Chapter 2: Yes

April 8, 1988, Great and Holy Friday, McKinley, Ohio

The week had been calm in every aspect of my life — the hospital, family, and church. Internal Medicine was, for the most part, routine care of patients, something that was absolutely necessary, but not the kind of medicine I wanted to practice. The week I'd spent in Internal Medicine confirmed my decision to not do a Sub-Internship, though I did enjoy the patient interaction.

"Morning, Mike!" Nurse Anna said brightly. "I have the charts ready for you! Got anything ready for me?"

"We're both on duty, and I object to hanky-panky at the hospital."

"But outside the hospital?" she asked invitingly.

"I'm as healthy as the next red-blooded male!"

"We both have Monday off and I'd love to have you for dinner!"

I almost laughed because the way she stressed the words make it clear she was referring to fooling around, with actual food being a secondary consideration. I actually didn't have any plans other than lunch with Danika, and Nurse Anna, who was probably twenty-two, was smoking hot, had long black hair she wore in a long braid, and had a nice figure.

We were on the same service, but there was no supervisory relationship, which put it into a grey area of my rules. If I did it, it would have to be a one-time thing, as I simply did not have the time, nor the inclination, to start another long-term affair, especially when I was going to begin winding down my current regular trysts after I saw Annette in about three weeks.

As I thought about it, the downside was that an affair with a nurse would encourage others, and I didn't want to recreate a situation similar to the one I'd had with Nurse Ellie. She had been behaving, but if word got out that I'd been with Nurse Anna, it might encourage Nurse Ellie, and other nurses, just as I was trying to avoid such entanglements.

I really was tempted, and was positive Nurse Anna would be fun, but, in the end, I had to decline.

"Tempting," I replied, "but I'm seeing someone."

Which was true, though not in a way that would prevent me from accepting her offer. She homed in on that point immediately.

"But not committed, right?"

"We're working on it," I replied.

"Bummer!" Nurse Anna replied, pouting. "I'll bring you the charts."

"Thanks."

The day was typical — checking vitals, ensuring medications were administered, changing wound dressings, and otherwise caring for patients. When my shift ended, I left the hospital and headed straight to Saint Michael, arriving shortly after Vespers had begun. I took Rachel from Lara and went to stand in our usual spot.

Following Vespers, there was a very light meal for those not fasting completely for Great and Holy Friday, and I fed Rachel while I ate koliva and bread with raspberry jam. The koliva was a tradition in our parish as we were, in effect, celebrating a funeral on Holy Friday. There was very little talk during what was a somber meal, which would soon give way to the first glimpses of the Resurrection during the Third Stasis of the Lamentations service.

Just over an hour later, we sang that hymn, which began mournfully...

but ended with great expectation...

When the service ended, everyone left the church in silence, and Rachel and I headed home. Lara joined us for the remainder of the quiet evening, and after evening prayers. Lara and I went to bed, cuddled, and fell asleep.

April 9, 1988, Holy Saturday, Loveland, Ohio

"Behold, my spiritual child, Christ stands here with us and receives your confession. Therefore, do not be ashamed nor afraid, and conceal nothing, so that you may receive pardon from our Lord Jesus Christ. His icon is before us, and I am but a witness, bearing testimony before Him of all things which you confess. I have no power to forgive, but God alone, and it is to Him you confess. Take care, therefore, that having come to the Physician, you not depart unhealed. What is it, Michael, that you need to confess?"

I was standing with Father Stephen before the icon of Christ, before the Divine Liturgy for Holy Saturday, with Rachel in my arms.

"There are two major things," I said. "I believe one of them is a bigger problem than the other, but I suspect strongly that you'll disagree."

"Go on," he encouraged.

"In my mind, the biggest problem is that I have a strong tendency to be intemperate and behave impetuously when I'm upset about something. It happened with Doctor Mercer, twice, after Angie suffered her most recent mental break. Father Roman has given me a prayer rule designed to combat it, but I, in effect, let my emotions run away with me, and say things which, while true, aren't said in love."

"What prayer rule did he assign?"

"He suggested, in addition to my regular rule, that when I feel the need to lash out that I say the Jesus Prayer forty times silently before speaking. That's in addition to my usual complete set of morning and evening prayers, and the habit for 'automatic prayer' he's trying to build by having me say the Jesus Prayer with my «chotki» when I can, without it when I can't due to hospital policy."

"You're keeping that rule?"

"Yes, except for putting my mouth in idle while my brain runs."

"A common struggle for all of us. What happened with Doctor Mercer?"

I explained the dressing down I'd given her, which had been out of frustration and anger, not out of love, as well as the firm correction applied by my stepdad and Doctor Forth and Doctor Lawson.

"I would say that an approach which controls your temper, or perhaps temperament, is a better term, is appropriate, and I do not believe anything needs to change with regard to Father Roman's guidance, except that you need to follow it."

"It always comes down to that, doesn't it?" I asked wryly.

"It does. I've heard that physicians face the same problem, in that patients don't follow treatment plans leading to poor outcomes."

"The parallels between spiritual health and physical health are many."

"What else is on your mind?"

"My solution to overcoming my grief and keeping my emotions in check has been what can only be called extreme promiscuity."

"You're right," Father Stephen said. "I do think that's the bigger problem. I understand why you think your intemperance is a bigger concern, though I suspect there are links between the two behaviors — clouded judgment and poor decision making. Is this behavior something that is going to continue?"

"I'm committed to ending it, though I will admit I'm not going to be able to do so 'cold turkey'."

"That puts me in a difficult position," Father Stephen said, "where I have to balance your admission of your sin with an almost simultaneous admission that it will continue. What concrete steps do you intend to take to get control of your behavior?"

"I resolved last week to stop trying to find new sex partners and to rebuff advances from women seeking me as a sex partner."

"Can you stick to that? With no wavering?"

"Yes."

"Then let's start with that. I understand you are committing to having no new sex partners before your eventual marriage."

"Yes, Father."

"Then I'll accept your confession as a 'work in progress' as it were. What's the next step?"

"Winding down my physical relationships with the aim of chastity."

"I suppose it would be too much to ask you to go 'cold turkey', in light of your comment before."

"I'd probably fail miserably," I replied.

"Thank you for the frank admission. Have you been seeing a grief counselor?"

"No. May I explain why? It will take a few minutes."

"Yes, though we only have about five minutes before I need to begin the service. Could we resume during the Odes?"

"Yes, Father."

"Then let's do that."

Rachel and I went to a place towards the back of the nave, not far from where Sheila and Michael were standing, and waited for Matins to begin. About forty minutes later, when the choir began singing the Odes, I joined Father Stephen in front of the icon again, this time leaving Rachel with Sheila. I explained the concept of psychological resilience and why it made more sense than the popularized 'five stages' approach.

"How do you propose to get help?" Father Stephen asked.

"From Father Roman," I replied. "I'm supposed to call him next week and arrange to visit him in Rives Junction."

"The plan is for him to be your «старец» (staretz), correct?" ("Spiritual Director")

"Yes."

"Is he aware of your promiscuity?"

"No. He's focused on my interior life and my temperament. He hasn't asked about sin at all."

"I gather you can propose a reason for that."

"That he's shoring up the foundations to create a stable platform on which to build. Once he's convinced I'm spiritually stable, then he'll apply the appropriate boot in my butt."

"For that reason, and because of the commitment you made, I'm going to provide absolution, but, and I am adamant about this — if you slip or backslide, you are not to approach the chalice without seeing me for confession and guidance. I mean that, Mike. It's spiritually dangerous."

"I know," I replied. "I commit to you that if I do fail to live up to my commitment, I will call you immediately and then come see you for an appropriate beating."

Father Stephen laughed softly, "You know that's not how it works, at least in most cases."

"Yes, but I've found that being whacked on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper has been necessary from time to time to get my attention."

"Let's pray it does not come to that. I'm going to say the prayer of absolution with the reservation I expressed, and hope you understand it for what that means."

"I do, Father. You aren't condoning my behavior, but you feel that the medicine of the Eucharist is necessary to my success in overcoming sin. It's a difficult dilemma, and I understand the position I've put you in."

Father Stephen nodded and put his epitrachil over my bowed head.

"May our Lord and God Jesus Christ, through the grace and bounties of his love towards mankind, forgive you my child, Michael, your transgressions; and I, an unworthy priest, who has no power to forgive, but through the power given to me by Him, do declare you to be forgiven and absolved from all the sins which you have confessed: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

When he had made the sign of the cross over me, he removed his epitrachil, I kissed one of the embroidered crosses, and then kissed the icon of Christ. I returned to Rachel and waited for the end of Matins when Sheila would be chrismated and Michael would be baptized and chrismated. My only regret was that I was missing Robby's baptism and chrismation at Saint Michael, but he and I had spoken about it, and he had encouraged me to be at Saint George.

I served as Michael's godfather, as Sheila and I had agreed, while Mr. and Mrs. Jackson served as her godparents. I had a brief image of Michael and Rachel being a couple in fifteen years, but I'd just created an impediment — by being Michael's godfather, that made Rachel and Michael spiritual siblings, and, generally speaking, a relationship between them was forbidden by the canons.

Just under three hours after the chrismations, Rachel and I joined the rest of the congregation for lunch. We ate with Sheila and Michael, and when it was time for Rachel and me to head home, Sheila walked out to my car with us.

"Thanks for being here," she said. "I appreciate it."

"You're welcome! Let's plan to get together soon. I do need to be involved in Michael's life as his godfather."

"That's a good thing! Any chance of a meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society?"

"Given where my relationships are at this point, that's probably not a good idea."

"I figured that would be the case, but I had to ask!"

"Trust me, it's not that I didn't very much enjoy being with you, and red hair with freckles is my sweet spot, but I need to focus on my potential long-term relationship."

"I understand totally. I'm actually going on a date next week. Shelly will watch Michael and I'll enjoy dinner and a movie and see if the guy is worth a second date. Give me a call in a few weeks, OK?"

"Absolutely."

After I secured Rachel in her car seat, Sheila and I hugged, she kissed my cheek, and then watched as I drove away, heading back to McKinley.

April 9, 1988, Eve of Pascha, McKinley, Ohio

The doorbell rang just before 9:00pm on Saturday, and as I expected, it was Danika. I invited her in and returned to preparing my Pascha basket. I had, when I'd stopped at the store on the way home, bought a few extra things so I could share with Danika. When I finished arranging the treats, I spread the cross-stitched cover Elizaveta had made, which included Rachel's name and a pair of bunnies, over the basket, and an intense sense of loss overwhelmed me.

Fortunately, I knew how to control any external display of emotion, and was able to conceal my feelings from Danika. I excused myself to go upstairs to prepare Rachel's bag, which would give me a chance to compose myself. I picked up Rachel and carried her upstairs, debating whether or not I should dress her in her «косоворо́тка» (kosovorotka) as I packed her bag with clean diapers, wipes, and clothes. ("Russian peasant shirt")

My concern was for upsetting Oksana, but she'd been cordial at church, and the impression I had was that she agreed that I wasn't able to provide what she truly needed from a relationship. I elected to dress Rachel in her «косоворо́тка» (kosovorotka), then carried her to my room and put her in the middle of the bed while I dressed in my «косоворо́тка» (kosovorotka). Fully dressed, I picked up my daughter and her bag, and we went downstairs. ("Russian peasant shirt")

"I love your matching Russian peasant shirts!" Danika exclaimed. "Do people in your parish dress festively?"

"Many of the younger people do, but many of the older men wear suits and ties."

"Do we have time to stop at Taft? I have a much more festive red dress with gold brocade."

She was wearing what I would call a formal dress which was deep blue, and very conservative, both in cut and pattern.

"We do," I replied. "Let's leave now, then."

Five minutes later, we were at Taft. Rachel and I waited in the car while Danika went into her dorm. She was back in less than ten minutes in an absolutely beautiful dress, which was far more festive.

"That dress is gorgeous!" I declared.

"Thanks! I should have asked beforehand."

"It's OK," I said as I put the car into gear and headed north for Saint Michael.

"My dad asked me a million questions about going to church here," she said.

"A million?" I chuckled. "I think you might be exaggerating!"

"You know what I meant! Do you take everything literally?"

"Only when it makes something funny," I chuckled. "What did he want to know?"

"Literally everything about you, but I didn't know the answer to quite a few questions, especially about your family. He said he'd like to meet you."

"Let me guess," I chuckled, "as a prospective match?"

"You do fit his criteria!"

"Fine, but what would really matter is if I fit your criteria. No disrespect, but I couldn't possibly care less what your dad wants in a spouse for you."

"You don't think approval is necessary or appropriate?"

"That's a different question," I replied. "Do you agree with your dad's criteria?"

"Mostly, yes. I'm very traditional. The one place I depart is that I don't think it's important to marry someone from the Malabar coast, or even from India."

"A pasty white half-Dutch, half-Russian guy would be OK?" I asked with a silly grin, which I was sure she could see in the pale light from the street lights.

Danika laughed softly, "You could use a bit of color! I suspect you burn in the sun."

"You suspect correctly! And my looks are actually more Dutch, from my dad, than Russian from my mom; culturally, I take after my mom, not my dad. So, tell me, if I meet your dad, what happens?"

"He sizes you up, and if you pass, you negotiate a marriage!"

I laughed, "Seriously? Complete with a dowry?"

"That's traditional, though it's been outlawed in India in some forms which were abused. Mostly these days it's simply voluntary gifts and money given by the bride's family to the couple, not directly to the husband. When I said 'negotiate' I was trying to imply what you said, but I was teasing. The only negotiation would be between you and my parents, mostly my dad, agreeing on the wedding, the wedding party, where we'd live, and access they'd have to grandkids."

"I have to ask if this is all just being goofy or you're serious."

"My dad is always serious! How many cardiac surgeons do you know who aren't?"

"Zero," I replied, thinking of Doctor Malik Washington, Doctor Strong, and the other cardiologists I knew.

"Exactly."

"And you?" I asked.

"Before I answer that, are you interested?"

"This was kind of a bolt out of the blue," I replied. "So I'm not sure what to think or say at the moment."