46 - Clay
I’m standing outside Dr. Willis’ office with my arm raised, ready to knock. He’s asked me for a meeting this evening, before my shift starts for the night. I’m unexpectedly nervous. He’s either going to tell me I’m shit at my job and it’s not working out or else praise me. I have no idea which it is, and that in itself isn’t a great sign.
“Come in,” I hear his gruff voice call through the door after I knock.
I turn the knob and step through the door. My palms are sweaty and I wish they weren’t. I walk in hesitantly and he motions to a chair on the other side of his desk, barely taking his eyes off the files in front of him. I sit across from him and put my hands in my lap, and then on the armrest, and then on my lap again. I hate being nervous.
“You wanted to see me?” I hate how squeaky my voice is. It’s like I’m going through puberty all over again! I’m not usually like this.
“Doctor O’Neill,” he starts. He lifts his eyes off his papers and looks at me over his glasses. “Thank you for coming in.”
He takes his glasses off his face and folds them deliberately, placing them in front of him on his desk. He straightens his papers and then folds his hands and looks up at me. He has a full head of curly grey hair with thick, bushy eyebrows. He’s staring at me from under his eyebrows and I’m willing myself not to squirm under the gaze.
“I’ve asked you here for us to have a performance review. You’ve been here three months, and I thought it appropriate to give you some feedback.”
I nod. “That sounds good, I’d love to hear your feedback.”
“Good.” He leans back in his chair, still looking at me. “You’re a brilliant doctor.”
“I, uh.. thank you, Dr. Willis.” It feels good to hear those words from him.
“You’re a brilliant doctor but you’re lacking something,” he continues without acknowledging my words. My eyebrows shoot up. He pauses.
He certainly knows how to be dramatic.
“You’re lacking something and up until now I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. Your bedside manner is professional yet empathetic. Your paperwork is impeccable and your surgical skills are world class.” He pauses again, leaning forward towards me. “I’m just not sure you want to be here.”
“What! No! I do, Doctor. I’ve been working for the past ten years just to be here, working for you. I swear, this is exactly where I want to be.”
“Hmm.”
He pushes his chair back and stands up. He turns his back to me and stares out the window behind him at the evening sky. The streetlights are just starting to come on as the sunlight goes down. As usual, grey clouds dominate the sky. He stands at the window with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Sometimes, where you think you want to be and where you actually want to be are two different places.” He spins around and looks at me.
The intensity of his gaze makes my heart beat faster. What is he saying? Of course I want to be here.
“Have you heard of the sunk cost fallacy, Doctor O’Neill?”
“Yes, of course. It’s an economic concept where you become too emotionally attached to your investments and as time goes on the more difficult it becomes to drop the investment, even when you’re operating at a loss.”
“Precisely.” He’s still staring at me with those laser beams. “Except it’s not only an economic concept. It’s really more of a human psychology concept; it can be applied to all types of scenarios.”
He goes quiet and we both stay there, unmoving, staring at each other. The cogs in my brain are spinning, spinning, trying to figure out what he’s trying to tell me.
“Where do you want to be, Doctor O’Neill?” The weight of his question bears down on me.
“Here! Right here, working for you. This is where I want to be.” I answer a little too quickly, a little too loudly. It sounds like I’m trying to convince myself. Dr. Willis sits back down and opens the files back up. He answers me without looking up.
“Think about this conversation, Doctor. I believe your shift is about to start.”
I nod and stand up to leave. I open my mouth to say something, and then realise I have no idea what I want to tell him. I turn around and walk out of his office.
Once outside I let out a deep sigh. The ground feels like it’s lurching underneath me, I don’t know what is right or wrong anymore.
Does he always have to be so cryptic?!
Except I know that he wasn’t being cryptic. He’s incredibly perceptive, and he knows that my heart isn’t in cardiology.
It’s in New York, with Valerie Brooks.