“No. And I am eager to hear your reply.”
Kim relaxed measurably. She hadn’t mentioned all those unnecessary hysterectomies. Was it possible she hadn’t heard about them? In any case, she wasn’t going to bring them up. So much the better.
“Since you want to know what I think,” Kim began, “I think it is easy for you as a Caucasian American to apply a racial stereotype to one such as I.”
“Racial stereotype!”
“Yes. It is very easy for you Americans to group us Asians into one category and claim that we have no respect for life.”
“That has nothing to do with this!”
“Is that so? Do you have any documentation for the charge that I perform a D & C merely in order to abort?”
“I told you I am not concerned at this time with formal charges or documentation. I can only tell you that I have heard about it from more than one source. Sources, I might add, who are most trustworthy.”
“I cannot allow my life, my professional conduct, to be affected by innuendo and rumor—and that is what I consider these unsubstantiated charges to be based on.” Kim realized he was moving into dangerous ground, almost challenging Eileen to bring formal charges. He decided to turn the tables. “And, as to the allegations regarding my handling of the terminally ill, does that not argue just the reverse of the first charge—that I have no regard for life? How very
“Dr. Kim, one look at your patients while they are being mechanically sustained will tell anyone worlds about the quality of life to which they’ve been relegated.
“Besides, you have twisted and jumbled everything I’ve said with your gratuitous reference to an Asian prejudice. There may be some in our society who feel that Asians prize life less than do we in the West. But I am very definitely not in that number. I am too well aware that we in the United States have less than an enviable record when it comes to racism. So I am conscious of our own failings. But being conscious of racism does not necessarily mean being guilty of it.
“No, Dr. Kim, I am not dealing in stereotypes. I am talking about one doctor—yourself—who has determined to disregard the cautions I gave when you joined us.” She closed the file folder, indicating their meeting was drawing to a close. “Dr. Kim, my purpose in meeting with you is simply this: I want you to consider this a formal warning. You are perilously close to facing dismissal from the staff of this hospital. If I were forced to the point where I must bring formal charges against you, I have every confidence that I could do so effectively.
“Doctor, I don’t want to be forced to affect your career adversely. But I may have no choice in the matter. And this may happen very soon. It would be wise for you to prepare yourself for the worst.
“I’m sorry. That will be all for now.”
Wordlessly, Kim rose and left the room. His departure was one fluid motion. There was no betrayal of nervousness or embarrassment. There was no show of emotion whatsoever.
However, after he exited the secretary’s office, Dr. Lee Kim leaned back against the wall and forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly. His emotions, held in such excellent check while with Sister Eileen, were in turmoil.
In his mind’s eye, he could see the fissures forming in the plan he had laid out for his life. This damned nun held the hammer and chisel that could bring him down. That must not happen. It would mean the end of his dream, the end of the good life he envisioned.
Earlier, he had known there was trouble—a lot of trouble. He had known, more in the abstract than in the concrete, that something would have to happen—something drastic. Now there was no question. He would have to think this out to the last detail. And then act.
Sister Eileen shifted papers on her desk without paying them much attention. She felt drained, not completely, but substantially. She could not afford a thorough draining. She had yet at least two more extremely taxing encounters to handle.
The necessity of scheduling unpleasant meetings was what she most abhorred about any effective leadership role. But such meetings were inescapable. She owed it to poor old St. Vincent’s to do all she could to keep her baby alive and well. But no consideration could keep these meetings from being unpleasant.
She opened the file folder of the next person on her schedule. She didn’t need to study this person’s background. She knew it almost completely by heart. She closed the file, folded her hands, and lowered her head in prayer. She had just begun to lose herself in meditation when the intercom brought the message that her next visitor was waiting.
John Haroldson, chief operating officer of St. Vincent’s, entered. A broad smile broke his heavily creased face. But his eyes betrayed a worried mind.
They exchanged hearty greetings. It was ever thus, thought Eileen. John, the hail fellow well met. But only on the surface. Underneath, there were always troubled layers in John’s life. Layers that would be revealed in good time. Inevitably.
“Your summons surprised me, Sister. It isn’t time for our monthly meeting.”
It made Haroldson nervous not to be in control of any situation. And since he had little inkling as to Eileen’s purpose in calling this meeting, this situation was, at least initially, not in his control.
“It wasn’t a summons, John,” Eileen sighed. “It was an invitation.”
“Whatever”—still the confident smile, the worried eyes—“it didn’t seem like an invitation I ought to refuse.”
“John, John . . . can we never stop playing games?”
A flash of anger. “I don’t play games, Sister. I know a summons when I get one.”
“Have it your way, then.”
Haroldson nodded curtly. The smile was gone.
“I want to talk to you about the future, John.”
“The future?”
“Yes, yours and St. Vincent’s.”
“Oh?” He was withdrawing.
“You’re getting close to the Michigan Catholic Conference retirement age, John. It’s just four months down the line. Are you giving any thought to your retirement?”
“Retirement? Why, no. No reason to. I’m fit. You’ve got the results of my latest physical. I’m in fine shape, even leaving my age out of it. Why should I think of retirement?”
“Because you’re nearing the compulsory age for it, John.”
“But . . . but you can waive that . . . as . . . my superior.” He seemed loath to acknowledge her position.
“I can. But there’s no reason I should.”
“My health—”
“Exactly. Your health. It’s fine. Where did you ever get the idea one must be at death’s door in order to qualify for retirement?”
“Sister . . .” His tone came close to pleading; only with effort did he stay in control of himself. “. . . this hospital has been part of my existence. After Elizabeth died, in time, this place has gradually replaced her in my life. I can’t leave here.”
“John, you’re not the first person who felt there was no life after retirement. But you know as well as I that most people get over that feeling and really come to enjoy retirement. You can, too.”
Haroldson was silent. Head lowered, he seemed to be studying his clasped hands. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” There was a touch of panic in his voice.
“Yes. I am. But it’s not going to happen overnight, John. There are months between now and then. Months when you can continue your contributions to St. Vincent’s and, at the same time, do a little planning for retirement.”
Silence.
“With your background, John, there are lots of things you might do in very productive fields. With your education and experience, you could teach. You could teach part-time in the seminary, or in a business school. You could teach a medical morals course in one of our colleges. There are so many opportunities for a man with your talent.
