glad Olive the baby's going to be okay, too--her parents might be 'idiots,' but there was just something really cute and appealing about them, nonetheless. Without you, they’d still be up on charges and might lose custody of Olive. Instead, they’re all reunited and Olive’s getting the treatment she needs. You did *good,* Doc--you saved that family. And, you held Naomi’s husband together enough to save *his* infant son. Without Vogler’s interference, Naomi might have made it, as well. We’ll never know, now.
You won the war. It wasn't a bloodless one. I feel for Naomi's family. Chase still needs a good spanking, that bad puppy. I never would have pegged him for a ‘rat.’ *sigh* You haven't had your 'Sugar' restored to you, yet--and I'm not talking about the kind that comes in *packets,* either. But, you’re a brilliant lad--something tells me that once you’re not dog tired, that’s something your brain (and heart) will figure out, all on its own. But, Wilson's back--that was all rather scary, heartrending and traumatic, all on its own. But, at least you’ve heard from his own lips, now, that your friendship is of paramount importance to him and been able to respond, in your own way.
And, what *was* up with the Board--they lost their backbones and brains, all at once... all because they were afraid and blinded by $$ signs. They did come through in the end, thanks to Cuddy, but, still... Not impressed. There's going to be a lot of lingering issues from Vogler's brief but terrifying reign.
But, when it comes to the notion of whose fault all this was and where the blame should fall--I place it squarely at Vogler's feet. I don't think anyone realized how evil that scum really was, at first, or how unstable his personality was... Although, I must say, you and Cam drew a bead on him pretty quickly, and Wilson remained steadfast and loyal the entire time. Cuddy was a bit cagier--she's a survivor, that one--but came through in a big way, in the end. But, that was because of you, Doc. She saw you doing your job, even when your job was prospectively about to be terminated, and she had to go to bat against Vogler. She finally saw what Vogler was all about (greed, money, power, manipulation, tyranny and fear), and it’s not what you and the other Doctors at PPTH are there for--to save lives.
Instead of blaming yourself, think what a sorry mess everyone at PPTH would *still* be in if you *hadn't* done what was right, even at the potential cost of your own job and the potential fallout to the people closest and most important to you. Vogler would have owned the lot of you, forever, and how many people would have died, because of that? How many sanitized studies would have been released, how many patients denied treatment or access to experimental meds to prevent FDA-unfriendly 'blips' in the data? How many millions of dollars more would critically ill patients be paying for drugs? There would have been many, many more victims like Naomi, if Vogler had won. Think about *that,* Doc, and don't punish yourself. You're not God, or the Man of Steel, but you are a wonderful Doctor and an amazingly good person. You saved a *lot* of lives tonight, Doc, and on into the future because you didn't give in to the 'angry giant.' And, the Davids of the world should celebrate that fact--because it's never a good thing if Goliath holds sway.
Now, I've gone and written a novel-sized post, again. You can give me an extra *whack* or two for *that,* when you wake up... ;-)
Sanlin
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