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"Dr. McMurray, I…" she started only to be interrupted.

"Have a seat, Dr. Trivoli," the older man pointed to a chair on the other side of his large desk as they entered the room.

The office was large, a symbol of his importance in the hospital setting. It was modestly furnished with several photos of the good doctor in his travels fashionably displayed among the bookcases and on the desk. Garrett’s eyes studied them as she sat down in the appointed chair. There was a common person in each of the photos next to the distinguished surgeon; it was a woman who always appeared at his right side, a gentle smile gracing her face.

Noticing her interest in the photo on his desk, he picked it up and began to reminisce. "This one was taken when I was in New Guinea," a smile crossed his face. "We spent two weeks there, my wife and I."

"She’s a beautiful woman, Sir." The tall surgeon leaned forward to get a better look. "You must have had some wonderful times traveling with your wife."

"Yes, we did. Heck! We still do." His index finger gently glided over her image under the glass. "Best thing I ever did," he grunted, "I’d do it again." He regretfully put the frame back on his desk, allowing his eyes to linger on it for a brief moment longer. "Well, enough about me. I want to talk about you." His voice was now all business as his brown eyes stared directly at her.

The surgeon felt like she was being dissected right there in his office, his piercing gaze trying its best to cut deep into her soul. Her back stiffened and her shoulders squared in a mock attempt to ward off his insight into her being. She had a thick shell, one that had hardened over the years and she was sure that no one would be able to penetrate through it. It had been her survival tactic and allowed her to move from one station in life to another, never fearing the hurt that life brought with it. After all, it couldn’t hurt if it never got close enough to her to leave any impression.

Steel colored eyes locked onto brown as she asked, "What about me?" She leaned slightly forward as if to challenge the man.

They stayed there for what seemed to be an eternity, until McMurray blinked as he sucked on his teeth making a sharp noise. He sat down in his high-backed leather chair and swiveled it away from her, his mind gauging her boldness. ‘She may be a woman, but she’s got balls bigger than a lot of men I’ve known.’ His mind recounted his first day as a Fellow many years ago. He saw so much of himself in her that it was scary to think about. Right then and there he made his mind up. She was going to learn in the next year what had taken him so many years to realize. Her skills as a surgeon were by far more superior to the other two Fellows. He would teach her what she needed to know to enhance those skills and her life, not to mention the lives of all those around her.

He decided to take a hard line with her and his tone of voice showed it as he began speaking. "Every year I saddle one Fellow and make it their duty to establish a good working relationship with the E.R. staff." He swung the chair around to face her. "This year that person is you." His eyes squinted as he looked at her.

Her mouth opened abruptly. "What?" The puzzlement was written all over her face.

"You heard me. I want you to be the liaison between this department and the E.R., and that means starting immediately."

"Why me? Why not one of the other two?" She paused. "If it’s because I’m a woman…" shades of discrimination and sexual harassment ebbing at the edges of her mind.

He looked out of the corner of his eye and pointed directly at her with his right hand as he fished for something out of the drawer to his left. "I don’t ever want to hear that in my office again." He pulled three folders out of the drawer and threw them on the desk. "It’s all in here," he pointed to them. "Check for yourself if you’d like."

She looked down to see the name listed on each of the folders, Dr. Rene Chabot, Dr. Nathaniel Hostetler, and her own, Dr. Garrett Trivoli, was written on the outside. Her eyes looked up to his, pleading for some kind of answer.

"Dr. Chabot won’t have the time to invest with a family due to deliver in the next few months and Dr. Hostetler, although unmarried, will need to devote all of his time to honing his surgical skills. That leaves only you, Dr. Trivoli. You have no family, your surgical skills are refined and beyond reproach. I’ve got to teach you something in this program and this is what I have chosen for you. I suggest that you make it your business to be a part of the overall picture in that E.R. and that means spending time with the staff both inside these walls and outside in their private lives, too. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it."

The look on his face was one of no nonsense and she knew it. "But…" she grasped at thin air for words.

"No buts, Trivoli. I want to see you be a leader here, not just another blade in the system. I believe that you have a lot of untapped potential. You just haven’t figured it out yet." He shook his head as he thought of his recent discussion with several very irate O.R. staff members. "As a surgeon, your main goal is to heal through surgical intervention for the well-being of your patient." He glared at her, his face showing his anger. "Not through the use of confrontation and a demeaning attitude toward your staff. You keep this up, Trivoli, and no one will want to work with you. Then we’ll see just how perfect your little world will be when you’re all by yourself in that surgical theater."

His face softened and his voice mellowed as he reached out and touched the photo on his desk again. "Besides, you’re going to learn real fast that those nurses aren’t the enemy. One day that nurse that you threw your weight at today could very well save your butt and the patient’s, too." He glanced at the photo, then back to her. "Now go and think about what I’ve said."

She immediately jumped to her own defense. "But I’m a damn good surgeon. Why should I…"

"Because YOU," his forefinger shot out aimed right at her face. "You are a mere cog in this piece of machinery that we call a hospital. The last time I looked, Dr. Trivoli, I was the one writing your ticket in this program. Now, unless you are willing to give up this Trauma Fellowship, I must demand that you learn to become a part of the whole and not cause a hole in any part." He paused long enough for her to digest that last statement. "Did I make myself clear enough?"

Garrett rose from the seat and turned to leave. Reaching for the doorknob she paused and turned to face her new mentor. Before she could speak, she saw McMurray thumbing through her folder. "I’ll try not to let you down, Sir, but don’t expect me to change overnight. I’ve had a lot of practice at being as demanding of those that work with me as I have of myself."

"Good! Then you’ll learn to accept your own shortcomings at the same time as you do everybody else’s. Garrett, learn to get off of the high horse you’ve imagined yourself on and people may just start looking up to you for who you are, not what you are." His head never came up from out of its absorption in the folder.

"I’ll see what I can do." She exited the office and stopped dead just a few steps down the hall. This was going to be harder than she had anticipated. She shook her head and wondered what freight train had just run through and left a large gaping hole in her plan for the rest of her life. Seething to herself, she named it the "McMurray Special," vowing to never be caught in its path again. She would live with it this time, she had to, and nobody bailed out on the first day of a Fellowship Program. Besides, it was against her nature to give up.

Chapter 4

The bright afternoon sun was filtering in at the edges of the room-darkening blinds as the form began to stir from sleep. The bed was huge compared to the small body that nestled in the middle, with its face buried into the queen-size pillow. The last remnants of a dream still whispered through the fog as one slowly transpired the states of unconsciousness to reality. The dream seemed to have no beginning or end. It was more like fragments of lives through the ages. The same persons reappearing in different scenarios. It was always the same, never a story or a name. Just bits and pieces of someone’s life that had been captured on film yet clipped out for some reason.