Authors: R.D. Power
The resident injected the local anesthetic. While waiting for the anesthetic to take effect, Kristen carried on a conversation with her patient. Then she said, “Now, as I warned you, this will hurt despite the anesthetic. Are you ready to be a brave girl?” The frightened girl nodded.
The resident made a small cut where Kristen pointed through which to insert the broad needle. Then he inserted the needle. As it penetrated the bone, the young girl’s face contorted in pain; she squeezed her eyes shut. “Hold as still as possible. Squeeze my arm if it helps,” said Kristen. To the resident she said, “Twist the handle now as I showed you.”
The girl started crying, so Kristen diverted her attention by observing, “It’s so wonderful that your brother’s bone marrow is a match for yours. I bet you never thought a brother would come in so handy, did you? We just need to be absolutely sure where your leukemia stands before we use his special gift to cure you.” The girl began to cry hard as the resident drew out the liquid marrow. “It’s okay to cry,” Kristen said. The girl shrieked. “You’re doing fine. I’m proud of you.”
“Uh, Dr. Taylor,” said the resident. “I’m having a little trouble …”
Kristen stood to see what the problem might be. “Don’t worry,” she reassured the patient, “everything’s okay.” Addressing the resident, she said, “You’re doing fine. Push the needle a little deeper into the bone marrow to get a small piece of bone as we discussed.” The girl screamed in pain. “Almost done,” she said as she assisted the resident. “All right, we’re done,” she declared as the needle was removed. “Keep pressure on the site for a few minutes, then apply the dressing,” she instructed her trainee. “Excellent work, Doctor.”
She sat back down to comfort her patient, stroking her hair and saying, “Wait’ll I tell your mom and dad how brave you were. From now on, you’ll get better, and soon you can go back to worrying about boys and homework.” The girl smiled through her tears.
Robert sat there in awe of Kristen.
Despite how obvious it was what a gifted woman this was, to Robert, who knew her so well, there was something amiss. Her extraordinary competence and confidence were still there, evident to everyone. But where were those radiant eyes, that brilliant smile, that irresistible feminine charm that evinced her unparalleled inner beauty? Like everyone else, Robert admired the person she still was, but that wasn’t the person he fell in love with. Where was his Krissy?
Whenever she did find a few minutes to spare with Robert, she related to him merely on a professional level. She seemed remote yet somehow sad. She felt the same about his demeanor. Neither could penetrate the other’s façade. Kristen could not, or dared not, even penetrate her own. He saw her again with Mark—the two kissed and held hands—which was a real comedown. She seemed to be happy with Mark, as happy as she got anymore, at least. Robert began to lose hope. He was merely of use to her now professionally. When the assignment ended, their relationship would be over. But then, did he want a permanent relationship with this Kristen?
It was in this frame of mind he delivered the working database to the center the next Friday. They spent the afternoon reviewing the system and how to use it. Everything was professional and courteous. Delighted center staff thanked him profusely. Miriam was so happy, she invited him to join the group at a local pub they liked to go to on Friday evenings. Kristen elbowed her when she made the invitation, but it was too late to withdraw it. He accepted. When he left, Miriam asked Kristen what the problem was.
“After what he did for us, we can’t even invite him out for a drink? What is it between you and him? You could cut the tension with a knife.”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I think I’ll pass tonight anyway; I’m exhausted.”
“So there is something, isn’t there?”
“I used to know him, as I told you before, but it ended badly, and I haven’t looked back since.”
“If he means nothing to you now, you should have no objections to accompanying us tonight. We owe him a debt of gratitude. If you don’t show up, we’ll look ungrateful.”
She acquiesced, but decided to invite Mark along, too. That would have the double advantage of communicating to Robert that she was over him and demonstrating the same to herself.
A
small group from the center showed up at the pub at around seven that evening: Kristen, Miriam, Mark, a physical therapist, and a nurse. Two doctors, whom Kristen detested, joined them at their table.
The irascible pair worked in the children’s hospital. Several weeks earlier, a worried father had shown up at Kristen’s office with his young teenage daughter. He’d had no referral because the irritable woman, Dr. McDermott, had dismissed his concerns about the lump on his daughter’s neck saying, “Maybe you don’t trust me because I’m a woman, but I’ve been a doctor for seventeen years and know much more than you on the matter.” Kristen took one look at the girl—the lump, her drooping eyelids and swollen eyes—and suspected rhabdomyosarcoma. She immediately scheduled her for tests, which later confirmed her suspicion.
Kristen took the liberty of perusing Dr. McDermott’s computerized patient files and identified four more possible cases of childhood cancer. She asked the parents to bring the children in for another checkup. One child turned out to have bone cancer.
Kristen took the matter to Miriam, who told Dr. McDermott’s director the news, and suggested a morning refresher course to be delivered by Kristen on childhood cancer diagnosis. The director readily agreed and made it mandatory for all doctors and residents without advanced training in pediatric oncology. All found the session valuable—except for Dr. McDermott, who knew a young upstart had nothing to teach her, and the irascible man, a doctor from Pakistan, who knew a woman had nothing to teach him. Those two kept challenging her, pointing to her inexperience. She handled the challenges with poise, but came to abominate the two.
By seven-thirty, Robert still hadn’t shown. Kristen kept glancing at the door. She’d been uneasy about the prospect of him being there. Now she was agitated about the possibility of him not being there.
Miriam kept her eye on her protégé, eager to see how she would behave. She was curious about their past and suspected Kristen had been in love with Robert.
Kristen’s discomfort became more evident with each passing minute. By eight o’clock, she was staring at the door with gloomy eyes, like a worried bride awaiting her tardy groom. Finally at 8:06, he arrived. Though her back was to the door, Miriam could tell the second Robert appeared, for Kristen’s eyes widened and brightened, her lips parted, and she became more animated.
As he stepped up to the table, she moistened her lips, twirled her hair, and stroked the stem of her glass—all unconsciously—but she turned her head away from him as soon as he looked at her and switched her gaze to Mark. Miriam welcomed him, introduced him to those he hadn’t yet met at the table, and invited him to sit in the vacant chair next to Mark.
Kristen said with a half sneer, “You came alone? Your girl too young to take to a pub?”
“Yeah, I tried to fake her ID, but I couldn’t quite make her look nineteen,” he said.
The group was in the midst of a conversation about the health sciences softball team. The physical therapist, who was coach and shortstop, was asking Mark whether he might be interested. The therapist, as a means of overcoming a stuttering problem, continually substituted some pet phrases for aborted syllables. He’d begin every statement with an inhaled “Uh,” after which came one or more repetitions of “you know,” depending on how excited he was. He’d typically finish with, “I’m telling you,” going higher with every syllable, and ending in a falsetto. It was always comical on the softball diamond to hear him scream to the person with the ball, “Uh, you know, you know, you know, you know, you know, throw it to third, I’m telling you!” Meanwhile, the guy had run home.
“Uh, you know, you know each campus team can have one outsider, I’m telling you,” said the physical therapist. “Uh, you know, can you play softball well?”
“Well, I don’t like to brag, but I’m a good athlete,” said Mark. “I made junior B in hockey, and I was a star hitter in baseball growing up. I’ve not played softball too much, though.”
“Uh, you know, you know, would you be interested in playing, I’m telling you?”
“Maybe. It depends on my schedule in the spring. I’ll let you know.”
“Uh, you know, okay, I’m telling you. Uh, you know, you know if Mark can’t, what about you, uh—”
“Bob,” said Robert. “No, thanks.”
“Why not?” asked Kristen. Addressing the table, she explained, “Bob’s just being modest. He was a pitcher for the Minnesota Twins.”
“Really?” said Mark. “That’s great, Bob. I’m sure the health team would love to have you.”
“Sorry. I don’t want to play.”
“Why not?” Kristen asked again.
“For the same reason you wouldn’t moonlight as a nurse’s assistant at Maria’s Kiddy Lodge,” he said. She understood, but thought his response was rude. She leaned toward Mark who put his arm around her shoulders.
The first half-hour was otherwise cordial, except when Dr. McDermott started carping about Americans. Robert let it go, and Kristen changed the subject. Mark got the group laughing a few times. Robert tried but failed. He never could force humor; it was either there or it wasn’t. Tonight it wasn’t, just when he needed it.
There was one fleeting moment when Kristen and Robert finally locked eyes and connected. Both were a little drunk and let their guards down. What their lips dared not reveal, their eyes could not conceal. He cast at her a sad, longing look that sought to communicate,
Krissy, for God’s sake, what are we doing to each other? I love you! You said you’d always love me. If that’s true what are you doing in another man’s arms?
Looking inexpressibly sad, her eyes replied,
Mark makes me happy, and I won’t take the chance of ruining my relationship with him for a man who has demolished my heart time and time again. I’m sorry. But, God help me, I still lo…
At this point Mark leaned forward and came between them, breaking the spell. Miriam noticed the intense nonverbal exchange and knew at once they were deeply in love.
Robert asked Mark what he did for a living and felt threatened by the answer. “That’s really impressive at such a young age,” Robert said, “and good luck in the next election.”
Mark responded, “Thank you. You make your living as a lecturer in computer science?”
“That, and consulting.”
“Kristen mentioned you ought to be a professor. No professorships available anywhere?”
“Not at the top places, for white men at least. I prefer the part-time role anyway, with my little girl to look after, and I like consulting more than all the baggage that comes with being a professor.”
Dr. McDermott, an ardent feminist, took issue with his “white men” remark. “So you’re saying employment equity, what you Yanks call affirmative action, made it impossible for you to be a professor? Most professors are white males, especially in your department, so how can you say that?”
“Not one professor hired by the department in the last few years is a white man. Computer science departments all over North America are teeming with deadwood, most of whom are white males. Each time one of them finally retires, the departments are pressured by all the busybodies who make their living harassing others to make the world as they see fit and ensure that every little nook reflects society at large, so women and minorities are lured with big promises—immediate tenure, teach only one class, and so on—while white men go begging for work. How good you are is of lesser import.”
“I am knowing many many young, vhite men who are being professors here,” piped up the Pakistani doctor. “Maybe you are blaming society for your personal failure to get a position.”
“And maybe you owe yours to affirmative action.”
“How dare you qvestion my competence, sir!”
“Affirmative action gives me leeway to do that. Our society goes out of its way to put incompetent people in important places under the flag of affirmative action. How do I know you’re not one of them?”
“I am not being pleased at your tone, sir. Maybe it is being a veakness of mine, but I am getting almost wiolent when people are showing me impertinence.”
“Oh? Maybe you should see someone about that,” Robert returned.
“Bob,” said Kristen, “don’t be—”
“Don’t be who? Me? I am me. Who the hell are you?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Kristen shot back.
He lowered his eyes. Seeing Kristen with this handsome man tonight had been most disheartening, but as Mark continued to impress the assembled and as he continued to do the opposite, the state of affairs was becoming provoking.
“So you’re saying that all women and minorities are incompetent?” challenged Doctor McDermott.
“Not at all,” said Robert. Fixing his eyes on Kristen, he said, “I know a woman who puts every man I’ve ever met to shame.” Turning back to Dr. McDermott, he continued, “I’m saying hiring decisions should be made with no reference to group.”
“You say that because you’re a white male, but you can’t justify it,” said the doctor.
“Common sense justifies it. No one group of people is better than any other, but individuals have different levels of merit. That’s obvious, right?”
“Wrong,” said Mark. “I believe everyone’s born equal; only society’s inequalities render people unequal.”
“What you believe is irrelevant. Belief cannot trump reality. People are
not
born equal. Society does not make some people tall and others short; some pretty, others ugly; some brilliant, others moronic. Nature does this all by itself. It may be unfair, but that’s reality, and no government program will ever change that. People should succeed because of personal merit not because of what group they belong to.” Looking at Kristen again, he concluded, “It’s simple: just pick the best person, period.”
But Mark would have none of this. He opined, “Without affirmative action, the domination by white males would be even worse than it remains today. It has given women, minorities, aboriginals, and the disabled a chance to compete on an equal footing with white men.”