Page 39 of Broken Dream (Steel Legends #3)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jason

I open my mouth, but before I say anything, a chirping sound comes from Dr. Steel’s direction.

She grabs her phone out of her purse. “Sorry. I must have forgotten to put it on silent.”

“No worries.”

“I’ll just check it later. It’s my niece.”

Angie.

She has other nieces, but they’re not in Boulder. At least not that I know of.

“Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

I nod. “Family is important.”

Don’t I fucking know it.

“Okay. This will only be a second.” She taps out a message and then tucks her phone away. “My niece wants to talk before I leave later today. Now where were we?”

“Your suggestion to continue our conversation,” I say, my voice steadier now despite the surge of adrenaline that the mention of Angie has triggered.

“That’s right,” she says, her tone softening. “I want to make it clear, Dr. Lansing, that I’m not here to pass judgment or make you feel cornered. This is about your well-being—both mentally and physically.”

I nod, understanding the logic behind her words but resenting them all the same. They feel like chains holding me back from something I desperately need.

“I get it,” I assure her, trying to put a little warmth into my tone. “And I’ll do whatever it takes. If that means talking more, then we’ll talk more.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear,” Dr. Steel replies with a small smile.

“I believe we were discussing my potential emotional responses to the surgery,” I say, my tone now a touch icier. “You were suggesting that a negative outcome might lead to a breakdown, correct?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Let’s cut to the chase, then.” I clear my throat. “This hospital is state of the art, and Dr. Patel has privileges here. It is the closest hospital to my home, and the hospital where I began my surgical career. I want the surgery here.”

“Yes, I understand all that, but?—”

“Please. Let me finish.”

She nods. “Of course. I’m here for you, Dr. Lansing.”

Right. She’s here for the hospital, not for me. “This is about money, and it’s about bad PR.”

“It’s about your well-being, Dr. Lansing.”

Yeah. That’s crap and we both know it.

“Please,” I say, doing my best not to roll my eyes.

“It’s about a lot of things, but when it comes down to it, the board is mostly concerned about money and PR.

So here’s my solution. I’ll sign a contract not to sue the hospital or issue any negative statements should the outcome of the surgery not be as expected. ”

Dr. Steel eyes me for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. “Dr. Lansing,” she begins, her voice steady and measured, “I appreciate your willingness to cooperate and protect the hospital’s interests. But at the end of the day, my primary concern is your overall health.”

“I understand that,” I say quickly. “But what this boils down to is trust. My trust in the hospital and the world-class surgeons.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “My job here—what they’ve asked me to do—is to assess your mental health with regard to the experimental surgery. And I’m afraid a promise not to sue is not necessarily indicative of good mental health. In fact, it could very well indicate the opposite.”

I fall silent, stung by her words. I expected some objection, but the idea that my willingness to protect the hospital is somehow a reflection of poor mental health… What the fuck?

“You’re right,” I reply slowly, lying through my teeth. “Perhaps it’s not indicative of good mental health. But it is indicative of my determination and my desperation.”

Dr. Steel sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Life isn’t about making deals, especially when it comes to your health. This isn’t about contracts or promises or legalities. This is about you .”

“Yes! Now you’re making sense. This is exactly about me!

” I pound a fist to my chest. “ My life, my choices, my future!” I take a deep breath to gather myself before continuing more calmly.

“And if signing away my right to complain or cause legal trouble gives me a shot at regaining what I’ve lost, then that’s a risk I’m willing to take. ”

“I’m no lawyer,” she says, “but I’m fairly certain that in any experimental surgery, part of the informed consent that you sign will include a waiver in the consent process where the patient agrees not to hold doctors or hospitals liable for known risks of the procedure.

These are of course not enforceable in the case of negligence or misconduct.

And it certainly wouldn’t take away your right to sue in the case of gross negligence, fraud, or intentional misconduct. ”

“But I’m willing to sign away those rights,” I say.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in.

“And I’m telling you , Dr. Lansing, that it doesn’t make a difference.

No court in the world will uphold an agreement if it’s deemed unconscionable or grossly unfair, which waiving your rights to sue in case of negligence or misconduct would certainly be. ”

I sink back into my chair. “So what does all this mean?” I ask, struggling to keep the frustration out of my voice.

“It means,” she begins gently, “that we need to focus on your mental well-being first. We need to ensure that you’re mentally ready and strong enough to cope with any outcome from the surgery.”

“All right, then.”

She presses her lips together. “And after today, Dr. Lansing, I’m not sure you are.”

I flinch at her words as if I’ve been slapped. Her calm, steady gaze stings more than any outburst would.

“I want to help you,” she continues, “but I need you to be open with me. You need to be prepared for the worst while hoping for the best.”

Her words echo in my mind, yet they feel distant and unreal. Prepared for the worst. But what’s worse than waking up every day in this broken body? What’s worse than the fear that I’ll never regain what I’ve lost?

“I appreciate your candor, Dr. Steel,” I manage to say through gritted teeth. “I am aware of the risks, and I am prepared to face them.”

“Are you really, though?” She leans forward, her gaze searching mine. “Or are you just saying what you think I want to hear?”

I suppose she’s got me there. “I don’t need your judgment,” I snap back, anger flaring up once again. “I need your support.”

“And I want to give you that support. But it’s my job to ensure that you’re making a sound decision, not one based on desperation or the fear of being left alone in this condition.”

“I am not afraid,” I retort. “I’m determined.”

“Determination is important,” Dr. Steel says. “But so is understanding. Understanding that there are no guarantees with this surgery. Understanding that life may not return to exactly how it was before.”

“I do understand that.” The words come out more forcefully than I intend.

“I understand it better than anyone, Dr. Steel. You’re not talking to someone off the street.

You’re talking to a former surgeon.” I stand.

“Do you not think I’ve had my own failures?

That mistakes I’ve made haven’t led to terrible consequences for my patients, up to and including death?

If there is one person who does understand the ramifications of this choice, it’s me. ”

Her eyes flicker with something I can’t quite identify. “Good,” she replies. “Now we need to work on accepting it.”

Acceptance. The word hangs heavy in the room. Her response to what I just said doesn’t make sense. Acceptance of what exactly? The possibility that I may never regain full function of my hand?

I’ve already had to accept that.

Why the hell are we even having this ridiculous conversation?

“You’ve accepted the reality of your condition, yes,” she continues, “but accepting the potential outcomes of this surgery is a different matter altogether.”

I let out a laugh at that, unable to mask the irritation creeping into my voice. “You’re implying there’s something left to lose, Dr. Steel. I think we both know that’s not the case.”

She remains silent a moment longer. “Dr. Lansing,” she finally says, “there’s always more to lose.”

The room goes silent as her words settle in the air between us. I feel my resolve waning under her relentless matter-of-factness and the truth of her words. The energy to argue with her is draining away, leaving me feeling tired and old.

I’ve lost my child and my wife. I’ve lost the life I built, both at home and at work.

What more could I possibly lose?

And then I realize.

Angie.

I could lose her.

But that’s stupid, isn’t it? I barely know her. She’s a hot little student that I’ve been messing around with because it’s forbidden.

But even as I think those words, I know I’m lying to myself.

There’s something more with Angie. Perhaps if I lost the total use of my hand, she wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. People have broken off relationships for a lot less.

Already I know Angie wouldn’t do something like that, but still…

I could lose her.

Or I could lose my life. Patients sometimes die on the operating table for no apparent reason.

“Maybe you’re right,” I finally concede, my voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe there is more to lose.”

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” she says, her tone softer now. “But it’s important that we proceed carefully. That we consider all potential outcomes and ensure that you’re prepared for them.”

“And what if I’m not?”

I can see the empathy in Dr. Steel’s eyes as she leans forward, placing her notepad on the table beside her. “Then we work on getting you prepared,” she says gently. “You’ll need to go back to therapy.”

I shake my head vigorously. “I won’t. I won’t see Dr. Morgan again.”

“No, I don’t recommend that you see Dr. Morgan. I’ll recommend someone else.”

“So you’re saying no surgery.”

I want to shout. Tell her I hate her. Tell her she’s a bitch.

But that won’t help her decide I’m mentally fit.

It will convince her that I’m not.

So I say nothing. And I wait for her to speak.