“Doctor, the patient’s crashing! Do something! We’re losing him!”
The surgical nurse’s words repeated through Jason Liu’s mind, just as they had for the past six weeks, forcing him to relive the nightmarish moments when he stood frozen, each second’s hesitation bringing the patient closer to death. The escalating screams of his support staff finally spurred the surgeon back into action but it was too late. He’d waited too long. The persistent blare of the EKG machine punctuated the inescapable reality that Mr. Brian Wiley was flatlining, his life bleeding out due to some unknown, surgical error. An error that shouldn’t have happened. The 55-year-old warehouse supervisor died on the cold, metal table, leaving the stunned doctor no recourse but to pronounce him. The time of death: 11:03 am. Looking back, it was probably the very same moment when Jason Liu’s medical career expired too.
As his mind swirled, the memory of Mrs. Wiley formed unbidden. The forlorn surgeon could still see the worry clearly etched on her face just before he relayed the bad news. There was the initial shock, the disbelief that something like this could’ve happened but eventually, reality set in. The woman clutched herself, shaking her head back and forth as her legs grew weak. Dr. Liu helped her to the nearest chair, taking her hand in his while explaining the situation in the kindest way he could. When she fully understood her husband of 32 years was gone forever, Irene Wiley broke down, tears streaming down her face as her frail body shook with emotion. After long, helpless minutes, the surgeon moved toward the exit before gazing back at the emotionally distraught woman. She raised her head in that same moment, looking so lost and alone, it broke his heart. That was that image which haunted Dr. Liu’s dreams more than any other.
Having to relay bad news to someone’s next of kin was a new experience for the good doctor. He’d never lost a patient in his over 3-year surgical career. He never even had a scare. Not as an intern, not as a resident and after a while, the thought of causing someone’s death simply never entered his mind. The success streak was almost mythic, propelling Dr. Jason Liu to heights he never thought possible. His career took off so fast it was like jumping on a rampaging bull and riding it to glory. He loved every second of it. With each successful surgery, his confidence grew, as did his ego. The staff called him Dr. Millennium because a talent like his “only came along once every thousand years.” The surgeon enjoyed the nickname and every other aspect of his success. The once-reserved, traditionally-raised Korean man gave himself permission to bask in the glory and reap the rewards. Money and women were his playthings and he liked to play. He liked to play a lot.
Losing Mr. Wiley shattered it all. Whenever someone dies from malfeasance there’s always the inevitable aftermath, the images of which now cascaded through Jason’s mind: the overwhelming guilt, the judgmental looks and whispers of his colleagues, the mortality inquiry and the eventual, career-threatening malpractice suit. In the days that followed his error, Dr. Liu felt things he’d never experienced in his charmed life. Fear, doubt, and stress were his constant companions and he started to buckle under the pressure. Not that he could ask for help. Any sign of weakness would only give his enemies the ammunition they needed to destroy him.
The once-gregarious surgeon changed almost overnight, keeping to himself and self-medicating more and more while lashing out at anyone who offered their obviously false assistance. The chief of medicine noticed the change but gave him a long leash, hoping the usually-reliable doctor could pull himself out of this tailspin. After repeated emotional outbursts, a severe lapse in professionalism and eventually, showing up to work in an altered state, the chief was forced to suspend the former star surgeon pending a review by the Board of Directors.
Eventually, the disconsolate 29-year-old receded to his Hamptons Beach House, trying to hide from his own unbearable reality. Everything had been so perfect. The self-confident Dr. Liu used to pontificate about how he led a charmed life, how he was put on Earth to heal above all else and nothing could derail his glorious purpose. And then, Brian Wiley happened. While a coronary artery bypass isn’t routine, he’d successfully performed the procedure dozens of times and on patients in far worse shape than Mr. Wiley. So, what happened? Where was the mistake? What caused him to lose that patient? How could it all go so wrong?
Even with the benefit of hindsight, Dr. Liu still couldn’t determine the reason but he was certain of one thing: he’d handled the loss of his first patient terribly. The truth is, after losing Mr. Wiley, he had no idea how to move past it or even how to try. He was ill-suited to manage the pitfalls most doctors navigate early in their careers. The crestfallen surgeon felt like a phenom called up to the majors who couldn’t hit a curveball and disappointed everyone before fading into obscurity. The final indignation was yesterday afternoon when he irrationally lashed out at the Board of Directors over a minor personal question during his potential reinstatement hearing. The outburst officially put the final nail in his self-inflicted coffin. They cut him loose on the spot and he left the hospital spirally emotionally, walking the streets in a fugue state. The last thing he remembered was entering O’Malley’s Bar in midtown around 5 pm before waking up on the floor of his beach house less than an hour ago.
Dr. Jason Liu gazed out over the sand and crashing tides, staring at a fixed point on the horizon, as he tried to focus past his mother of all hangovers. He trembled in the early morning breeze, the stiff wind helping to clear his mind somewhat. Suddenly, he realized he couldn’t remember what happened the prior evening. He had no idea where he went, what he did or how he ended up in the Hamptons. His mind was a blank slate. He hugged himself tighter against the wind. What is happening to me? Am I losing my mind? The relentless surf offered no answers nor the rising sun any warmth.
Feeling another chill, Jason shoved his hands in the front pockets of his oversized, N.Y. Giants, hooded sweatshirt, feeling a foreign object in the left side. When he took it out, Dr. Liu instantly recognized it as a prescription bottle. Where did he get it? Thoughts of illicit drug buying invaded his mind but he pushed them away. He rotated it until he found the front, trying to see the patient’s name. It was made out to J. Liu but that was impossible. He wasn’t on any medication. The RX sticker said Depakote 750mg prescribed by Dr. Julia Hong. Julie? He hadn’t seen her since their shared residency years ago but even if he had, why would she prescribe him medication for the treatment of bi-polar disorder? He stared at the orange vial with growing confusion, unaware he was no longer alone.
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