one in every eight soldiers suffering from PTSD and only about thirty percent of those ever getting help, the rest are living in a personal hell.
“They could benefit from what we do here, and I happen to think Marc Rousseau might be great at spotting troubling issues others have missed. He’s perceptive.” He raised teasing eyebrows. “And who better to put a man in his place if he needs it than you?”
She winced. “All it takes is a bad marriage. Want to hear my opinions on that?”
Jason smiled sympathetically. “Ah, Bill. The vanquished husband. I could go beat him up if that makes you feel any better.”
“I’m sounding like the one with the rotten attitude, aren’t I?”
“You’ve been through your share of misery.”
“And come through it wiser than I was.”
“Look, I know the divorce was tough, but you never let it affect your work when you were going through the various aspects of it. I gave you the benefit of the doubt and hired you pretty much untested in PTSD because I believed in you, and I’d hope you’d do the same for Marc. Give him the same chance I gave you.”
“Tough divorce is an understatement. It was devastating, discovering how many times Bill cheated on me when I was overseas.”
“And you’re better off being rid of him.”
“I am, but still …” She shrugged. “Look, I know Rousseau by the reputation that precedes him, but I wouldn’t recognize him if he walked right by me, and I’m still a little on edge.”
“Then you don’t know?” Jason frowned. “I’d assumed since you knew he was a returning wounded soldier …”
“Know what?”
“Marc Rousseau is a paraplegic. Incomplete, lower injury. Full sensation, but not enough muscle recovery to get his legs back under him.”
Anne’s eyes widened. “Bad attitude and disabled?”
“Well, for sure, if you can survive working with him, you’ll regain some of the self-confidence you lost in the divorce mess. But the man is worth saving because he’s a damned good doctor and I want him to work out here, Anne. We need him as much as he needs us. So, besides your self-confidence, I’ll give you a trophy or something for enduring him.”
“Damn the disability …”
Jason laughed. “It gets you in the soft spot every time, doesn’t it?”
“How did it happen?”
“He was a medic, got hit by shrapnel … nails, wire, that kind of stuff … from an IED. Was a pretty bad injury, touch and go for a while. But luckily—if you can call anything about it lucky—his injury could have been worse. He’s pretty independent. In fact, the only thing he can’t do is walk.”
“And that’s not going to happen?”
Jason shook his head. “He’s in the chair for the count.”
“With a lot of anger issues you’re attributing to PTSD.”
“He worked through the physical end of it like a man possessed, but he neglected … himself. Lost himself in the whole affair. Which is a damn shame because he saved lives, was commended as a battlefield surgeon.”
Anne walked over to her desk and sat down. “OK, I’ll cut him some slack, but only some. That’s the best I can offer you right now.”
“He’s going to be spotting a lot of your patients and referring them to you. You do realize that, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“And I’m not going to soft-pedal this. He’ll be a challenge, Anne, but, unlike Bill and all his affairs, it won’t be directed at you.”
All Bill’s affairs. She’d been overseas in one medical capacity or another for three tours, while the husband who’d vowed to be true had been tracked to nine different affairs. Even Bill’s attorney hadn’t tried too hard to help him during nearly a year of divorce proceedings. “I can take on a challenge as long as it’s not personal,” Anne replied. “And apart from a husband having all those affairs while his wife was off, serving her country, I don’t think anything could be much more challenging than that.”
“I really want Marc stable enough to stay with us,” Jason said. “We need someone who’s been through it so he can get to others who are going through what he did.”
“I know. And you’re right. So I’ll be on my good behavior with him.”
“And you’ll help him get acclimated to the way we do things here?”
“Yes,” she answered. “But he’s got to meet me halfway.”
“That takes believing in himself. And what better way to do that than being involved in his job?”
“When does he start?”
“He’s started. I couldn’t see any reason to put him off. I hired him on the spot and sent him down to his office.”
“Then there was no point to this discussion.”
Jason smiled. “You’re my other volatile physician, so I thought I’d give you fair warning. Let’s just call it a family courtesy.”
“Speaking of which, tell Hannah I’ll be by soon,” Anne said as Jason headed to her door, leaving her to study her surroundings. She loved this place, loved the contemporary chrome look. Most of all, she loved the Gallahue Rehabilitation Center for Veterans for the good work it did. It was small, limited in the cases it could take. But the services it offered, thanks largely to Maynard and Lois Gallahue in memory of their fallen son, were amazing and much more extensive than one might expect from a relatively small clinic. And waiting lists for admittance were long.
Rumors had it the Gallahue Foundation for returning wounded soldiers would be upping its contribution, and she’d heard other notable companies were making funds available. So, as far as Anne was concerned, the sky here was the limit. She hoped so, anyway, because she saw the work being done every day. Witnessed firsthand the miracles.
“Got a minute?” she asked a little while later, poking her head through the semi-open door that read “John Hemmings” in gold letters and would soon read “Marc Rousseau”.
“Depends on what you want to do with that minute. If you’ve come to gawk, then, no, I don’t have a minute.” Marc looked up at her. “If you’ve come to be sociable, I’m not sociable. And if you’ve come about a patient, I haven’t even figured out how to fill out all my employment forms, so patients are a no-go as well for the next day or so.”
His office was sparse—a desk with a chair shoved into the corner, empty shelves, no diplomas. It was as if the man didn’t exist. But he did, and she couldn’t help but admire his massive, muscular arms, and the way his reading glasses slid to the end of his nose, revealing clear, dark brown eyes. And his hair cut … longish, over the collar, dark brown as well. He was goose-bumps-up-the-arm handsome, but the attitude … wow,
