Remission by Ofelia Martinez

Chapter 2

The Research God

“Ugh.” Valentina, my twenty-four-year-old patient, rolled her eyes and turned away from me as I entered her room and looked at her chart on the laptop in the hospital’s computer cart.

“Well, it’s nice to see you too,” I said.

“I fucking hate you,” she said.

“No, you don’t. I’m your favorite doctor.” I smiled at her, looking up from her labs, which were good enough to widen my smile even further.

“You keep saying that, but you’re not really my favorite doctor. You only think that because I’m your favorite patient,” Valentina said.

“I have no favorite patients. I love you all the same.”

She drew her finger in her mouth, pretending to gag.

“Are you really going to be sick?” I asked, only slightly concerned.

“No, but you look disgusting. It should be illegal.”

“What should?”

“For doctors like you to walk around in front of patients like me.”

“Doctors like me?”

“Yeah, you, strutting in here in your pencil skirt, white coat, with your—with your honey skin, amber eyes, and legs for miles. Flaunting all that in front of pale skeletons like me. It should be illegal for you to be that perfect.”

I snorted. “I’m not perfect, Valentina. Far from it. And you are not a skeleton.”

“I am. I’m a skeleton of my former self . . .” She trailed off, her gaze miles and miles away.

I hated seeing her so defeated. Damn it, Valentina. We knew. We knew the fight we had ahead of us. She couldn’t give up on her treatment now. She wanted to be aggressive, and we’d only barely started. I was disconcerted by how low her spirits were so soon after beginning treatment.

It’s only the start. She is in a bit of shock, just adjusting. I made a mental note to, if she was still in this mood in a few weeks, explore adding psych to her clinical team.

I sat on the chair next to her and brushed a long strand of hair away from her forehead. She smiled, though it was weak.

“But seriously,” she said. “Why are you all dolled up? And hey! You weren’t at rounds this morning,” she complained.

“I wasn’t at rounds because I’m off today. And I’m not dolled up.”

Valentina arched an eyebrow. “So, that’s how you dress on your days off?”

“What? This is professional!”

“No hot date? I’m disappointed. Remember, I have to live vicariously through you!”

I laughed at that. “No hot date. I’m here for a meeting. I get a new boss today, and the people upstairs are having a bit of a welcome thing for him.”

“You dressed like that, and put on all that makeup, for a new boss? I smell something fishy. Give it up, Ramirez.” She spoke with the authority of a coach.

“Doctor Ramirez. It cost me to get my degree, so you best show respect. I’m just trying to look professional. My new boss is kind of a big deal. I thought I should put my best foot forward.”

“A big deal?” she asked, not buying it.

“Yes, and you should think he’s a big deal too.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. It was his research that led to the clinical trials that make your treatment as effective as it is right now.”

“Oh my god, is he that guy you won’t shut up about? What’s his name?”

“Medina. His name is Dr. Medina. And it’s his research I won’t shut up about. Not him.”

“You clearly have a lady boner for him.”

“Valentina!” I scolded her, and she pulled the bedsheets over her chin as if she weren’t a grown woman.

“I’m dying,” she said in a little girl’s voice.

“You are not dying,” I said, pulling the sheets back down. “Don’t be a martyr.”

“Is he hot?” she asked.

“Ew, Valentina, I’ve never seen him, but he is probably old. So unless you like bald and big-nosed with uncombed Einstein-like hair, which is how I’ve been picturing him, then yeah, he’s probably hot.”

She giggled back into her bed, and I felt lighter having left her in better spirits as I headed to the conference room.

Even if he did look like the troll of my imagination, I was still very nervous about meeting my godlike professional hero. Especially because I thought I’d never get to meet him in my life. His giving up a job at the FIHR, the Federal Institute of Health and Research, to come work here was like a miracle. It was such a coincidence that he would end up at my hospital, of all places. It would be like telling the average person they were going to meet Brenner Reindhart—from the best rock band of all time, Industrial November—and that he would be their boss.

I scanned the faces in the room eagerly. About half the staff were there early, and I smiled when I saw Sara, predictably standing by the lunch spread.

“Thanks for the heads up, Caro,” said Sara, my best friend at the hospital. “This stuff is way better than what the nurses get at our meetings. We need the sustenance,” she said, though the last word was muffled by the large piece of cantaloupe in her mouth.

“You’re welcome.” I gave her a side hug.

When we parted, Sara glared at me up and down. She put a hand on her hip and waited to swallow the bite she was chewing before speaking. “You look really nice,” she said.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Not this again. “It’s not that weird,” I snapped.

Sara laughed. “Yeah, honey. It is. Thanks again for the tip,” she shouted as she left, a plate full of food shamelessly in her clutches.

Sara did have the right idea. My stomach rumbled at the sight of all the food. I had been so nervous all day that I hadn’t eaten a bite, but now in my doctor’s coat, and in the hospital—my favorite place in the world—I felt calmer, which in turn made me hungry.

As I piled fruit onto a plate, three doctors entered the conference room. I didn’t have to see his face to know one of them was Dr. Braxton Keach. He was handsome, with black hair and blue eyes, but anything pleasant about him ended with his pretty-boy status. I swear Dr. Keach carried the stench of evil wherever he went, and I could sense his presence well before he made himself known. Though really, it was the excessive body spray that reminded me of so many of my high school memories. He didn’t seem to understand that most of his patients were severely nauseous most of the time.

While we were both vying for the same prestigious fellowship offered by the hospital, my distaste for him didn’t stem from friendly competition. No. It was the way he looked down on his patients and treated them as inferior. His disdain was subtle, so much so that it wouldn’t be actionable in court, but I recognized his prejudiced behavior because he often turned it on me. For everyone else in the department, he turned on the charm. It made my teeth grind that no one else saw him for what he was.

Adding to my ongoing dislike of Dr. Keach, no one else noticed his double-face. Not only was Dr. Keach classically handsome, but he could bullshit like the best of them. The few other female residents in the room gravitated to him the minute he walked in and giggled like little girls. I rolled my eyes and wished I could sit them down and remind them they were doctors and should behave better. But Dr. Keach’s presence would likely still prevail. Add to his handsomeness the fact that he was wealthy—from one of the most prominent families in Kansas City—and that meant everyone turned a blind eye to his more-than-lacking skills as a physician and his superiority complex. The result was a honey-tongued devil. But I knew.

“Dr. Ramirez,” he said with his oily voice.

“Dr. Keach.” I turned to the front of the room, my plate in my hand, ready to find another friendly face, any face, but he spoke before I could make my escape.

“Isn’t this funny,” he said with amusement in his eyes.

I didn’t want to take the bait, I really didn’t, but it was my day off so I could leave after the meeting. It was probably better to deal with it now than at my next shift when I would be trying to work.

“What is?” I said, indulging him.

“Last time we had a meeting like this was a year ago. You remember. The Chief of Oncology was handing you a bouquet of flowers. The youngest resident to get a ten-million-dollar grant.”

“I remember,” I said. “Your jealousy is showing, Dr. Keach.”

He laughed. “No, not jealous. Don’t you find it weird?” he asked as he grabbed a wrap from the table and placed it on his plate. “Now, the chief has brought in Dr. Medina, the very man whose research you based your own grant on.”

“Is there a point to this little speech?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, Ramirez. If I were you, I’d be a little suspicious. He did just come in kind of stealing your thunder. Seems like the chief traded up. You think he’ll give him a bouquet of flowers too?”

He grinned, and I clenched every muscle to restrain myself from punching him in the face. I admired Dr. Medina. I wanted to learn from him. This was the best opportunity of my career, and Dr. Keach wanted to twist it into something it was not. This was what he did. He constantly tried to make this program difficult for me. He had wanted me to quit from the moment he’d met me, and the more I pushed back, the madder I made him, and the more he tried.

“Not everyone is as twisted as you are, Dr. Keach. Some of us are here to cure cancer. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“Do you hear yourself?” he asked. “You sound like a child. Cure cancer? You?”

“Maybe not today,” I said. “But I’m one step closer than I was yesterday.” I turned away from him and waved goodbye with my napkin, showing how little respect I had for him.

I walked over to join colleagues I liked better. I was ready to drum up conversation with them when the back doors to the conference room opened, and chief Stuart stepped in, followed by a tall, dark, and handsome man. My eyes immediately widened. It couldn’t be Dr. Medina. Could it?

The man who followed him wore a navy-blue suit with a crisp white shirt and a grey—almost silver—tie. His black hair, thick and wavy, was meticulously combed back. He had a little bit of salt in his pepper-colored hair, which made the contrast to his deeply tanned skin much more noticeable. His strong brow shaded his eyes, so I couldn’t see his eye color, but his face was chiseled except for a full bottom lip. I could sense the chiseled shape of his jaw despite the salt and pepper-speckled beard.

My lips parted, and my gaze followed him the rest of the meeting. He stood to the chief’s right, scanning the faces as if he were looking for someone.

“Thank you, all,” the chief started, “for being here. We’ll make this quick. You know from my email last month that we have a new attending on staff. Please help me welcome Dr. Hector Medina.”

Every doctor not holding a plate of food clapped. The noise snapped me out of whatever trance I had been in, and I found myself closing my mouth, which had grown dry. I needed to stop. Not only was he my boss, but I wanted him to be my mentor; if that weren’t enough, the glistening gold band around his ring finger put me in check.

The chief continued. “We are fortunate to have him. He left a leadership position at the FIHR for an attending position here. That’s a demotion if you ask me.” The chief brought a hand to Dr. Medina’s shoulder. Dr. Medina looked on the room with confidence and a smile that made my knees a little bit weak, though I’d never admit it to anyone. “But his decision also speaks to his character. He wants to refocus on patient care and rejoin research from the trenches, but I’ll let him speak more about it himself. Dr. Medina, would you like to say a few words?”

“Thank you, Dr. Stuart. It is an honor to work with you and to be at this hospital with such great eager and young minds.” His voice was deep and severe, and it carried a bit of a Spanish accent. “That’s why I took this demotion, as you called it. I want to find new inspiration for my research, and the best source of inspiration I’ve ever had has been my patients. I know I will be a boss to most of you. To you, I say, I am a tough boss, but I am a fair boss. I look forward to working with you and, more importantly, learning from you.”

He paused to look through the faces in the room as if he was searching for someone he knew. He took so long in his visual assessment that we all looked at each other, hoping to find the source he was seeking. Not settling on anyone in particular, he continued.

“I’ve been following research coming from this hospital for over a year now, and let me tell you, I’ve been impressed. That is why I chose Heartland Metro Hospital as my new professional home. There is one trial going on now that fascinates me. The grant proposal came across my desk at the FIHR a couple of years ago.”

Oh no, I thought. If he was about to say what I thought he was, I was going to be sick. Two years ago was exactly when I first submitted my research proposal. Was he here to check up on my trial? Or worse still, did he intend to take back his work? I set my plate back on the conference table and straightened my jacket, hoping I was wrong but preparing to be right—the story of my life.

“If I remember correctly,” Dr. Medina said, “the trial is underway now, and it deals with changes in cervical cancer treatment protocols in women under thirty.”

I felt the moment when everyone turned to look at me, and I closed my eyes. Traitors. The lot of you.

Dr. Medina zeroed in on me. He planned it beautifully. Once he mentioned the trial and those few specifics, everyone pointed right to me. I envisioned a giant red arrow with blinking lights floating above my head. Perfect. Well played, Dr. Medina. Well played.

He kept his gaze on me for the remainder of his little speech. “Imagine my surprise when I read this grant proposal and found that it continued precisely where my research left off before I left for the FIHR. It was as though someone cloned me and left half of me behind to keep the research going, only much later, of course,” he said and laughed at his own joke about his old age, though he could barely be pushing forty. It wasn’t that funny, but everyone still joined in with a burst of nervous laughter. Suck-ups.

“I’m guessing you are Dr. Ramirez?”

Oh, how could you tell? I cleared my throat and instead said, “Yes, Doctor. Carolina Ramirez. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Do you have a patient to see after this meeting?” he asked. His eyes narrowed.

Shit. Shit. Shit. “No, Doctor. I’m available.”

Dr. Keach snickered next to me. Shit. Why did I have to phrase it like that? Real smart on my part.

“Perfect. Meet me in my office when we are done here. No, uh, actually, wait for me. I’ll need you to first show me to my office.” Everyone in the room laughed in earnest, then. I simply nodded.

Dr. Medina talked about his mission and vision for the residency program now that he was at the helm and his strong direction toward innovative research. I stopped listening. I was equal parts excited to work with him and petrified he was here to take over my trial. Why else would he leave the FIHR? It was all beginning to make sense. I worked so hard on the trial, and the results so far had been promising. For me to lose control of it now would be a devastating blow.

Dr. Medina glanced at me frequently. He would turn his attention to someone else, then return to me. I felt like I might be sick and suddenly was very thankful I hadn’t eaten.

The meeting ended after Dr. Stuart said a few closing remarks, and everyone trickled out of the room and back to work.

Before departing, Dr. Keach didn’t miss the opportunity to get in one more dig. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “What did I tell you?”

Fuck off, I thought, but only glared in response. Dr. Keach left, and then Dr. Medina and I were alone.

“Lead the way, Dr. Ramirez.”

I nodded and opened the door for him.

“Thank you.”

We got on the elevator, and, simply to have something to say, I informed him, “Your office is on the seventh floor.” I kept my eyes glued to my hands the rest of the elevator ride. I paid no attention to who got on or off the elevator, and the three floors up seemed to take ages. My back started to break into a sweat.

We got off the elevator, and I led him to his office where I opened the door and gestured for him to go in.

“Thank you, Dr. Ramirez. Please, take a seat.”

The view from his corner office was spectacular. The sea of lush, green treetops concealed the bustling metropolis below as if the hospital were the solitary structure for miles. Of course they would lay out the red carpet for him. I’d kill for this office and this view.

I heard shuffling behind me, and I turned to look at him. He closed the door to his office, hung his suit jacket on the hook by the door, and then took his tie off.

“I hate these things,” he said. “They are always trying to strangle me.” He looked at the tie like it was his personal enemy, and I smiled at how he took offense at the strip of fabric. I then remembered I was in danger of losing control of my trial, and the smile was wiped away.

As he walked to the chair, he rolled up his sleeves. He sat down, and looking at his desk, he filled his cheeks with air. He let the air out slowly and grunted. “Well, this is stupid,” he said.

I looked at the desk, not finding anything wrong.

“Um, you don’t like the desk?”

“No, the desk is fine. But such an American thing to do.”

“What is?”

“This view. It’s perfect, and then you place this monstrosity of a desk in here facing away from the view.”

“I’m sure we can call facility services, and they can rotate things around for you.”

“Yes, yes. That will be great.” He looked up, smiling at me, and I found myself relaxing. He was so strange and inconsistent, not to mention manic with his shifts in attention.

“You are probably wondering why I wanted to speak with you.”

“I assume to . . . take away my clinical trial?” I said with a wince.

“Take your trial? Why would I do that?”

“You don’t think I ripped off your research?”

“Is that what you think?”

I thought about that. I never had in the past, until freaking Keach said it.

“No, Doctor. You made suggestions for future steps, sure, but I definitely took those and ran with them in a different direction,” I said.

“Then why the doubt?”

“I had no doubts, to be honest, not until it was suggested to me—”

“By whom?” he cut in.

I looked up at him, and his face showed genuine concern. “It doesn’t matter,” I said dismissively. “But if that’s not why you called me into your office, then I am curious.”

“I didn’t want to say it in front of your peers and make things tough for you, but I’m only here because of your research.”

My jaw dropped. Had I heard him right? I shook my head, blinking. Keith Richards basically just told me he sought me out because of my guitar solo. I could have died right then and there and been happy about it.

“Excuse me?”

“Where you took your grant. It was brilliant. Well, don’t get too cocky. It was brilliant for a resident.”

Was this man trying to tease me? My hero. Teasing me? Here for me? I must be dreaming. And had my boss just called me cocky?

“We can do great things together, Dr. Ramirez. You are wrapping up year one of the trial, right?”

He said together. I relaxed in my chair, realizing my earlier fears were unfounded. They had to be. I wrote them off as parasitic ideas deposited by one Dr. Keach.

Dr. Medina was here to mentor me.

“Yes. It’s a five-year grant.”

“I have a feeling it will be successful.”

“We won’t have statistically significant data until at least the conclusion of year three.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But I’m confident. You should be too.”

My heart swelled with pride. If my mother could be here now, she would be so happy. I refocused my attention before my eyes became watery at the thought. I couldn’t very well cry in the presence of my boss.

“I would like to propose that we write your follow-up grant together. Dr. Ramirez, what you are doing with this trial reminds me of why I got into medicine in the first place.”

“I’m honored, Doctor. I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“Say thank you. With my name as a co-investigator, you will get as much funding as you want. Once we get year three data, I want us to write a proposal for lifetime follow-up with the patients from this trial. We can design other trials as well if you’d like, but that’s the one I’m most interested in.”

“That would be amazing. Thank you.”

“That is all, Dr. Ramirez.” He opened his laptop, dismissing me as if he hadn’t just changed my life.

As I turned the knob to the door, he called after me. “Oh, before I forget, Dr. Ramirez, if anyone asks, just say I wanted to be brought up to speed with your trial.” He put his index finger to his mouth conspiratorially before saying, “Our little secret for now.”