Chapter 8: An Exercise in Futility

May 17, 1988, McKinley, Ohio

On Tuesday morning, I stopped in the Emergency Department to get my schedule for June and was pleased to see Loucks, M — 0600–1800 M-F. Someone, most likely Doctor Gibbs, was looking out for me. That meant that I could put Rachel in the hospital daycare, as they accepted drop-off ten minutes before the official opening time for anyone who had a shift that began at 6:00am. That would simplify things, at least for one month, and hopefully I'd have a similarly accommodating schedule for July.

When I arrived upstairs in Internal Medicine, Nurse Anna had the charts ready for me, and I prepared the summaries. Wayne Williams had been transferred on my day off as planned, so his chart wasn't included. I did make a mental note to add him to my daily prayer list, then returned the charts to Nurse Anna.

"Did you get your schedule?" Clarissa asked when she arrived.

"Monday through Friday, 0600 to 1800 in the ED. You?"

"2200 to 1000 Sunday through Thursday. The joys of Internal Medicine Sub-Is!"

"Yes, but that means you're actually responsible for patients!"

"'Don't wake me unless they're dying, but you'd better not let them die!'" Clarissa declared.

I chuckled, "Good luck with that! I, on the other hand, will be learning to intubate, insert subclavian lines, and other cool stuff!"

"And I'm assigned to the Code Team."

"Please make sure the batteries in your pager are fresh before you have sex in the on-call room with a cute nursing student!"

"I'll do that when you call the redheads!" Clarissa retorted.

"Actually," I said soberly, "you won't, because you made a commitment to Tessa."

"You're right, of course. And you're not going to call the redheads because you made a rash commitment to a priest when your actual purpose of going to confession was because you felt guilty about reading off Doctor Mercer when you were absolutely correct to do so. I know you spoke with Doctor Forth and Doctor Lawson and they made good points, but the lack of malpractice doesn't mean the psychiatrist and Doctor Mercer did the right thing!"

"Sadly, though, there is no way to hold him accountable, and if I were to confront him, he could make life very difficult for me. That was the real message from Doctor Forth and Doctor Lawson. Basically, it was 'shut up until you are in a position to speak with authority'. The problem is, that's exactly why the system is such a mess and why change is so difficult."

"You have a plan, right?"

"I can't do it, but Angie's mom can, and even if it's settled out of court, it makes the point that he made a grave error. But on that, we have to wait until Stefan agrees it's safe to do it. Angie's health has to be the primary focus, and everything else, including forcing Doctor Greenberg to admit he made an error, has to take a back seat."

"Chart summaries?" Clarissa asked, holding out her hand.

I smiled and handed her the notebook.

At 5:00pm, after a routine day, I left the hospital and drove to my in-laws' house to pick up Rachel, and we headed home for a quick dinner, before going to band practice, where Anicka watched Rachel. After practice, Rachel and I headed home to meet Lara.

"Did you get your schedule?" Lara asked after we greeted each other with a hug.

"Yes. Monday through Friday, 6:00am to 6:00pm. I'll be able to take Rachel to the hospital daycare as often as necessary. I think a mix of daycare and my in-laws will cover June."

"Somebody is looking out for you!"

"Doctor Gabriel is the Resident responsible for the schedules, but I'm sure Doctor Gibbs had some influence. I'd say you basically have the month off, though obviously I want to see you often!"

Lara smirked, "And ensure the small, fur-covered pussy remains properly stuffed?"

"Yes, but you know I like spending time with you, even without that."

"I was teasing. Do you know Maryam's schedule?"

"I didn't see her today, but I did stop by cardiology and she has a typical schedule for Fourth Years — five twelve-hour shifts, 5:00am to 5:00pm, Monday through Friday, which includes time in the medical practice seeing patients."

"I think the only challenge will be dinner, given you won't get home until 6:15pm or so."

"Let me discuss that with Serafima," I said. "I know there are girls who weren't interested in marriage who would be willing to help out. Serafima won't be able to, as she's due in early August, and Mark and Alyssa are taking a two-week vacation in Colorado. Shall we say our evening prayers?"

"Yes."

We did that, then I put Rachel in her crib, and Lara and I were about to get into bed when the phone rang.

"Loucks residence; Mike speaking."

"Is this the Mike Loucks who is in Code Blue?" a vaguely familiar voice asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"Hi! This is Missy from Goshen High! I called information to get your phone number! You missed a great party!"

"I'm sure, but I had to be at the hospital at 5:00am."

"Do you have another concert soon?"

"May 27th at William Howard Taft University in McKinley. I'm not sure if there are any tickets left, but you could call to find out."

"I will! If not, then maybe a private concert!"

"Check on the tickets and we'll take it from there."

We said 'goodbye' and I hung up.

"Who was that?" Lara asked.

"One of the redheads from the Goshen prom!" I chuckled. "I wasn't planning to call them, but they seem to be a bit more persistent than I expected."

"Stalker?" Lara asked.

"I suppose you could look at it that way, but I think 'overly enthusiastic fan' is more likely. I doubt they're going to show up at my door."

"You never know!"

"True, but I think it's harmless. I need to get to bed. Join me?"

"Of course!"

May 18, 1988, Eve of the Feast of the Ascension, McKinley, Ohio

On Wednesday evening, Rachel and I drove to Saint Michael to attend the Vesperal Divine Liturgy for the Feast of the Ascension. Other than our visit to Elizaveta's grave the previous week, we hadn't been to the church during the forty days from Pascha to Ascension. When we arrived, I let Serafima know about my new schedule.

"Do you want help?" she asked.

"I think a couple of dinners a week would be good."

"Are you OK if the moms and grandmas help?"

"Yes, this is different from before."

"Then let me know which nights, and I'll set it up. Is there anyone with whom you'd be uncomfortable?"

"If you're asking about Oksana, the answer is that if she wants to help, I'll gratefully accept her help. Otherwise, I can't imagine there would be a concern on my part. Well, one, actually; any word from Sara?"

"Supposedly, she's coming to church tonight, or at least that's what she told Irina at school today."

"I'm still ready to talk, if she's willing."

"Good."

Rachel and I went into the nave to spend the ten minutes before the Vesperal Divine Liturgy in our usual way — lighting three candles, venerating the icons of Michael the Archangel, Elizabeth, and Rachel, along with those of Christ and the Theotokos. Rachel's 'kisses' of the icons were more slobbering than kisses, but I had a handkerchief to wipe her saliva from the icons.

We took our usual place, and waited for Father Nicholas to begin the service, with Elias and Subdeacon Mark serving in the altar with him. I didn't see Sara until Rachel and I sat on one of the benches for the Epistle, as she was standing in the very back of the nave, against the west wall of the east-facing temple. She looked nervous and upset, which didn't surprise me, and I hoped she'd be willing to speak with me.

The service ended about thirty minutes later, and we joined the congregation for a festal meal, as I hadn't eaten since lunch so that I could receive the Eucharist. Staying at church would mess up Rachel's schedule a bit, but it couldn't really be helped. I sat with Lara, Subdeacon Mark, Alyssa, Elias, Serafima, Sophia, and Robby to eat and didn't see Sara in the parish hall. When we were finished, I gathered Rachel's things to head home.

"Mike?" Oksana called out as Lara and I walked through the narthex with Rachel.

"I'll see you at the house, Mike," Lara said, continuing.

I acknowledged her and turned to speak to Oksana.

"I just wanted to make sure you'd be OK with me bringing you a meal or two during June."

"Of course," I replied with a smile. "I was never upset with you."

Oksana smiled, "I know, but given ... well, you know, I wasn't sure if you'd be OK with it."

"I am, and I very much appreciate your offer to help."

She smiled, we said 'good night', and Rachel and I headed home to say our evening prayers and get some sleep.

May 19, 1988, McKinley, Ohio

Thursday was a mostly routine day, and late in the afternoon I went to speak with Jeannie Wilders.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"It was cathartic, similar to the letters, but different."

"Did you reach any conclusions?"

"Nothing beyond an admission that I was suppressing my grief in a way that was unhealthy."

"Have you spoken to your friend? The one who you said was helping you?"

"I'll see her on Saturday evening."

"Did she know your wife?"

"No."

"Then I suggest telling the story of your marriage, from the first time you met the woman who was to become your wife, until the birth of your daughter, but focus on how you felt rather than on what happened. Obviously, you will mention events, but it's more important to express how they made you feel, rather than just that they happened.

"The purpose is to cement the positive memories. Those are the ones you'll eventually share with your daughter. Your grieving, though, should be private. Visit Elizaveta's grave once every few weeks and tell her what's going on in your life and how you feel about losing her. You'll know when it's time to stop."

"How?" I asked.

"It'll be the feeling that you have little left to say to her about your relationship and that you're mostly telling her how things are going with your daughter and your medical training. Remember, there is no timeline that applies to grieving; it's all very individual."

"That's not how the Orthodox Church approaches it. There are specific memorial services on a very specific timeline."

"Forever?"

"Formal services? Usually not. The last one is, traditionally, on the first anniversary. That doesn't mean there are no memorials or prayers, just the specific corporate service, the panikhída, is only done for the specific person on the first anniversary. After that, they are done on specific days in the liturgical year for all who have reposed. And, of course, they are mentioned in our daily prayers and during the Divine Liturgy, which is comparable to a Catholic Mass."

"Then, in keeping with your faith, I'd try to get to the point I suggested by the end of August, which, I think, is entirely possible. I think, too, that's the earliest you should consider making a commitment to anyone. That's my opinion, and you should evaluate it as you do any other opinions, but I think it's good advice."

"That is consistent with the Church's guidance of no remarriage for a year after the death of a spouse. As I like to say, those doctrines are based on the accumulated wisdom of nearly two thousand years, and are often the best analysis of the human condition and how we ought to respond to various events in our lives."

"Do you still plan on seeing the monk?"

"I do, though I'm reconsidering because I don't know that it's going to help until I deal with my grief, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if that's not why he's taken the approach he has so far."

"I'm not versed in your Church's approach to monasticism or spirituality, so I'll have to refrain from commenting, except to say that dealing with your grief is necessary for a healthy approach to everything else in life. With that, I'll let you go, and leave it to you if you think you need more guidance from me."

"Thanks, Jeannie, I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, Mike. Whatever you do, never resist getting help when you need it. Too many doctors do that."

"I'll remember."

"Good."

I thanked her again and headed back upstairs.

May 20, 1988, McKinley, Ohio

On Friday, Antonne and his study group came to the hospital for lunch. Clarissa and I gave them a brief tour, repeating the one we'd given Antonne in April.

"Who's your posse?" Doctor Casper asked when we reached the Emergency Department.

"Pre-med students at Taft," I replied, then introduced them.

"Whatever advice Mike gives you, heed it," Doctor Casper said to the group after he greeted them. "He has his act together!"

"That'll be the day," Clarissa teased.

"Medically!" Doctor Casper replied with a grin. "Medically!"

"Possibly," Clarissa allowed.

"You're a sweetheart, Lissa," I said sarcastically.

Everyone laughed, and, as Clarissa and I had to return to Internal Medicine, Antonne and the study group left us at that point.

"They remind me of our study group," Clarissa said. "Though more diverse."

"What?" I chuckled. "A group with six white kids from middle-class families isn't diverse?"

"You realize all of those kids think you're a god, right?"

"I will admit they look up to me as a mentor, but I think deity status is reserved by practicing surgeons for themselves!"

"Says the man who is going to be a trauma surgeon! Those little kids hang on every word, especially Conchita."

"She's FAR more interested in Rachel than in me," I chuckled.

"That kid is a chick magnet!" Clarissa said mirthfully.

"Joel has said the same thing about Abigail. Of course, he's in no position to take advantage of the situation. And before you say it, I'm not going to do anything that might hurt Antonne's study group, so despite that young woman being gaga over my daughter, nothing is going to happen."

"Danika?"

"That's an all-or-nothing proposition," I replied. "Either we marry or we don't even date."

"You're weird, Petrovich!"

"I believe you knew that when you first approached me about studying together nearly seven years ago!"

"So true! Monday, you're going to see your monk, right?"

"Maybe. After my visit to Elizaveta's grave and my session with Jeannie, I'm wondering if that makes sense, or if I should postpone it until I've properly dealt with my grief. I think, perhaps, that Father Roman sensed that, and it's why he was careful not to apply anything too strict beyond the extra prayers."

"I think you can take your asceticism too far, Petrovich. You need to enjoy life. You aren't a monk."

"Obviously," I replied with a grin.

"Stripes?" Clarissa teased. "'Did you ever see a monk get wildly fucked by some teenage girls?'"

"Pretty much," I chuckled. "But I think I'll call him this evening and ask to put off my visit."

The afternoon was routine, and when I arrived home after picking up Rachel from my in-laws' house, there was a message on the answering machine from Missy saying that she hadn't been able to get tickets and asked me to call. I debated whether I should just ignore the message, but given she had my number, I was sure she'd call again.

The larger question was what I'd do, and it wasn't about wanting versus should, it was conflict of 'wants' — wanting to avoid sin but wanting to do something which was sinful. I was fully aware that the outpouring of emotion at Elizaveta's grave made me want more balm for my wounds, even if it was 'missing the mark'. Whatever else might be true, casual sex had served as a useful salve that had dulled the pain.

Now that I was actually confronting it, and understood my true emotional state, rather than simply suppressing it, an application of my chosen cure — self-medication by generating oxytocin and endorphins, enhanced by being with new partners — seemed the best solution, until I had worked through the emotional pain.

That led me back to things Clarissa and Lara had said, and how I felt about church at the moment. I also had to balance my own ascetic tendencies against what I observed about Dani, Maryam, and Danika, none of whom practiced the severe lay asceticism I preferred. That had been true of Elizaveta as well, and our fasting rule had been comparatively lax.

And that fed right into my question of whether I should see Father Roman or not. I looked at the clock and decided it was a reasonable time to call the monastery, as it would be before dinner and Vespers, as well as the additional prayers of the daily hours. The nun who answered the phone asked me to wait, and four minutes later, Father Roman was on the line.

"I've been seeing a secular counselor," I said after I requested his blessing and he had given it. "She has me undertaking several exercises to properly deal with my grief, which I'd been suppressing."

"I wondered if that were the case," Father Roman said. "But you, in effect, denied that."

"I believe your approach was based on that concern, and I wonder if it doesn't make more sense for me to complete the exercises my counselor assigned first."

"What does she have you doing?"

I explained the letters, the conversation with Elizaveta, the conversations with Kari, and Jeannie's proposed course of action.

"I think she's on the right track," Father Roman said. "And it seems as if she's willing to work with your faith, as opposed to your former counselor, who wasn't."

"That's absolutely true. I think, based on what she said, it makes more sense for me to see you after August 28th, when I've dealt with my grief, rather than suppressed it."