Decisions, Decisions
Hawkeye threw his suitcase onto the bed and took a look around the hotel room. King-size bed, roomy loveseat, ornate lamps, beautiful oak writing desk. He let out an appreciative whistle. Mighty fancy, but that's New York City for you. Everything's a little larger than life in the Big Apple, a bit more luxurious and indulgent than everywhere else.
Beats the hell out of Korea in winter. Or in autumn, spring, or summer, for that matter.
He let out a single laugh and flipped open his suitcase, started to unpack. Two days in New York. Oh, the possibilities that lay ahead…
He pulled the conference itinerary out of his suitcase, stared at it for a couple seconds, then set it aside.
Conference? Did somebody say conference? The little devil on his left shoulder whispered into his ear: "There's nothing they can teach you that you didn't already learn during the War. Surgery's surgery. You're years ahead of the textbooks."
The little angel on his right shoulder lightly smacked the back of his head. "The hospital's paying for this trip. Of course you need to go to the conference!"
Hawkeye sighed as he hung his red bathrobe in the closet. Throughout his life, he'd always had a tendency to listen to the little devil on his shoulder, that was for sure. But the angel did make a compelling case…
He shook his head and unpacked his shaving kit, taking it into the bathroom. His suitcase finally empty, he picked up the phone to call his dad as he'd promised.
"I've arrived, Dad. No problems at all on the drive down here, the weather's great, and the hotel's sinfully ritzy. How are you doing?"
"Fine, Hawkeye. I'm fine. Relieved to hear you made it down there in one piece." There was a pause and a crackle of static over the line. Then, "You are going to attend the conference, aren't you?"
"How can you even ask that, Dad?"
"Because I know you, son. And I couldn't help noticing that you just smoothly sidestepped answering me." He sighed. "It's just that you've only been at Maine Memorial for two months, and I don't want you to get off on the wrong foot with them."
"Probably too late for that, Dad. I don't think they appreciated the fact that I did my rounds as Groucho last week."
"Oh, Hawkeye."
"Don't worry, Dad. They sent me here to learn, and I assure you I'm going to learn."
"Why don't I feel very confident about this?"
"Because I don't inspire confidence," Hawkeye replied cheerfully. "I'll see you in a couple days, Dad."
Unpacked and the requisite phone call to his father out of the way, Hawkeye picked up the conference itinerary again and noted that the seminars kicked off in less than an hour. He glanced out the window, where the bustling, exciting city lay 12 stories below, calling him to come play.
The devil at his left urged, "It's New York City, for Pete's sake. Go play."
The angel on his right scolded, "This is your profession, your vocation, your calling. Go to the conference."
He sat on the bed, still holding the itinerary, and shut his eyes. What to do… what to do…
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If you think Hawkeye goes to the surgical conference, proceed to Chapter 2.
If you think Hawkeye plays hooky from the conference, proceed to Chapter 3.