by the development of a litany of acronyms such as AMF (adios mother fucker), saved for only the most egregious of patients, and BYE, which simply meant – bye. That kind of irreverent disrespect was left behind in residency, where sick humor was sometimes the only way to make the hard work tolerable. Of course, no patient was ever witness to these outbursts. A good laugh went a long way in the middle of the night. And what better source of sick humor than the human condition. She hadn’t thought of YOYO in a long time.
“Yeah, it’s kind of funny, but it’s typical Doc Hawley. So after he recovers in Lubbock he’ll be back to help you out, even if just in spirit. I think you’ll be fine and probably enjoy it. Doc’s got a great staff. Efficient, nice to patients, they know all the rules, and they’ll do all the coding and paperwork for you.”
“Nice.” Coding and paperwork she could definitely do without.
They ordered. She got a western omelet, the edges of which were slightly crispy. It came with grits and salsa, two biscuits. They talked about hospital policies, the status of her hospital privileges, orthopedic emergency room call. She put real butter on a biscuit. It melted in her mouth. Terryl Wells’ southern accent and affability were appealing. He finally finished his fourth cup of coffee, she, her second, and they were ready to go.
“Are you ready to go tour the hospital, or do you want to wait until tomorrow? Doc is operating all day today. I wanted you to get a chance to meet him before we get together tonight, but if you’ve got stuff to do…”
“I really need to get this accident stuff in order. I’ve got to contact my insurance company and wait for my new rental. It should be here this afternoon.”
“Why don’t you call me after you get all that taken care of and we’ll go see if we can catch up with Doc.” He handed her his card. She saw he was the GEO of the hospital. In a place like this, he might do just about everything there was to do at the Taylor County Regional Hospital. Hiring, firing, coordinating peer review and making sure there was toilet paper stocked in the restrooms.
“Then I guess tonight Brenda’s invited you to dinner, if you feel up to going. My wife, Selma, and I will be coming. Brenda can coo-ook.” A two syllable word meant it must be good. “You know, in all the time I’ve been here, they’ve never sent us a female locums. Ought to be interesting.”
She thought of a female locums. She wondered if it had eight legs and an exoskeleton, and a pussy. Shi-it.
“Okay, I’ll call you. Then you can tell me where to meet you.” They shook hands. Terryl paid the bill and she walked back to the hotel.
Behind the desk was a tiny Indian woman wearing a bright pink, Americanized version of the sari. Kala.
“Good morning, Dr. Cohen. Was everything good in your room last night?”
“Just fine thank you…Kala?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Kala, I’m expecting delivery of a rental car this afternoon. I’ll be in my room if they call.”
“Very good, thank you.”
Leslie finished her calls regarding the accident. There were no surprises. Apparently her account of the accident was in line with Regan’s story and so there were no glitches. No need for further investigation. No tickets given. She had always wondered if the extra insurance she signed up for every other time would really pay off and indeed it had. Her agent said she was totally covered and thanked her for it. Leslie thought, so now you know.
The new rental, a light blue Ford Taurus, was delivered that afternoon and she was in business. She did not like accepting rides from people. Too much time for talking without distractions. No way to leave. She didn’t like to depend on people. Leslie scanned the outside of the Taurus, then signed the form that said everything was okay and the car had a full tank of gas. She always rented the basic mid-sized car, usually a Taurus. She found that any other car was associated with some kind of preconceived notion about her personality, whether it be sporty, well-to-do or family plan depending on if she rented SUVs, foreign cars or vans. Renting a Taurus was neutral, no preconceptions. Just a rented car. No Jaguars or Hummers even when there was a promotional rental price on them. She didn’t want people to know she had lots of money.
Leslie had a successful orthopedic practice in New York prior to the accident. Chris had stock options from his company and a large pension. They owned a big house in New Paltz and a desirable bungalow on the coast in Maine. After the accident, she made her plans and sold everything. Even had an estate sale at the house and all their things were sold off to strangers and antique dealers. Anything that didn’t sell was given to the Salvation Army. She kept her rings and the two little silver boxes containing her children’s first cut locks of hair. She put all her photo albums, film, letters and mementos in a temperature controlled storage unit on the outskirts of New Paltz. She left town. An automatic draw from her bank paid for the storage forever, or at least for the rest of her life. After that, who cared?
Then there was the life insurance policy. Something she never thought about receiving. The policies were supposed to be for the kids, not for themselves. There was a lot of money. She wouldn’t have to work another day in her life if she didn’t want to. But a life of leisure was not for Leslie. She was trying to decide between joining the armed services or some volunteer organization like Doctors Without Walls or the Peace Corps, when the idea of locum tenens work came up and she realized that in doing temporary work she could live anonymously and never again establish roots.
Leslie found an agency and went to work. They kept her very busy. Locum tenens docs were in big demand. She went from one job to another, flying or driving, depending on the accessibility of each location to an airport and the amount of time between jobs. She stayed in the local hotels with inside corridors and rented mid-sized cars. She stocked the mini-fridge with Diet A & W root beer, yogurt and baby carrots. She did her job, got paid, moved on. There was always work, and in fact Dr. Cohen was in big demand. She may have made more than she had as a physician in private practice and there were less hassles. Locum tenens work was inconsistent with a normal family life. The people who did it were usually single or retired and didn’t have kids to look after. There were also guys out there who just couldn’t handle working in a practice with all the relationships and commitments that came along with it. Locums work was ideal for that sort.
Leslie fit in there somewhere. She was single and couldn’t handle private practice any more. She sent letters to all her patients. She turned her practice over to her partners after she had, for the most part, finished caring for all of her post-operative patients. That had taken about four months.
The whole process of divesting herself of everything she and Chris had taken fifteen years to build took all of about six months. Done. She left the storage room and the five urns containing the ashes of her mom and dad, Chris, Victor and Vivian Cohen in a New Paltz mausoleum. Then she headed off to her first assignment in Bolivar, Missouri where a local orthopod needed a well deserved vacation with his family after two years of working without a break.
5
Leslie thought about calling Brenda Hawley and making up some excuse to get out of going to dinner. She avoided personal engagements, period. Personal engagements meant personal questions without exception. No one ever talked about the weather or the job. They wanted something. They wanted a history. She remembered some song from the sixties. “What’s your name…Who’s your daddy?” One question always led to another and eventually she had to lie. The truth was too painful to tell. But more
