Tracy Wolff: Healing Dr. Alexander

“What if my best isn’t good enough?” he asked, hating that he sounded like a whiny little boy, but unable to stop the words from tumbling out.

Amanda sighed, then grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the room. For a long time, they didn’t say anything. They squared off in the hallway in a stare down of epic proportions.

Amanda blinked first. “What if it is good enough?” she asked. “You’ve got a gift, Jack. Surgeon or not, you can do things, see things, that no one else can.”

“There are a lot of great doctors out there, Amanda.” He gestured to her. “And in here. We know that kid would have been better off with a surgeon who had full use of his hands, too. We can debate this all day. In fact, why don’t—”

Amanda held up a hand, stopping him mid-breath. “Is working here the same as doing surgery in some fancy Boston hospital? No, of course not. But it’s still good work. Still necessary work. You never wanted that life, anyway. Driving a silver Ferrari and doing weekends on Martha’s Vineyard. That’s no more you, than it is me.”

“No, that wasn’t where I was headed in my life and it wasn’t what I miss. I was happy in Africa, doing surgery for For the Children. Was it frustrating? Yes. Were there times I wanted to quit? Absolutely. But it was good work. Important work. You’re damn right I miss it.”

“And as soon as you heal, you can go back. I know you want to, even though the rest of us would rather you didn’t. The fact of the matter is, you could so easily have died in that clinic in Somalia, Jack. You—”

“I know that.”

“Do you, really? Because I think you and your God complex have somehow managed to forget it. Another man, a weaker man, would have given in to the pain and the blood loss and those bastards who wanted you dead. But you didn’t. You’re still here. Are you hurt? Absolutely. Has your life taken a twist you weren’t ready for? No doubt. Welcome to the world of being human, Jack. That’s what happens. It’s messy and it hurts and rarely goes according to plan. But that’s okay, because it means you’re still alive. And you are, Jack, whether you wish you’d given up back there or not. So isn’t it time you started acting like it?”

He didn’t answer her. He was afraid that if he did he’d lash out at her with words no one needed to hear, let alone Amanda. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d been an emotional wreck, a couple short steps from working herself to death because she couldn’t deal with the loss of her only child.

He’d been the one lecturing her then and the fact that things had changed so completely made him feel worse. In the space of two months, his whole world had turned upside down and he didn’t know what to do about it. Every time he tried to imagine his future without surgery, every time he tried to picture himself in six months or a year or five years, he drew nothing but a blank. If he wasn’t a surgeon, if he wasn’t a doctor for For the Children, then what the hell was he?

The answer came back to him the same as it always did these days. He was nothing. Working at some low-income clinic in Atlanta wasn’t going to change all that.

Panic overwhelmed him and he started to tremble. He was on the verge of shaking apart, the emotional pain of his loss combining with the pain in his hand and leg, spreading through his whole body until he couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. The specter of everything he’d lost rose up inside him, paralyzing him.

On top of that, he was afraid he couldn’t hide it, especially from someone who knew him as well as Amanda. If she noticed, however, it didn’t matter, because she wasn’t letting up. “We need you, Jack.” She stepped forward and put one soft hand on his forearm. “We really need you.” What she didn’t say, but what hung in the air between them, was the fact that he needed this clinic, needed her, at least as much as it needed him.

Sensing his weakness, she pressed her advantage. “Come on, give us a month. What’s the worst that can happen?”

His heart was beating too fast and he swore he felt a panic attack coming on for the first time in his life. He tamped down on it even as her question circled around and around in his head. What was the worst that could happen? How about complete and total humiliation? Or him losing even more faith in himself and his skills?

Or, God forbid, him killing someone who could have been saved because his damn hand wouldn’t work right?

The possibilities were endless and he started to tell Amanda so, to list the number of really terrible things that could happen. But one look at her face told him she wouldn’t listen. Her mind was made up. Besides, it wasn’t like he wanted to shout out his deepest insecurities for the world—or his best friend—to hear. That had never been his style.

Instead, he looked down at his bloodstained clothes and thought of the boy they had saved. Then glanced back into the room at the ripped-up clothes and blood-soaked gauze, and at the patient who was even now being strapped to a gurney to be transported to the hospital.

Yes, he was afraid—desperately afraid—of not being able to do what needed to be done here. But he was even more afraid that if he went back home to Boston he’d end up selling out. Giving in. Becoming the kind of doctor his parents had always wanted him to be—the kind he’d always despised.

And then he knew. Even with everything that could go wrong, with all the mistakes he could make, he would still rather be here, doing something truly helpful, than sitting at home, selling out and feeling sorry for himself.

A sense of relief washed over him. His heartbeat slowed and he could breathe again. Panic subsided into a calm clarity. Working at this clinic with Amanda wouldn’t be forever—he couldn’t afford to let it be—but for now it was a million times better than the alternative.

He wadded up the gloves he was still holding and—using his good hand—lobbed them at the trash can. They soared into the center of the basket in a perfect three pointer.

Then he turned to Amanda with the closest thing to a smile he could manage. “You’re right. It’s better than Boston. Looks like you’ve got yourself a doctor.”

CHAPTER THREE

CLIMBING THE FRONT steps that led to the small house he’d rented in the same upper-middle class area of Atlanta that Amanda lived in, Jack couldn’t believe how tired he was. In Africa, he regularly worked sixteen or eighteen hour days in an effort to keep up with the never-ending patient load, while today he’d only put in half a shift—five hours—yet he was completely exhausted.

Admittedly, it was his first day on the job. And it had come after a ten-day whirlwind in which he’d packed up his necessities in Boston, moved them all to Atlanta, found a place to rent, visited various medical specialists Lucas had recommended, and started an intense, three-day-a-week course of physical therapy.

But still, he’d figured he was in better shape than this. How had two and a half months off the job turned him into such a wimp? He ignored the voice in his head that told him his weakness had a lot more to do with two bullets and three surgeries than it did the time he’d been forced to take off work.

He loosened his tie and headed into the kitchen for a glass of iced tea. Grimacing as he took a sip of the too-sweet liquid, he tried to appreciate the drink that was a hallmark of his newly adopted city. It was difficult, though, especially considering he much preferred a cold beer at the end of a long day. But, ostensibly, he was still on pain medication. The little white pills he’d been prescribed did not react well with alcohol.

Not that he was actually taking them regularly anymore. Though his doctor, his physical therapist and his own medical training all told him that he needed to keep a steady supply of the anti-inflammatory and pain medication in his bloodstream if he expected it to do its job, he couldn’t force himself to keep up with them anymore. It was stupid, he knew, but he hated the crutch. Hated the need to depend on something else—even a pill—to make himself feel better. He’d gotten through his entire adult life without having to rely on anyone or anything and damn it, he would get through this, too. Even if it killed him.