A Price on My Hands

The surgery had gone perfectly, and yet, this was what I got. I took a deep breath and answered calmly, "I understand. This is on me. I'll be taking a month off to reflect on my actions."

The department head was smug about how he got the win, so he approved my PTO. A week later, the director called me and asked me to get back to work.

I informed him that I had taken one month off. My answer immediately wiped off the fake smile on Jebediah Constantine's face. Then, he started gloating, "That's more like it, Dr. Birch. Step down when you can. You can never win against the court of public opinion.

"I'm sure you don't want to ruin the hospital's reputation due to your mistakes."

The man's greasy attitude made my stomach churn. I refused to talk to him, so I left the office.

The scent of antiseptic in the corridor tasted sharp, especially in my disappointment. I spent 10 years being nothing but professional at my job. I had to take emergency surgeries at 2 a.m. There were even times I conducted surgeries for 72 hours straight.

I had saved countless patients from certain death with my own two hands.

My name and skills were renowned in the surgery department and the entire hospital. Yet, all it took was a couple of bags of IV drip that cost less than two dollars for me to see everyone's true colors.

I had an idea of what the patient's family's faces looked like when they demanded an explanation. Those of the intellectually challenged tended to blend together after a while.

The deputy director had dragged me to my feet after I'd exhausted myself conducting three surgeries back-to-back.

Of course, they had no idea that my arms were already convulsing and shivering halfway through the six-hour procedure that night. The IV drips gave me the little boost I needed to go on.

I saved a family's breadwinner's arm, but all I received for my efforts was a complaint, a public reprimand, and my bonus flying away.

I returned to my office, and my student, Leslie, came up to me looking worried. "How'd it go, Dr. Birch? Did that sly old fox set you up?"

I took my coat off and placed it on the back of my chair. "The penalty remains. I've taken a month off to get some rest."

"What?" Leslie's eyes bulged. "But why? I bet Jebediah's up to something!"

He turned red with rage and kept pacing around my office. "His nephew just got back from his studies overseas. They claim he majored in surgery to spruce up his portfolio, but he didn't even have the right to lead a surgery during his stint abroad!"

He continued huffily, "Jebediah's been trying to get a spot for him in our department, but it's all filled up. You're the pillar of our department, so he can't do anything to you! Now, he's got an excuse to kick you out and replace you with his nephew!"

I listened to him quietly. I understood now. That made sense.

Leslie's rage soared to greater heights. He rolled up his sleeves and was about to go on a rampage, growling, "He's getting a piece of my mind! This is ridiculous!"

"Stop!" I said.

Leslie turned to look at me in confusion.

I shook my head. "It's useless, Leslie."

Leslie froze. "But Dr. Birch…"

I looked outside the window. A clown like Jebediah wasn't the real reason I was disappointed. Yes, he played a part, but if the hospital's leadership cared about me and my reputation… Well, they'd never have allowed Jebediah's little trick to go unanswered.

However, they decided to sweep it under the rug.

They sacrificed me just to placate the people who'd submitted an absurd complaint and the court of public opinion. They knew how many patients I'd saved and how much I'd helped them build their reputation.

Even so, I was a pawn to be discarded when push came to shove.

And that patient, Tristan Sunderland. His arm was mangled by a tyre. It'd been crushed when he was taken to us. His bones had been very much visible for all to see when he was brought in for treatment.

I'd just gotten out of my previous surgery then, and my eyes were barely open. The deputy director came to the lounge and pleaded, "Jessica, you're the only one who can do this. Please, you must take him on."

And so I did. I stitched up Tristan's arm needle by needle with my trembling hands, pulling it back from total destruction.

And then his family stabbed me in the back for something that cost less than two dollars.

I packed my stuff up.

There was absolutely no way I was going to stay in this hellhole for even a second longer.