The Choice

Three

It was shaping up to be one of those days when Gabby wondered why she’d decided to work in a pediatric office. She had the chance, after all, to work in a cardiology unit at the hospital, which had been her plan all the way through PA school. She had loved assisting in challenging surgeries, and it seemed like a perfect fit until her final rotation, when she happened to work with a pediatrician who filled her head with ideas about the nobility and joy of caring for infants. Dr. Bender, a gray-haired medical veteran who never stopped smiling and knew practically every child in Sumter, South Carolina, convinced her that while cardiology might pay better and seem more glamorous, there was nothing quite as rewarding as holding newborns and watching them develop over the critical first years of life. Usually she nodded dutifully, but on her last day, he’d forced the issue by placing an infant in her arms. As the baby cooed, Dr. Bender’s voice floated toward her: “In cardiology, everything is an emergency and your patients always seem to get sicker, no matter what you do. After a while, that has to be draining. It can burn you out quick if you’re not careful. But caring for a little fella like this . . .” He paused, motioning to the baby. “This is the highest calling in the world.”

Despite a job offer in cardiology at a hospital in her hometown, she’d taken a job with Drs. Furman and Melton in Beaufort, North Carolina. Dr. Furman struck her as oblivious, Dr. Melton struck her as a flirt, but it was an opportunity to be nearer to Kevin. And on some level, she’d believed that Dr. Bender just might be right. He’d been right about the infants. For the most part, she loved working with them, even when she had to give them shots and their screams made her wince. Toddlers were okay, too. Most of them had darling personalities, and she loved to watch as they cuddled their blankets or teddy bears and stared at her with guileless expressions. It was the parents who drove her crazy. Dr. Bender had failed to mention one critical point: In cardiology, you dealt with a patient who came to the office because he or she wanted or needed to; in pediatrics, you dealt with a patient who was often under the care of neurotic, know-it-all parents. Eva Bronson was a case in point.

Eva, who was holding George on her lap in the exam room, seemed to be looking down her nose at Gabby. The fact that she wasn’t technically a physician and was relatively young made many parents believe she was little more than an overpaid nurse.

“Are you sure Dr. Furman can’t squeeze us in?” She emphasized the word doctor.

“He’s at the hospital,” Gabby replied. “He won’t be in until later. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’d agree with me. Your son seems fine.”

“But he’s still coughing.”

“Like I said before, toddlers can cough for up to six weeks after a cold. Their lungs take longer to heal, but it’s perfectly normal at this age.”

“So you’re not going to give him an antibiotic?”

“No. He doesn’t need one. His ears were clear, his sinuses were clear, and I didn’t hear any evidence of bronchitis in his lungs. His temperature is normal, and he looks healthy.”

George, who’d just turned two, was squirming in Eva’s lap, trying to get free, a bundle of happy energy. Eva tightened her grip.

“Since Dr. Furman’s not here, maybe Dr. Melton should see him. I’m pretty sure he needs an antibiotic. Half the kids in his day care are on antibiotics right now. Something’s going around.”

Gabby pretended to write something in the chart. Eva Bronson always wanted an antibiotic for George. Eva Bronson was an antibiotic junkie, if there was such a thing.

“If he spikes a fever, you can bring him back and I’ll examine him again.”

“I don’t want to bring him back. That’s why I brought him in today. I think he should see a doctor.”

Gabby did her best to keep her tone steady. “Okay, I’ll see if Dr. Melton can squeeze in a couple of minutes for you.”

As she left the room, Gabby paused in the hallway, knowing she needed to prepare herself. She didn’t want to talk to Dr. Melton again; she’d been doing her best to avoid him all morning. As soon as Dr. Furman had left for the hospital to be present at an emergency C-section at Carteret General Hospital in Morehead City, Dr. Melton had sidled up next to her, close enough for her to notice that he’d recently gargled with mouthwash.

“I guess we’ll be on our own this morning,” he’d said.

“Maybe it won’t be too busy,” she’d said neutrally. She wasn’t ready to confront him, not without Dr. Furman around.

“Mondays are always busy. Hopefully we won’t have to work through lunch.”

“Hopefully,” she’d echoed.

Dr. Melton had reached for the file on the door of the exam room across the hall. He’d scanned it quickly, and just as Gabby was about to leave, she’d heard his voice again. “Speaking of lunch, have you ever had a fish taco?”

Gabby blinked. “Huh?’

&n

bsp; “I know this great place in Morehead near the beach. Maybe we could swing by. We could bring some back for the staff, too.”

Though he had maintained a pretense of professionalism—he would have sounded the same way had he been speaking to Dr. Furman—Gabby had felt herself recoil.

“I can’t,” she’d said. “I’m supposed to bring Molly to the vet. I made an appointment this morning.”

“And they can get you in and out of there in time?”

“They said they would.”

He had hesitated. “Okay then,” he’d said. “Maybe another time.”

As Gabby reached for a file, she’d winced. “You okay?” Dr. Melton had asked.

“I’m just a little sore from working out,” she’d said before disappearing into the room.

Actually, she was really sore. Ridiculously sore. Everything from her neck to her ankles throbbed, and it seemed to be getting worse. Had she simply jogged on Sunday, she figured she probably would have been okay. But that hadn’t been enough. Not for the new, improved Gabby. After jogging—and proud of the fact that even though her pace had been slow, she hadn’t had to stop once to walk—she’d headed to Gold’s Gym in Morehead City to sign up for a membership. She’d signed the paperwork while the trainer explained the various classes with complicated names that were scheduled almost every hour. As she got up to leave, he’d mentioned that a new class called Body Pump was about to start in a few minutes.

“It’s a fantastic class,” he’d said. “It works the whole body. You get strength and cardio in a single workout. You should try it.”

So she had. And may God forgive him for how it made her feel.

Not immediately, of course. No, during the class, she’d been fine. Though deep down she knew she should pace herself, she found herself trying to keep up with the scantily clad, surgically enhanced, mascara-wearing woman next to her. She’d lifted and pushed weights, jogged in place to the beat, then lifted some more and jogged in place, over and over. By the time she left, with muscles quivering, she’d felt as if she’d taken the next step in her evolution. She’d ordered herself a protein shake on the way out the door, just to complete the transformation.