Chapter 60: A Lot To Be Thankful For

November 28, 1985, Thanksgiving Day, Rutherford, Ohio

The three days before Thanksgiving were blessedly normal, but I suspected it was the calm before the storm which was brewing at Holy Transfiguration, not to mention a final in Epidemiology and a comprehensive test about the abdomen in Anatomy. As Elizaveta and I got into my Mustang for the drive to my grandfather’s house, I considered that, overall, things were going well - my marriage, my service at church, school, my study group, the band, and, although I didn’t see them as often as I liked, my friends.

“How do you think things are going?” I asked Elizaveta as I pulled out of the driveway.

“Great, I think. Why are you asking? Are you concerned?”

“About us? Not at all. About my family and Holy Transfiguration, yes. But I wanted to ask, because it’s something Doctor Mercer suggested I do from time to time so that you would have a chance to tell me anything that was bothering you.”

“You don’t think I would? I am Russian!”

I chuckled, “Yes, you are. But, sometimes people don’t mention little things that bother them, or that they’re struggling with, and those little things can build up over time.”

“I honestly don’t think there’s anything except for what we knew about - your limited time. But think about how much I’d be able to see you if we were just dating. And we certainly wouldn’t be able to screw like bunny rabbits!”

I laughed, “True. I guess I hadn’t looked at it that way; I mean about dating.”

“Is there anything that bothers you?” Elizaveta asked. “I mean with our relationship, not with what’s going on in your family or your former parish.”

“Other than the one thing we both don’t like - not going to bed at the same time some nights - nothing that I can think of.”

“Not even helping cook?” Elizaveta asked with a smirk I could see with my peripheral vision.

“While it’s something I want to do, cooking makes you happy, so I’ll let it go. We’ll discuss again when our sons are old enough to learn to cook, clean, and do their own laundry.”

“Sons? Not daughters?”

“I assumed you’d teach our daughters to do those things!”

“A good point! But we have a few years before we need to think about kids! Changing topics, you know, we talked about Christmas, but I never asked what your grandparents do for Thanksgiving.”

“A very traditional American Thanksgiving meal. No vodka, and no traditional Russian food. Grandfather Borodin came to America and decided to be an American.”

“Unlike Tasha’s grandfather and dad?”

“That ends with Tasha and her sister. Neither of them was interested in keeping a Russian household.”

“So same as us, then?”

“Yes. When Tasha and I talked about it, we agreed neither of us wanted to run our households the way her father did.”

“I’m not trying to pick a fight, but I’m curious if you had those conversations with anyone else?”

“You mean about the type of household? Only Lara, really. None of the other girls I dated was Russian. Kimiko, on the other hand, wanted to have a traditional Japanese home, something which would have been very difficult here in the US, and ultimately problematic, because it incorporates ideas from Shinto and Buddhism.”

“But wasn’t she an inquirer?” Elizaveta protested.

“Yes, but Japanese views on religion are somewhat different from ours. In their view, the wife adopts the religious practices of her husband’s household. She saw it as her duty to become Orthodox if she were to have a relationship with me, but she also felt it was her duty to honor Japanese traditions. That conflict is why she’s engaged to Brandon and they’re moving to Japan when they graduate.”

“That seems strange!”

“Is it, really? Think about married-in Greeks, and how often if the girl marries a Roman Catholic guy, he attends church with her, but doesn’t really convert. It happens with us, too, but not nearly as often. The Greeks historically have intermarried with Roman Catholics, while the other jurisdictions have not. In our jurisdiction, usually, it’s the guy who marries someone who isn’t Orthodox and they generally simply stop coming to church. I’m sure you’ve seen that over the years.”

“Yes.”

“So it’s not quite as strange as it seems. And if you think about it, we set up our home in an Orthodox fashion, even if it wasn’t Russian.”

“True. It’s typically American, too.”

“Other than the icons? I’d say so.”

“Actually, I do have one thing I’m wondering about?”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I don’t think you’ve called me ‘Kitten’ in over three weeks. Did something change?”

“No,” I replied. “And I didn’t even realize. I’m sorry if that hurt you.”

“I don’t know that it hurt me, but I wondered if something was wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong, Kitten. I love you! I’m sorry if I’ve been remiss in telling you.”

“Later, when we get home, you can show me!”

“We do have to stay at my grandparents’ house long enough to be polite.”

“I know that! But not one second longer!”

When we arrived at my grandparents’ house, my mom, my sister, and Paul were already there, and dinner was nearly ready. Once we sat down, and I’d said the blessing at my grandfather’s request, we began eating. My grandfather was very interested in hearing about how my training was going, so that occupied a good part of the conversation during dinner, along with some subtle, and some not so subtle, hints about great-grandchildren, which both Elizaveta and I carefully deflected by repeating our plan to wait until she had graduated from High School.

Everything was set for Mom to move in with Paul and Liz, and everything seemed to be going well for all of them, though Liz and my dad were still estranged, something I believed was likely permanent, as Liz had made it clear that his relationship with Holly had made any sort of reconciliation impossible. Something could change in that regard, but I certainly wasn’t expecting it to.

Elizaveta and I took the earliest opportunity to leave, reminding my grandparents that I had school in the morning, despite it being the day after Thanksgiving.

“I can’t believe they make you go to school tomorrow,” my grandmother protested as Elizaveta and I put on our coats.

“Do hospitals close for the holidays?” I asked.

She laughed softly, “Well, no, they don’t. But you’re a student.”

“Yes, and I’m learning what it’s going to be like when I’m a doctor in the ER. One of the prices that I’ll pay is that holidays, family events, and even church, will have to take a backseat to my training and, eventually, practice.”

“But you’re a deacon!” she protested. “How can church take a back seat?”

“I discussed this in detail with Vladyka before accepting my ordination,” I said gently. “During my training, he is making allowances. Once I’m an Attending, which means I can work unsupervised, I’ll be able to better set my work schedule around church.”

“But family?”

“Mike is going to have to work every holiday for at least a couple of years,” Elizaveta said. “They put the most junior doctors on those shifts.”

“Remind me not to need to go to the hospital on a holiday!” Liz said, causing everyone to laugh.

Elizaveta and I said ‘goodbye’ and left the house, got into my car, and headed back towards McKinley.

“I thought your grandmother understood the situation,” she said after I turned onto Route 50.

“She does,” I chuckled. “Just as your mom understands HER situation!”

Elizaveta giggled, “She knows, but she doesn’t like it and has to accept it.”

“Exactly!”

“Mike?”

“Yes?”

“The longer it takes to get home, the less time we have to fool around. Drive faster!”

November 30, 1985, Rutherford, Ohio

“Morning, Dad,” I said when I walked into The Yolk’s On You on Saturday morning.

“Hi, Mike,” he replied. “The hostess will have a table for us in a minute.”

True to what he said, two minutes later we were seated in a booth with coffee in our cups, and our orders placed.

“I know I’m not supposed to ask, but it’s the Nativity Fast...” Dad said, leaving the actual question unspoken.

“The fasting rule that Elizaveta and I have is more lenient than the one I typically followed in the past. Father Nicholas took into account that we’re both in school, and that Elizaveta is only sixteen, as well as other factors, and made that determination.”

“I never did understand how that worked. As an engineer, rules and regulations aren’t things that can be relaxed or given a variance.”

“It’s more like zoning,” I replied. “You can get variances based on needs, both yours, and the community’s. Spiritual discipline is about controlling your passions, and when used correctly, it works. When used incorrectly, it does far more harm than good. But I’m positive you didn’t agree to have breakfast today to have a theological discussion. How are things going?”

“OK, I suppose. Nothing more came of the trouble with the County Prosecutor, and other than Mrs. Vogel probably taking out a hit contract on me, everything at work is fine.”

“And at home?”

“I missed the family,” he said. “It’s my own fault, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t a bit depressed on Thursday.”

That didn’t surprise me at all, and I suspected Christmas was going to be worse. I wondered if there was a way Elizaveta and I could see my dad on Christmas Day, even if only for a short time, likely after being at my grandparents’ house. I’d have to check with Elizaveta, so I didn’t want to say something and then not be able to follow through.

“Have you talked to someone about it?”

Dad shook his head, “No, it was just while Holly and I were having dinner. I feel better now.”

I wondered about that, but for the moment, I had to accept what he said at face value. I also wondered if he was seeing his friends, because many of them had been from church. He obviously spent a lot of time with Holly, but I knew the value of friends, especially when I was feeling down.

“You know I’m here for you,” I said.

“Thanks, Mike. How are things going?”

“Overall, pretty well, I think. We have a ‘Battle of the Bands’ to see if we get the gig at Hayes County High’s Prom next Spring, and we’re waiting on the Park District to let us know if we can perform in the park next Summer.”

“When will you know?”

“The Park District? Probably not until after Christmas. The competition is in February.”

“What do you think of your chances?”

I shrugged, “We’re reasonably good, and we have a good playlist, but our real strength is Robby and Lee. Kim, that’s our keyboardist and de-facto leader, is hoping we can use them during the competition because they give us a real edge.”

“When do they graduate?”

“In May, along with Sophia. The three of them are going to Stanford; Sophia for medical school and the guys for graduate study in biochemistry.”

“How is Jocelyn?”

“Being out of the house has done wonders for her disposition. After the accident, her mom was more than a little overbearing and overprotective. She and Gene are very happy, and she scored near the top on her LSAT.”

“Her husband is a couple of years younger, right?”

“Three, actually,” I replied. “He’s a Sophomore and she’s a Senior, but she started a year late because of the accident. He’s transferring to Ohio State for next year, and she’ll be at OSU for law school.”

“I take it she’s doing OK after her surgery?”

“Yes. Her pain is gone, though it’s possible she’ll need another surgery or two over the years, and a good chance she’ll need hip replacement at some point.”

“I hope all of that was covered with the insurance settlement.”

“It was, as are the future surgeries, and college and law school are basically free because of that.”

“Well, at least some good came out of that mess.”

“I’m not sure I’d say that to Jocelyn,” I replied with a wan smile.

“Of course not!” Dad exclaimed shaking his head. “I’m not a complete idiot.”

I chuckled, “I’ve said the same thing about myself and it’s usually after I’ve said something similar. How are things with Holly?”

“Fine.”

“I take it you’re going to live in the apartment for the near future?”

“Yes. We’ll see how things go.”

Which told me he was simply having an affair with a pretty young girl, and that it wasn’t any more serious than that. It was a mild relief in that having a step-mother younger than me would be more than a bit weird, as I’d said when Lara had raised the subject.

“How is Grandpa Loucks?”

“He seems fine, though he’s still chafing under my mom enforcing the doctor’s instructions. You should call; I’m sure they’d be happy to hear from you.”

Implying they weren’t happy to hear from him, which wasn’t really surprising given the circumstances.

“I’ll do that,” I said.

The waitress brought our food and dad sat quietly while I said the blessing, and then we began to eat. We ate mostly in silence, as we’d pretty much caught up before the food arrived. When we finished eating, Dad paid, we agreed to have dinner during December, and then left the restaurant. Dad walked across the street to the apartment building where Holly and he lived, and I got into my car and headed for Milford.

November 30, 1985, Milford, Ohio

“Thanks for making time over the Thanksgiving holiday weekend,” I said when I sat down in Doctor Mercer’s office.

“Your schedule is pretty much full, and I wanted to see you. My husband and girls are having a daddy/daughter day. I’m sure you’ll have some of those at some point in the future.”

“I suspect so!”

“How are you doing?”

“Things are going OK, for the most part.”

“Which parts aren’t going OK?”

“Pretty much what I said on the phone - dealing with how I feel when I see situations where I think the system isn’t working properly.”

“Similar to how you felt about Angie’s situation with regard to drugs?”

“In a way, yes, though I don’t have the same feelings for the patients that I do for Angie.”

“What have your mentors and instructors said?”

“That this is how it is and I need to adapt or switch to Family Medicine. It’s a drumbeat of the same advice.”

“Which should tell you something, shouldn’t it?”

“You mean like the drumbeat of opinions that we should be drugging people like Angie into submission so that society doesn’t have to actually address mental health care?” I asked acidly.

“Relax, Mike,” Doctor Mercer counseled. “You know I generally agree with you on that. Let’s focus on you for the moment; we can discuss Angie afterwards.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“You’re right; I’m sorry.”

“It’s better that you express your frustration with me than at home; you do have to watch that, and not just because your wife is young. If you take your problems home, it’ll negatively affect your family.”

“How do I not? I mean, my dad can just leave the paperwork on his desk for the morning; I don’t see how I can stop thinking about patients.”

“Does your dad obsess about the work he leaves on his desk?”

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “But a bridge or road or building isn’t the same as a suffering person.”

“OK, perhaps that was a bad analogy, but you’ll need to find a way to at least compartmentalize that frustration so you don’t end up taking it out on Elizaveta or your kids when you have them. But let’s take the immediate concern first. Can you think of a reason why all of those doctors and your other mentors would all be saying the same thing?”

“Leaving aside callous disregard, mass delusion, Orwellian programming, or Satanic influence?” I asked.

Doctor Mercer laughed softly, “Yes, besides those.”

“Well, I’d say the most likely reason is that through fifty years or so of what I’d call ‘modern’ medical practice, the division of labor has been found to provide the best overall outcomes. And the development of emergency medicine comes directly from the idea of the Army MASH unit, with the goal of saving lives before moving the patient to another place for non-emergent care and recovery. The problem is, the way the system evolved, it only looks at specific ailments, not overall patient well-being.”

“If you know that...”

“But that doesn’t mean it can’t be improved!” I protested. “Or that I have to accept it.”

“No, it doesn’t. But, Mike, you’re in your fourth month of medical school. Do you truly think you understand the system well enough to want to change it?”

“I know women doctors are often treated as second-class citizens and that most gynecologists are men, and that OB/GYN is usually offered from a male perspective, not a female one. Those things have to change. Just as the over-prescription of drugs for mental illness has to change.”

“Yes, that’s true. But I’ll point out that even you aren’t trying to change either of the first two immediately, and the second, you’re focused on Angie. That makes it very different. You can’t take a personal interest in every patient.”

“I suppose not, but I guess it just feels so uncaring.”

“Have you considered the emotional toll if you invest your feelings in every patient who comes into the hospital?”

“I’ll counter by asking if you’ve considered the emotional toll if I don’t?”

“A fair point, given your sensitive nature, but one that, on balance, will end badly. I don’t think anyone is advising you to not care, are they?”