wears off I won't be having the sort of pain I had before.'
'Any problems with the ileostomy?'
'Not so far. And it's great here—the nurses are really spoiling me.' Mike smiled from his semi-sitting position in the bed. 'I wish I'd done this a while ago.'
'Well, you hang in there, Mike. I want to have a quick word with the night nurses before they go off duty, then I'll come to see you later today.'
By the time he had seen his other post-op patients he was a few minutes late for the meeting of the medical advisory committee. Meetings bored him somewhat, he acknowledged as he entered the boardroom where the meeting was being held, yet he would have to go to plenty of them if he were Chief of Surgery. He didn't want to lose touch with patients, or to lose that fine edge of skill that he needed to be a good, competent, practical surgeon. Sometimes those considerations bothered him to a point where he questioned his suitability for the job. Perhaps after all he wasn't ready for all this sort of stuff, the endless wrangling over finances, procedure, protocol, problems...
'Hi, Clay,' Jerry addressed him before he sat down at the big table in the boardroom. 'I want to know if you've got your curriculum vitae in order for your application for the job.'
'Yes, I have,' Clay assured him.
'Good, because things are moving. You'll need the names of eight to ten referees for the search committee to contact.'
'That many?'
'Yes. It's because a few of them are never available—they're away at meetings, on holiday, sick or whatever, so it's better to have more than you really need,' Jerry said as they stood casually away from the few others who had arrived. 'They are contacted by telephone or teleconferencing.'
'I see. Are you going to be on the search committee, Jerry?'
'No, I'm not. So you're welcome to use me as one of your referees, if you want to.'
'Thank you, I appreciate it,' Clay said, feeling a surging excitement that his goal might be within his grasp. He pushed aside his earlier reservations as pessimistic niggles. Positive thinking was what mattered here—it often made the difference between success and failure. Although he would be competing with other guys who were equally good at their jobs, he had perhaps an advantage in having worked with Jerry Claibourne as a senior surgical resident.
When the meeting was over he had an outpatient clinic, then had to go again to his private office to deal with the never-ending paperwork. At the office he shared a secretary and a registered nurse, part time, with his colleague and friend, Dr Jason Ritt, who was a peripheral vascular surgeon, one who dealt with diseases and operations of the arteries and veins of the human body, all except those of the heart itself. The heart was the province of the cardiac surgeon.
While in the hospital, and out of it, Clay was always available for emergency surgery. Tomorrow he had a full operating list. Some of the patients on that list would be coming into hospital today, where they would be seen by the surgical residents, but he would also go to see them before he went home that evening.
In his private office that afternoon he got a phone call from the hospital fund-raising office. 'I'm calling about the details of your prize, Dr Sotheby,' a woman explained, after she'd identified herself. 'First of all, I'd like to thank you for your donation to the hospital fund, and for being such a good sport in participating.'
'Er...' he said, his mind still on the notes he had been writing. 'Prize?'
'The date you won,' the woman said, 'the blind date.'
'Oh...right,' he said vaguely, knowing that he was sounding less than enthusiastic.
'Yes. Could you give us a day and time that would be suitable, Dr Sotheby? Then we set it up for you at Guido's restaurant in Gresham. It's a great place. You simply turn up there at the agreed time, ask for the hospital table, which is table ten, and your date will be there at the table. She is asked to come five
'Any problems with the ileostomy?'
'Not so far. And it's great here—the nurses are really spoiling me.' Mike smiled from his semi-sitting position in the bed. 'I wish I'd done this a while ago.'
'Well, you hang in there, Mike. I want to have a quick word with the night nurses before they go off duty, then I'll come to see you later today.'
By the time he had seen his other post-op patients he was a few minutes late for the meeting of the medical advisory committee. Meetings bored him somewhat, he acknowledged as he entered the boardroom where the meeting was being held, yet he would have to go to plenty of them if he were Chief of Surgery. He didn't want to lose touch with patients, or to lose that fine edge of skill that he needed to be a good, competent, practical surgeon. Sometimes those considerations bothered him to a point where he questioned his suitability for the job. Perhaps after all he wasn't ready for all this sort of stuff, the endless wrangling over finances, procedure, protocol, problems...
'Hi, Clay,' Jerry addressed him before he sat down at the big table in the boardroom. 'I want to know if you've got your curriculum vitae in order for your application for the job.'
'Yes, I have,' Clay assured him.
'Good, because things are moving. You'll need the names of eight to ten referees for the search committee to contact.'
'That many?'
'Yes. It's because a few of them are never available—they're away at meetings, on holiday, sick or whatever, so it's better to have more than you really need,' Jerry said as they stood casually away from the few others who had arrived. 'They are contacted by telephone or teleconferencing.'
'I see. Are you going to be on the search committee, Jerry?'
'No, I'm not. So you're welcome to use me as one of your referees, if you want to.'
'Thank you, I appreciate it,' Clay said, feeling a surging excitement that his goal might be within his grasp. He pushed aside his earlier reservations as pessimistic niggles. Positive thinking was what mattered here—it often made the difference between success and failure. Although he would be competing with other guys who were equally good at their jobs, he had perhaps an advantage in having worked with Jerry Claibourne as a senior surgical resident.
When the meeting was over he had an outpatient clinic, then had to go again to his private office to deal with the never-ending paperwork. At the office he shared a secretary and a registered nurse, part time, with his colleague and friend, Dr Jason Ritt, who was a peripheral vascular surgeon, one who dealt with diseases and operations of the arteries and veins of the human body, all except those of the heart itself. The heart was the province of the cardiac surgeon.
While in the hospital, and out of it, Clay was always available for emergency surgery. Tomorrow he had a full operating list. Some of the patients on that list would be coming into hospital today, where they would be seen by the surgical residents, but he would also go to see them before he went home that evening.
In his private office that afternoon he got a phone call from the hospital fund-raising office. 'I'm calling about the details of your prize, Dr Sotheby,' a woman explained, after she'd identified herself. 'First of all, I'd like to thank you for your donation to the hospital fund, and for being such a good sport in participating.'
'Er...' he said, his mind still on the notes he had been writing. 'Prize?'
'The date you won,' the woman said, 'the blind date.'
'Oh...right,' he said vaguely, knowing that he was sounding less than enthusiastic.
'Yes. Could you give us a day and time that would be suitable, Dr Sotheby? Then we set it up for you at Guido's restaurant in Gresham. It's a great place. You simply turn up there at the agreed time, ask for the hospital table, which is table ten, and your date will be there at the table. She is asked to come five
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