Page 43 of Holiday Wedding
I pause and gather myself for the conclusion of my lecture. This is the important part. My chance to make a difference. “Although these statistics are impressive, we must remember that behind each positive test is a patient and their family, whose life will be irrevocably changed by their cancer diagnosis. When I was compiling the results, I couldn’t help but think about my own father. If he had been diagnosed earlier, could he have survived?
“If we institute free screening in not just primary care offices but also in our Emergency Rooms, I truly believe we will find more cancer and catch it sooner, leading to more lives saved. I ask that the data I’ve presented here today guide you in your own practices.” I close the computer, relieved the most frightening part of my lecture is over. My watch says I have five minutes left.
“Are there any questions I can answer?” I ask into the microphone.
A hand shoots up in the third row. “Yes?” I point to a man, who sports a scraggly mustache.
“Did your fiancé help fund this research?” he asks.
“Excuse me?” I shake my head, certain I heard him wrong.
“Caleb Lawson?” he asks, this time louder. “Did he give you money for your study?”
“Um, no.” I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “I hadn’t met Caleb when I began this project.” The man nods.
Another hand is raised behind him. It’s a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair streaked with silver. I call on her.
“Congratulations on your success,” she begins. My shoulders, tense from the first question, slowly relax into their normal position. They tighten again as she asks, “Do you worry that your work will be discredited now that you’re famous? That even if your data is valid, it will be disregarded because of who you are?”
I laugh nervously, and the sound echoes in my microphone. “I’m not sure I understand the question. Who am I? I’m an ER resident in my last year of training. I have tested thousands of people for colon cancer. That’s who I am.”
The woman shakes her head at me. “Speculation about your wedding is on the front page of every magazine. How do you anticipate that changing the trajectory of your career?”
“Oh, uh. . .” My mind frantically searches for an intelligent answer and comes up blank. “I’m hoping it won’t change much. I mean, I’m still a doctor. I still want to help people.”
The woman raises a doubtful eyebrow and frowns.
“When are you getting married, anyway?” someone shouts. A murmur of agreement follows. I bring a hand up to shade my eyes from the bright light of the projector, trying to figure out who spoke.
“Well? Do you have a date?” a new voice calls out from the back of the room. I squint but can’t make out any individuals. The people merge into one demanding mass as my vision blurs.
“Uh—I—um,” I stutter, completely thrown offguard.
Helen, of all people, stands up and faces the audience. She raises her arms wide and says, “No more questions. Thank you.”
I stumble down the stairs of the stage, away from the podium and the crowd. Bursting through the double doors of the ballroom, I practically run out of the conference area and into the hotel lobby.
Helen follows. She points to a pair of large wingback chairs tucked in the corner of the room, next to an unlit fireplace. “Let’s go over there.”
I walk after her blindly, my mind whirring with the echo of the audience’s questions.
Caleb.
Wedding.
Who am I?
We sit. Helen hands me a bottle of water, which I swig back, draining it quickly. I hadn’t realized how parched I was. When I’m done, I screw the cap on the empty bottle and let out a bitter laugh.
Helen cocks her head at me, waiting quietly.
“For a long time, I only thought of myself as one thing,” I tell her. “A doctor. That was it. All I believed I could be. Then with Caleb I became so much more—a painter, an organizer of the art therapy program at the hospital, and a better friend, sister, and daughter. But now, it’s like everyone, those strangers,” I hook a thumb toward the conference room, “want me to be only one thing again. Caleb’s wife. That’s it. It makes me feel as if I have to choose him or my career. It’s not fair.”
Tears choke the back of my throat. I swallow around the lump of them. “Why can’t I be both? Why can’t I be more? Why do we put ourselves in these boxes? Force these impossible choices? Career woman or devoted mother. The stern parent or the fun parent. The adventurer or the homebody. Aren’t we all of those things at different times?” I dash away the tear that dares to trickle down my cheek. I’m heartbroken and furious all at once.
“People like to keep it simple,” says Helen. “It’s easier for them if they can categorize you as one thing. They’ll always pick the biggest thing. For them, that’s your relationship with Caleb. You’re right. It’s not fair.” She graciously ignores my tears, directing her gaze away as I attempt to pull myself together. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe you have to choose, but you’ll probably have to work harder. To prove that you’re more than just a famous man’s wife.”
Her words depress me even more. I sniffle, a sinister doubt growing in the back of my mind. “Do you think that’s why they asked me here to lecture? I’m the only resident speaking at this conference. Everyone else has already graduated from their medical training. Is Caleb why I’m here? Not because of my accomplishments?”
