It's nice seeing all of the positive reviews, but I really must credit all of the story to Shonda Rimes and ABC for the characters, and to Donna VanLiere through "The Christmas Blessing" for the story. Enjoy this fourth part...
Chapter 4
After Meredith finished getting Molly ready that morning, Meredith showered and dressed, pulling her hair into a neat ponytail.
"The meet starts at three, Mom." Said Meredith, putting her books into her backpack.
"Look for us, right side, fourth row up." Said Lexie.
"By the foghorn man." Added Molly. So that Meredith could spot them easily, the Greys always sat in the same place for every one of her races; fourth row up, right side, by the coach with the bullhorn.
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I washed every inch of my hands and arms, then a nurse slipped the surgical scrubs over my shoulders and slid gloves onto my hands. Dr. Erica Hahn, one of the transplant surgeons would perform the surgery, with Dr. Callie Torres assisting. Dr. Webber filed our team into the OR, and we waited for the transplant to begin. When Dr. Webber entered, he bent low to the girl's ear and whispered something, squeezing her leg. As third-year students, theoretically, we were prepared to participate on some level in the operation, but Dr. Webber kept us from it, with the exception of handing the surgeon an instrument if her chose to ask us for it.
From time to time, Dr. Hahn would speak to us without taking his eyes off his work. I noticed that on several occasions, Dr. Webber leaned down and whispered in the girl's ear. "Doing great, Hope. Everything's looking great." Hope's new heart was inside a plastic bag filled with a sterile solution, sitting in a pail of slushy ice water. I was drawn into the surgery in a way I hadn't expected. I saw the heart beating inside the girl's tiny chest and was so moved by the sight that my throat tightened. Of course, Dr. Hahn stopped her heart and removed it, and it was so dark, swollen, and red. He passed the heart to a nurse, and she set it on a towel, where we watched it pump several times before stopping altogether. I found that to be unbelievable. The new heart was pale and pink, and so glossy. Dr. Hahn rolled the heart into the body cavity, and we watched as he connected the back of the heart first. After a good thirty minutes of stitching, the heart was in place. Dr. Hahn removed the cross clamp and we waited for the blood to flow into the coronary arteries that fed the heart and watched as it began to pump. I felt like cheering—it was the most remarkable thing I had ever seen.
"Amazing," said Dr. Webber, "It just ever ceases to amaze me." He clapped Dr. Hahn on the back, and I could see that he was smiling through his mask. Dr. Hahn bent over toward the heart and continued his work.
"Clamp." There was silence in the room. I glanced up and saw that Dr. Hahn was looking directly at me. He held out his hand. "Clamp." I looked at the instruments and was afraid that I'd hand him the wrong one. "Clamp." She repeated again, looking at Mark. Mark stepped forward and handed her the instrument, securing a better spot for the remainder of the surgery.
Dr. Hahn and Dr. Webber had a focused, professional rapport throughout the surgery and it was obvious that the medical team respected Dr. Webber in a way that I didn't. Maybe he really was the best.
After scrubbing out, Dr. Webber met with us to recap the surgery, and to answer any and all questions we had. For a brief moment, I looked down at my watch and realized that it had again stopped running. As I gave it a few taps, I noticed that Dr. Webber was no longer talking.
"Mr. Shepherd, am I boring you?" he asked, and I could feel the weight that had been released earlier with Dr. Bailey fall heavy on my chest again.
"I only hope that you give your patients the undivided attention that they so require." He said, reaching for a pair of glasses in his pocket, which he cleaned with his sleeve.
"May I ask you if you feel that this is your calling, Mr. Shepherd?" I could feel the eyes of my peers boring into me.
"Sir?"
"Is medicine a calling or a responsibility for you?" I was stunned. I don't know if I was more taken aback that Dr. Webber was embarrassing me in front of my peers or because he sensed my apprehension. "If it's not a question you've addressed, I'd suggest that you do." He said. Whatever positive feelings I'd had about Dr. Webber during the surgery vanished in an instant.
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At the end of the day, I made my way to the parking lot. My truck was on the far end, and I didn't even think that I had the energy to crawl, let alone walk to it.
"Why don't you make life easier and get a new watch?" asked Mark.
"The watch isn't the problem."
"It was today," he chuckled. I was glad that someone could get a laugh from my misery.
"Is medicine a calling or a responsibility for you?" I asked. He zipped his coat and smiled.
"Hey, you're the one who's supposed to answer that. Not me." I folded my arms, and walked faster to keep up.
"What's that 'calling or responsibility' supposed to mean, anyway?" Mark just shrugged.
"I don't know. I think he means that sometimes you just act like you're becoming a physician because you owe it to the world. Listen, when a doctor asks you for a clamp, hand the man a clamp! You're not going to kill the patient." Said Mark, getting into his car. Soon enough, he was driving out of the parking lot.
"So it's wrong to care? Is that what you're saying? Doctors shouldn't care?" I shouted after him. He waved and squealed his tires as he pulled out onto the main road.
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By the time that Friday came around, I couldn't wait to get my to my own apartment and just crash. On my way home, I drove past the university and noticed the busses and cars lined along the street. The sign in the front read "ROSS ROUNTRY MEET TODAY". In spite of my headache, I laughed when I read it, wondering what the kid was like that ran off with the missing "C's". On a whim, I pulled into the drive, parked, and made my way to the bleachers as a pack of male runners grouped at the starting line. At the sound of the gun, parents and classmates were on their feet, screaming and cheering. It was a rather large crowd for a cross-country meet, much larger than the sprinkling of parents that came to the meets when I was running. As I looked at the crowd, I had to smile. My mother, grandmother, and sisters sat in seats like these many years ago to watch me run against the best in the district, cheering until they lost their voices.
The race ended minutes later, with a fine athlete from the other team crossing the finish line in first. A group of female runners walked toward the starting line, preparing for the sound that would send them into them bolting into the woods and meadow beyond. As they gathered, a small girl in the middle of the crowd broke the silence that had formed. She cupped her hands around her mouth, and screamed something inaudible. Embarrassed, the girl's mother covered her mouth as the runners started the race. A girl, tall and lean, her dark blond ponytail tossing in the wind, blew past the other runners and took the lead. The crowd was on their feet shouting her name. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it was obvious that she was the hometown favorite, if not the opposing team's favorite as well. I got up and screamed with everyone else.
"Go, go, go!" I shouted with every step she took. I could see her strides, long and fast, the other runners unable to catch up.
The crowd was so loud that I missed much of what the announcer said. All I heard as the winner crossed the finish line was, "…shaved three seconds off of her personal record. She ran it today in fifteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds." I'd never seen a girl run that fast—3.1 miles in just over fifteen minutes. No wonder the crowd was so big; the university had a star on their hands. Watching the crowd, I recalled that same energy from when I ran in high school and college. At the meets, Id' look up into the stands and scan the faces until I found my mother, grandmother, and sisters waving at me from the bleachers. I always smiled and waved back, wishing that my father could have been in the stands with them. My head was pounding, so I decided against watching another race, and drove home.
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Michelle Norris, one of the coaches for the women's team, caught Meredith and her family before they left the field. She was clutching a large brown envelope, smiling.
"I didn't want to blow your concentration before the race, but Stanford called me today. They've got a full scholarship with your name on it." She said, smiling at Meredith. Thatcher threw his hands over his head in victory, but Meredith was too astonished to speak.
"That's the second school." Said Susan; Georgetown had called a week earlier.
"I think there will be others," said Michelle, "I wouldn't be surprised if Colorado Boulder called. They seek out the best, and know that you slipped under their radar last year in high school. They know they're missing out on one of the best runners in the country." She put her arm around Meredith.
"Now comes the hard part, choosing." She said, Meredith staring down at the envelope. Thatcher picked his daughter up, whooping as bounced her up and down.
"They wouldn't even know who I am if it wasn't for you." Said Meredith, between bounces.
"You do the hard part. All I did was create a little buzz." Thatcher threw his hands in the air and whooped again, this time picking Michelle up and shaking her like a rag doll.
"This is my problem. No single guys are ever interested in me because married men keep picking me up." She said, laughing.
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Leslie Bennett drove Charlie to the hospital before Meredith's race. He begged his mother to take him to the meet, but his breathing was labored again, so the meet was out of the question as far as Leslie was concerned. Dr. Webber admitted him for another overnight stay, and with adjusted medications, Charlie fell asleep. Leslie stayed at his side. In the past few weeks, Leslie and Rich had noticed that Charlie's energy levels had decreased and that he was sleeping more than usual. When Rich arrived at the hospital after work, Charlie opened his eyes.
"You can go home, Dad," said Charlie, "I'm just going to go to sleep." Rich sat down and ran his hand through Charlie's hair.
"That's okay, I'll wait." He said. Rich watched as his son fell back asleep. He and Leslie had been overjoyed when their first son was born, at a healthy nine pounds. Even years after Charlie's surgeries, he was still the picture of normalcy.
When Rich was dating Leslie, and through the early days in their marriage, he was in the Air Force, like many service families, they moved from base to base. When he left the service, Rich and Leslie moved back to where they'd both grown up. The transition had been one of the most difficult in their lives. Rich struggled to find work, and eventually found a job driving a truck for a local package delivering company.
Leslie resigned from her part-time day care position within the last few months as Charlie's visits to the hospital became more frequent, often leaving their younger son, Matthew, with her parents. Rich's job didn't pay for all of the medical expenses, but anything helped. The months of stress and worry were showing on both of their faces; Leslie looked much older than her thirty-five years. She had once enjoyed making herself up in the morning, but after sleeping in a bed no bigger than a cot by her son's bed, makeup was the last thing on her mind.
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Meredith walked to the nurse's station on the fourth floor. Debbie looked up from her files.
"Charlie's doing great." She said.
"What happened?" asked Meredith.
"He needed his meds adjusted. He's fine now. Hope did great, too. She's in the ICU."
Meredith tiptoed into Charlie's room, smiling at Rich and Leslie, who motioned for her to come closer to his bedside. Meredith sat in a chair, leaning on the bed, careful not to disturb the maze of wires that were monitoring Charlie. She squeezed and patted his hand.
"I didn't take two seconds off, Charlie," she whispered, "I took three." Rich and Leslie smiled as Meredith kissed his forehead.
"I missed you, though. I couldn't have done it without you."
"Congratulations." Said Rich.
"When's your next race?" asked Leslie.
"Thursday."
"He'll want to see you before then."
"That's what I'm afraid of!"
An hour later, Charlie strained to open his eyes. Rich and Leslie jumped to their feet and bent toward him, touching his face.
"You're still waiting." Charlie whispered to his father.
"I'll wait forever if I have to." He said. It was something that he and Charlie had been saying to each other for years now. When Charlie heard it, he smiled and fell back to sleep.