Chapter 25: Chapter 25: Another Lifetime's Dream

Author's Note:

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. Special thanks to the Guest reviewers I can't thank via PM — I read and cherish all your feedback.

If you've gotten this far (and I can't say how surprised/grateful I am that anyone has), I hope you're getting as much from reading this story as I am from writing it. Gilbert's first year of grief is over. Time to see where he goes from here.

Chapter 25: Another Lifetime's Dream

On the last day of August, Dr. Edmonds called Gilbert to his office. After a year of Saturday lessons and a whole summer of work by Dr. Edmonds' side, Gilbert was as familiar with the office as with his own dormitory. He settled into his accustomed chair and gave Dr. Edmonds his full attention.

"I wanted to talk to you about your work, Gilbert," Dr. Edmonds began.

Gilbert was immediately alert. Dr. Edmonds' tone and his use of Gilbert's first name boded ill and no mistake.

"Have . . . have I done something wrong?" Gilbert asked, feeling instantly nauseous.

"No," Dr. Edmonds gave a half smile. "No, son, you're doing fine. You work hard, you seem to pick up everything I throw your way, and the patients adore you."

Gilbert did not reply, sensing a but in the immediate future.

"But . . ."

There it was.

Dr. Edmonds frowned. "Gilbert, why do you want to be a surgeon?"

Gilbert had not been expecting the question and did not have a ready answer. "I . . . I've always wanted to be a doctor. And surgery . . . well, I suppose I liked the idea of always learning new things. Trying new techniques. As you've said, a surgeon is a perpetual student. That appealed to me."

"Appealed in the past tense?"

Gilbert swallowed. "No, it does appeal."

Dr. Edmonds had fixed him with a piercing gaze that made Gilbert want to hide behind his chair.

"So you want to be a surgeon at a prestigious hospital? Experimenting with new procedures?"

"Er . . . not exactly. I mean . . ."

Dr. Edmonds sighed. "Gilbert. Just spit it out, son. Stop thinking of me as your teacher or your supervisor or whatever it is that's making you squirm in your seat. Call me Sam if it makes things easier. Just tell me. What is your ambition?"

Gilbert gulped. He was more sure than ever that he had failed in some way, but he couldn't make out exactly what Dr. Edmonds was driving at. He decided that honesty was the only feasible policy.

"I always wanted to be a small town doctor. A general practitioner. I wanted to learn modern surgery, yes, but I wanted to serve a community, not work in a big city hospital."

"That's a lot of past tense again. What changed?"

"I . . . well . . . it's . . . personal."

"Gilbert, I can't advise you if I don't know what's happened to you. And something definitely has. You're every bit as brilliant as Prof. Frederickson assured me you would be, but you're not the man he described to me. I thought he must have been mistaken, but after watching you for a whole summer I don't think it's that simple."

Gilbert felt a hot flush of shame rise in his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Dr. Edmonds. If I've failed . . ."

Dr. Edmonds cut across him with a swipe of the hand. "You aren't listening, Gilbert. This isn't a test. I'm trying to find out who you are so I can advise you in your career. If you won't tell me what I need to know, then I can't give you proper guidance."

Gilbert looked into Dr. Edmonds' steady gaze. He had worked so hard to live up to everyone's expectations, to never betray weakness where his professors or classmates might notice. Edgar knew a bit, of course, but not everything. Gilbert had thought he had been doing a fairly decent job of meeting his obligations. Hadn't he come first in the final examinations in May?

"Maybe . . ." Gilbert began, "you could elaborate. I must have done something wrong if you're disappointed in me."

"I'm not disappointed, Gilbert," Dr. Edmonds groaned. "And you haven't done anything wrong. It's just . . . well, I can't put my finger on it, exactly. But you have no . . . joy. No zeal. You're good with the patients — you charm them, I've seen you do it. But the moment you turn away, your face falls. It's like it's all an act."

Gilbert felt about eight years old. Surely, the teacher had just caught him putting a beetle down Ruby Gillis' collar.

"It's not an admonishment, son," Dr. Edmonds said, kindly. "I just want to know whether this is what you really want to do with your life."

"It was," Gilbert answered quietly.

"What happened?"

Gilbert took a deep breath and let it out very, very slowly.

The whole story came out then. The end of everything. His uncertainty over returning to school. His flight from Amy Elliott's sickroom. The panic attacks he hid in closets and in the privacy of his dormitory.

"It's not so bad in class," he finished. "But when I'm with patients . . . I don't know. I'm always on edge. I feel as though I could fall apart at any moment. And . . . I'm just afraid of what would happen if I were holding a scalpel when I did."

Dr. Edmonds was leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. He did not smile, but he compressed his lips in an expression of carefully suppressed affection.

"There. Was that so hard?"

"Yes."

Dr. Edmonds did smile then. "Gilbert, you're a fine doctor. And a good man. You wouldn't be so worried about hurting your patients if you weren't. Or about disappointing people, for that matter. But you can't live your whole life hiding like that."

"I had hoped that it would get better," came the faint reply.

"I think it probably will. A year isn't very long at all. But your life has changed. Have you taken the time to re-examine your ambitions? Or are you still chasing another lifetime's dream?"

Gilbert had never put words to that thought, but the moment it struck his ear, he knew it was true.

"I . . . I don't know what I'd be if not a doctor. I never took a very violent fancy to farming."

Dr. Edmonds smiled. "There are many ways to be a doctor, Gilbert. I'm a surgeon because I have to be. I wake up in the morning itching for a scalpel. Don't tell my wife this, but I'm never happier than I am in an operating theatre. It's . . . well, some would call it a calling. You have to find the thing that makes you feel that way."

Gilbert's face had fallen. "Nothing makes me feel that way anymore."

"Maybe not. But I think you should consider trying on some other possibilities."

Gilbert felt completely blank. "Did you have any in mind?"

Dr. Edmonds raised a hand to stroke his chin. "Let's see. You're a brilliant student. Really, remarkable. I can't tell you how Prof. Warren raves about your talent in the lab. We can't let your mind go to waste. But working with patients is a problem. I'm sure you could force yourself to do it, and maybe someday it would get easier. But maybe not. Let me ask you, when you first decided you wanted to be a doctor, what was your reason?"

Gilbert thought back to Fred pushing him into a pond.

"When I was a child, my father was ill. I went with him to Alberta for his health. He recovered, but I was so scared. I wanted to learn how to cure people at home, so no one would ever be sent away."

"And now?"

"I wish I could have found a cure for typhoid. I looked. I read every book and every journal. Tried everything. Nothing worked. And I don't see how I can cure people if I can't bear to be around patients."

Dr. Edmonds was regarding Gilbert with a spark of interest in his clever eyes.

"What if . . ." he said slowly, ". . . you could prevent them from getting sick in the first place?"