Remission by Ofelia Martinez

Chapter 21

The Breaking Point

Hector took the week off both to give his hand time to heal and to get mentally back in the game. Officially, he called the laceration on his hand a ‘cooking accident’ and I was the only one who knew the truth.

I thought it would feel dirty, to have a secret with him again, but it didn’t. It felt natural, as if that were the order of the universe.

We didn’t see each other outside of work, either. We worked on writing and revising the paper we were submitting to the medical journal via email, and we texted constantly. At first, it was so I could check up on him, but it turned into a playful and welcome distraction.

Hector: Just sent you the first revision. Please check.

Me: I’m about to see a patient.

Hector: This is more important.

Me: Nothing is more important than my patients.

Hector: Please clear your schedule. We have to publish this before it gets out.

Me: I’ll get to it.

Hector: I’m not above going to the hospital and carrying you over my shoulder to my office.

Me: Please don’t. Keach will have a field day. I promise before you wake up tomorrow, you will have a second draft.

Even if I knew it would bring the rumors back, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. The vision of Hector storming into the hospital and picking me up in those strong arms was a welcome one.

A fantasy followed, of me in his office, taken there by force, and thrown on top of his desk—concentrate, Carolina. I shook it off and reread my next patient’s chart before going into the exam room.

I was nearly keelingover with exhaustion, but I managed to address all of Hector’s comments on the first draft. I almost cried when I saw all of his edits and comments. I swear, there were more red corrections than my original text. But I got it done.

He didn’t receive the email until three in the morning, so I wasn’t expecting the texts I got starting an hour later.

Hector: This is good, Carolina.

Hector: Wait, am I allowed to call you Carolina outside of work again? You never said.

Hector: Just sent you the second draft.

Hector: I’m sorry. I just realized you are probably sleeping.

Hector: What are you dreaming about? Tell me when you wake up.

Hector: I hated not seeing you this week. Even when we weren’t speaking, I at least got to see you from afar.

I woke up at eight in the morning, ready to meet Sara for the run I promised her. A smile drew on the corner of my lips at the sight of the flurry of messages from Hector.

This was going down a dangerous road. I felt deceptive, somehow, not having told him how I felt about him.

Me: I dreamt about medicine.

Hector: Really?

Me: No. You are not privy to my dreams.

Hector: Noted.

Hector: What am I privy to?

Me: Whatever I decide.

Hector: I can live with that.

Hector: When this is published in a few months, may I take you to dinner to celebrate?

Blinking, I wiped the sleep from my eyes, not certain I was reading right. This was why I hated texting. There was no additional information provided by his facial expressions or his body language.

Was he being a boss? A mentor? Or was he hinting at a date?

More importantly, did it matter?

No. I decided it didn’t. He needed to know how I felt as much as I needed to know why he still wore the wedding ring. Clearly, his wife hadn’t returned to his life. Nothing had changed in his house, and there was no way he would have called me over to give him stitches if Andrea was back in his life.

He was in limbo. I wouldn’t enter into any sort of romantic relationship with him while he was married, but he deserved to know that I would wait for him until it was indeed over. If he ever did get divorced, something could come of our relationship. I had to find out if he felt the same way.

Us—I was already thinking of us. At that moment, I decided the truth had to come out. The paper wouldn’t publish for a couple of months. We could use that time to reestablish the friendship I ruined when the rumors started.

Me: I’d love to go to dinner with you when the paper gets published.

Hector: Really?

Me: Yes.

Hector: What about the rumors?

Me: Fuck the rumors.

It was like Christmas morning.I decided to stay at Dad’s house so we could look at the website together. Sara, too, came over to spend the night with me. She startled awake when I sprang up from the bed.

“It’s too early.” Sara moaned next to me.

“Consider it payback for all the runs you make me do.”

“Are we running after?” she asked as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“No. It’s my day. Now, get up.”

I hurried to get my slippers on and tumbled down the stairs. Dad was already in the kitchen, making coffee. He had placed my laptop on the table, and it was hard-wired to the internet. No Wi-Fi mishaps this morning. He was nothing if not practical, and today practical was precisely what I needed.

“Good morning, Papi.”

“Buenos días.” He kissed me on the cheek, and I sat in front of the laptop.

“It’s not up yet,” I said.

“What?” Sara asked. Her eyes half-closed, she extended her arm until Dad placed a coffee mug in her hand.

“The article isn’t loaded yet.”

I ordered about twenty hard copies of the journal, which would arrive in a few days. Dad requested copies so he could give them out to our extended family. He didn’t care if most of them wouldn’t know what any of it meant, or the significance of it. He didn’t care about any of it. All he wanted to do was brag.

Refreshing the button every ten seconds only increased my anxiety. As if sensing it, Sara stilled my hand.

“Why don’t you give it a few minutes?” she said. “Maybe Ramiro would like to be here too.”

At her suggestion, I ran to the door, but when I opened it, there he was, groggy and in pajama bottoms and a ribbed tank, but with a smile etched on his lips.

“Morning,” Ramiro said.

“Good morning.” I kissed him on the cheek. “Dad’s got coffee going.”

“Great,” he grunted.

All three of us sat in front of the monitor. My leg shook under the table.

“Why don’t you refresh it again?” Ramiro asked.

“She’s done that already,” Sara clipped, and Ramiro shot her a stink-eye.

I tried again anyway. The loading icon spun for a few beats longer than last time, and there it was—the article.

“Yes!” Dad yelled with a level of excitement I’d only seen from him during soccer games.

No. Something was wrong. I’d let Hector submit the final draft after his final approval, and surely he had made a mistake.

“What is this?” Sara asked.

There, on the screen before us, the article read: Changes inChemoradiation Treatment Protocols for Cervical Cancer in Women Under Thirty. And listed as Primary Investigator: Hector Medina, M.D.

I scanned the list of contributors next. Listed were the physicians from the other hospitals, including Pike View and Heartland Metro. Listed in alphabetical order toward the end of the list: Carolina Ramirez, M.D.

It was a mistake. It had to be. Hector wouldn’t do this intentionally.

“That piece of shit,” Sara said through gritted teeth.

“What’s going on?” Dad asked.

“He took credit for the trial,” Sara said.

“What?” Dad asked.

“He listed himself as the primary investigator, and Carolina only as a contributor. He is saying it was all his idea,” Sara explained to Dad.

“I’m going to kill that piece of shit,” Ramiro hissed.

“No. No one is doing anything. I’m sure it was a mistake, and it can be fixed. We should be able to send a correction request to the journal.”

“You are defending him?” Ramiro asked. He looked like I had slapped him.

“I don’t believe he would do this,” I said, pointing at the laptop.

“I hope you’re right,” said Ramiro. “But I don’t think you are.” He left after that, likely too angry to look at me again.

Take deep breaths, Carolina. “Okay. Here’s what we are going to do. We are not going to panic. Dad, stay put. Please don’t say anything about this to anyone until I find out what’s going on. Sara, drive me to the hospital?”

My friend nodded. She didn’t ask why she needed to drive. I was starting to panic despite having only seconds ago advised my family against doing exactly that. If this was on purpose, then I would be furious. My head swam, and there was no way I was going to be able to keep my attention on the road.

We both ran upstairs to change. I grabbed my dirty clothes from the day before, not caring one bit about the state of my appearance.

I found Hector’s office empty—as in, he wasn’t there, and neither were any of his few personal belongings. The solitary framed photograph of him and his mother was gone, and there wasn’t another trace of him. Panic began to swell in my chest.

Next, I tried Chief Stuart’s office. His secretary didn’t let me inside his office. He was in a meeting, or so she led me to believe.

“That’s fine. I’ll wait.” I sat in a chair in front of her desk, but after twenty minutes, I had to stand. I paced the small hallway in front of his office.

“What time is the meeting supposed to be over?”

She shrugged. “Could run long.”

Meeting my ass. I would give him ten more minutes, and then I was going in there. If there was indeed a meeting going on, I would apologize for the interruption. If there wasn’t, well, that would only throw more embers into the fire.

When the ten minutes were up, I ran in before the secretary could object.

“Chief,” I said, looking around. No one was in the room with him, and he didn’t seem to be on a video conference call either.

“Dr. Ramirez?” He looked up from his computer, but he didn’t look surprised.

My stomach churned. “I’m sorry for interrupting, Chief, but it’s urgent.”

He motioned for me to sit in front of him, and I grabbed the chair across from his. “I don’t have much time right now, but I can give you a few minutes.”

“There has been a mistake with the article I submitted to the journal of medicine.”

“Oh?”

I nodded. “Yes. It was uploaded to the website this morning, listing Dr. Medina as the primary investigator.”

“I see.” Chief Stuart clasped his hands over his belly.

“I was only listed as a contributor, but I was the PI, not Dr. Medina.”

“Dr. Ramirez, I’m failing to see a problem here.”

Was this man kidding me? This was my trial. Why would I let another person claim credit for it? I wouldn’t. I would never.

“Chief,” I said, disbelief etched in my tone, “the way the article published the paper gives Dr. Medina my credit. I’m sure it’s a mistake. I couldn’t find Dr. Medina in his office. I wanted to ask him about it before coming to you.” I took a deep breath calming myself down. There had to be a rational explanation for this. “I’m sorry, Chief. I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. I guess I just panicked. I’ll write to the journal and request a correction—”

“Dr. Ramirez, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but Dr. Medina is gone.”

“What?” My glare slashed through the chief.

“His contract was only for the duration of the trial. Now that phase two is done, he’s gone back to the FIHR.”

I blinked and shook my head. I couldn’t have heard right. “Gone?”

He nodded.

As I stood to walk away in a daze, the chief stopped me. “And about that correction,” he said. “You won’t be submitting that.”

I sat back down firmly on the chair. “Excuse me?”

“The more I think about it, the more realize it’s better this way.”

“With all due respect, Chief, I’ve spent the last three years of my life on this. It’s the trial of a lifetime—”

“We have to think about what’s best for the hospital.”

“I’ve conducted research that will save so many lives. How is that not what’s best for the hospital?” I hissed, hysterics starting to set in.

“It is great for the hospital. I agree. But you are still unknown in the medical community. Dr. Medina is a household name. The news of a follow-up trial at our hospital by Hector Medina, well, that would be great publicity for us.”

If I could have taken a step back and looked at the bigger picture, I would have seen that it didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. What mattered was that after publication, treatment protocols across the world would start to change, and lives would be saved.

What didn’t square well with me was that something was being stolen from me, and it was something that would’ve had the potential to open many doors for my career.

It wasn’t ambition for money. My ambition was one for knowledge and growth. After this trial, I was thinking of world-renowned oncology centers, hoping to do research there. Those thoughts would now be down the toilet if I were to follow the chief’s orders.

“This isn’t right. It’s my trial.” I felt like a child whining.

“Being chief isn’t easy. I have to think beyond what’s best for one doctor and think about the department and the hospital. I need to put them first.”

“I won’t let this happen—” I was going to say I was quitting and making the correction before he cut me off.

“Think carefully about what you are about to say. It will be your word against Dr. Medina’s. The hospital will back up Dr. Medina’s authorship of the paper. It’s no secret he was your mentor and heavily involved in the trial. No one will question his authorship.”

It felt like I was walking in slow motion getting back to Sara’s car. She was waiting for me at the entrance, where she’d dropped me off earlier.

“Carolina?” she said when I got in the car. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hector’s gone.”

“Gone?”

I nodded. “Yeah. His contract is over. He left. And the chief won’t let me correct the paper. Hector gets to keep authorship.”

“That can’t be right.” Sara’s nose scrunched up. “Did you talk with Hector?”

“No.”

Pulling out my phone from my jeans pocket, I dialed his number. He had to explain himself.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached—” I hung up and threw my phone into the back seat, not caring if it cracked.

The sounds around me were far off and muffled like I was underwater. “He took my trial, Sara,” I said.

When we got back to Dad’s house, Sara opened the car door for me and helped me out—a complete reversal from when she had come home from the hospital two years ago. I leaned on her both for balance and for emotional support. Bile started to rise from my empty stomach, but I forced it down.

“What happened?” Dad asked, greeting us eagerly at the door.

“He took it,” I said, still in disbelief.

“What did he take?” asked Dad.

“Everything.”