"Nisi carenti doloribus morbisque, vita ipsa poena fiat." (Life itself becomes punishment for those who are not free from pains and diseases).

Pliny the Elder, "Historia naturalis," XXVIII, 1. Used without permission.
 

MARTHA:

For the first time in God knows how long, I have free time. I don't have to do anything but check on Mel periodically.

I have no idea how to handle this. I'm so accustomed to having every moment chock-full of activity, of things and people and situations that require me to attend to them, that when there's a moment such as this, I'm somewhat at a loss.

I think about a movie, but Michael is heavily concentrating-I can almost hear his brain at work as he clicks softly into the laptop computer. The only thing he's said to me in over two hours is to ask how his father is after I've looked in on him.

I have several novels I've been meaning to read. I pick up one-all right, it's a romance. I confess. I'm a sap for these things.

I pick up one of the bodice-rippers I grabbed from the exchange box at work-fortunately, my dirty little secret appears to be one shared by women everywhere. The one I chose is the most graphic, lust in the dust based one.

I discover after half an hour, I've been on the same page forever-and I read rapidly.

Part of it is concern for Mel, and the other part is guilt. I shouldn't have come at Michael that way. Here he was, telling me about a decision he'd made, and all I did was throw cold water on it. I should have just congratulated him, and let him find out for himself how rough it is out there.

Or at least been a bit more subtle about telling him what I did.

I gaze out the window. The trees are in their final glory before they shed for winter. The sky is sharp and blue, large, white clouds blanketing spaces of it. The sunlight is brilliant, the green of the grass in sharp contrast to the rainbow trees.

It would be a wonderful day for a walk with Mel. Alas, that's not going to happen.

Maybe I should just take one myself, get out in the cool fall air, clear my head.

"Michael," I say his name softly.

"Huh?" He looks up as though he's been awakened from a sound sleep.

"I'm going out for a walk."

He rubs his eyes. He'll probably say, whatever, and be annoyed that I broke his stream of concentration.

"Mind I join you? I could use a break."

"All right, sure." I wasn't expecting company on this one, but maybe it would do me good. We've had very little conversation in recent weeks-Michael is rarely here, except to sleep, and even that is getting more iffy. Perhaps it would do us good.

Might not clear my head, but might help him.

Oh sure, Martha. You, who never had kids, trying to advise someone else's child...

"Bring a sweatshirt, it's chilly," I tell Michael.

He narrows his eyes and cocks his head. "You sure you never had kids?"

I almost laugh out loud at that one.
 

"Michael, I want to apologize for being so-well, negative, when you announced your career plans," I tell him right off.

He looks at me, confused. "Huh?"

"Well, here you are, telling me you've made a decision to go premed, and the first thing I do is tell you the bad parts."

He shrugs. "Not like I didn't think there'd be bad parts. Good to know, anyway."

I breathe a sigh of relief. At least he's being an adult. He might be mad as hell underneath it, but I doubt it. Michael, unlike his father, is disinclined to hide his feelings.

"I'm just curious. What pushed you in this direction, dear?"

He stuffs his hands-same hands as his daddy-into his pockets. "Well, like, you know, I like kids a whole bunch."

"So you're thinking pediatrics."

"Yeah. I dunno, I like kids, and for some weird reason, they really like me. They all do. It's like I come into a room full of little kids, I'm the most popular guy there. Not like when I'm with a bunch of adults. Mostly I just piss them off."

Well, I have seen that happen. Certainly with his father.

"And my bio prof, she's cool, she's been like, if I go with a bio major, she's recommending me for some scholarships to do my upper division, which'd be really cool. She's like, what're you doing in JC, you're more like university material...I gotta admit, I like it when people tell me I'm good. Not like I've heard it a whole lot."

"I understand you're talented in quite a few areas." And he is.

"Well, like, when I was younger, I really dug computers. They were easy for me, I could have fun with 'em. But now, they're kind of like, yeah, some things about 'em are okay, but like I couldn't get excited about being at work with 'em every day. I'm not Langly. I don't get all that excited over a math problem. Or Dad. Dad likes engineering, coming up with solutions to problems."

"Medicine is nothing but coming up with solutions to problems, dear." All day long. And sometimes, the problems are very bad, and the solutions not all that good.

"Yeah, but it's like different. You sort of like, you make a difference in somebody's life. I think you do, don't you?"

It occurs to me that this is a concept I hadn't thought about in a long time. To me, doing medicine these days is a Sisyphean task-push the boulder to the top of the mountain, only to have it come tumbling down on you again, so you can start all over, and lose the same fights over and over.

"Yes, I guess it is."

"Well, like, with my dad, like if you hadn't been here, he'd probably be like dead by now. He doesn't take care of himself, but with you here, he kind of does. Although he's still a jerk about it."

I have to keep from laughing out loud. Except that it's not funny.

"It's very hard to make those kinds of major changes in your life, Michael."

"Yeah, particularly when you're as stubborn as ol' Melvin Frohike. And it's like, I say anything to him, he just tells me to shut up and quit being a brat."

"He is a stubborn one, isn't he?"

Michael rolls his eyes and looks pained. "Dad is the most stubborn bastard on the planet. It's like, he's supposed to walk each morning, but like when I'm on my way out the door, I see him getting ready to go, and it's not to go walking 'cause he's got his keys with him. I know he's going in the office. He even says he is. He's not a liar, but he is a pain in the ass."

"I'd have to go with that one." To be honest.

"And it's like, I'm trying to let him know, like I'm here for him, and you know, I want him to stick around a while, and he like blows me off. Like I was so fucking scared when he was sick last time, especially when he got his second heart attack. I mean, I thought he was gonna die, Martha. I did. And like, I try to tell him this, he's like, oh, you're just overreacting like you always do."

Michael does have strong reactions, but in this case, in my medical opinion, his fears, regrettably, were justified.

"Like I can't talk to him about anything. He just doesn't wanna hear what I have to say."

"Now, dear, I don't think that's true."

"Isn't it now? I think it is. Like when I told him about me and Kelly? He's like, I think he's okay by it now, but when I told him, he was a total asshole about it."

"I think it just took him by surprise."

"Look, it isn't like me and Kelly haven't been getting, you know, serious or anything. I mean you'd think he'd have seen that. What'd he think was gonna happen?"

What, indeed?

"It's like, he says, grow up, but then he turns around and treats me like a brainless little kid. Like I got as much sense as Patrick Langly or Becca Mulder."

"Well, I think parents have trouble sometimes seeing their children as adults. Believe me, Michael, I'm 44 years old, and my father is still looking for signs of improvement in me." I laugh, but it's only a half-laugh, because it's true.

"Man, what's his problem? You seem like you never did anything fucked up in your life."

Now I have to laugh. "Oh Michael, if you only knew."

"So tell me."

He's serious. His green eyes are genuinely curious.

"Well, as you know, I married young."

"Yeah, I know that."

"And my dad was not happy about it."

"Why? He didn't have to pay for you anymore."

"He had...dreams for me. And I'm afraid I've disappointed him in every way."

"Doubt it."

"No. He wanted me to go to a good university-I had straight A's and was a candidate for several scholarships. Georgia Tech was recruiting me heavily to study engineering because I'd done well in math and science."

"Bet you'd have been a bitching engineer."

"I wasn't interested. At that point in my life, I was so head over heels in love that all I wanted to do was marry my Marine boy. And I did."

"But you became a nurse."

"About three years into my marriage, having Daniel away so much, and being bored in go-nowhere jobs, I decided I needed to do something. I applied to North Carolina State's nursing program, and was accepted. I chose nursing because I needed to do something where I could be assured of finding a job and getting a reasonable salary."

"So what's his problem with that?"

"He always felt...I never lived up to my potential. That being a nurse was somehow not good enough for his first born daughter."

"Hey, nurses are awesome. Like they're the ones that keep you alive."

Oh, get this child into medical school...we need more with this kind of awareness. Our jobs would be so much easier if only more physicians saw it like this. The ones in our unit eventually do, but that's only because Gizzie bashes them over the head with a sledgehammer until they figure it out. She's had to do some serious skull-cracking along the line.

"I think it's cool you're a nurse, Martha. I mean, you keep my dad from croaking on me."

"I'm trying, dear, I'm trying. He's not the most cooperative patient in the world."

That understatement makes Michael laugh. "Just come out and say it, he's a bastard when he's sick."

"People are not at their best when they're sick, Michael. Another dirty little secret they don't tell you before you start med school. Most of the time, people you see will be distressed and maybe even scared. It's not the ideal basis for a working relationship."

"Seems to work for you and Dad."

Well...

There's a lot I can say here, but I choose to keep my thoughts to myself.

"So you think I'm insane?" Michael looks at me, eyes direct and dead on.

I shake my head. "No, I don't think that at all. I think you'll do well."

There are a million other things I should tell him, but I don't. And I won't. Not today.

That broad smile and those bright eyes make me let it go.

For now.
 

I keep wondering how Mel will react to his son's proposed career plans. I know he's been anxious about the boy making some sort of commitment, but this?

I'm not sure how he's going to feel about this.

And what he's going to say to his son.

I almost feel as if I should break the news gently to him, give him time to get used to it...

No. This is Michael's life, Michael's decision. It's his job to deal with his father in that regard.

Good practice, too. He's going to find out what dealing with bastards is really like when he's in med school.

"Hey Martha, you know I got Kelly a ring?" He asks me. We're on our way back to the apartment, and he's been revitalized by the walk, the conversation, the fresh air. His cheeks are pink and his eyes sparkle.

"No, I didn't!"

"Yeah, I'm giving it to her for Christmas. Can't wait." He rubs his hands together in a gesture of happy anticipation. "Just hope she likes it. It's not real big, but it's pretty."

"I think small is better." I hate large rocks. To me, they just look pretentious, and for what I do, they're utterly impractical.

"Yeah, I mean, it's like, she says she doesn't need a ring, but like I feel like she has to have one, know what I mean?"

I see the father has imparted some of his romanticism and traditionalism to his son.

"So like, I can't wait for Christmas Eve, I'm gonna give it to her then, it's gonna be so cool."

"She'll be thrilled, dear. I'm sure of it." And I am.

"Dad'll probably shit a brick. He probably thinks I'm too much of a waste case to get her one. Then when I do, he'll be like, what're you spending your money on that for?"

"Michael, I'm sure he'll be pleased." Well, I hope so, anyway.

Mostly, I just hope he's around for Christmas.
 

"You think Dad's okay?" We're about half a block from the apartment now. We walked longer and farther than planned, but I'm glad we did.

"I'm sure he's all right, provided he didn't try to do something like get up and work."

"You never know with Dad. He's like, he's so afraid we'll all fall apart if he's not there to keep it together."

I think that's one of his major problems. But I maintain radio silence here.

As we approach the corner, Michael turns to me, and his face looks sad and worried and scared again.

"You know what's so sad? He's right."
 

Mel, to my relief, slept through our absence. He's still in the arms of Morpheus when we arrive.

I put some soup on. He's going to need to eat something.

I offer Michael some dinner, he's like, if you don't mind, I got another lab report to write up. I prepare him a sandwich to go with the soup I've made.

"Awesome. Hey Martha, I'm like glad you're around, like to have another adult to talk to."

I just wish he could talk to his father the way he talks to me. I think it would be good for both of them.

"Anytime, Michael."

"You gonna feed the bear now?" He's eyeballing the soup bowl I'm carrying towards the hallway.

"Yes, I am."

"Better you than me."

I slip into the bedroom, and discover that the bear has awakened. He's still lying down.

"I brought you some dinner," I tell him.

"Not hungry."

"You have to eat something." He does. All he's had today is water. Water's important, but so is some nutrition.

"I'll eat when I get hungry." And he even growls like a bear.

"You need something in your stomach. Now eat."

I help him sit up, but he's as recalcitrant as a four-year-old about eating.

"Mel!"

"I'm sorry, love, but I'm not hungry. And my throat hurts."

"Mel, it's soup. And it's good for you."

He makes no effort to eat the soup. This is like a Mexican standoff.

And quite honestly, I don't have the patience anymore.

Fine. Two can play this game.

I take the spoon. "Open up."

He doesn't.

"Mel!"

He grudgingly opens his mouth. I manage to get six spoonfuls in him.

"Was that so awful?"

"Yes." He crosses his arms over his chest.

"I need to see your leg."

"It still hurts, if that's what you want to know." His hoarse voice is cross, irritable.

"I'm taking a look at it."

He groans but agrees to let me have a look. I slip the blue bunny jammies down, and he lets out a yowl of pain.

Still swollen, but not as bad. "I think if you stay off it for another day, you'll be fine."

"Martha, my love, I have work to do tomorrow."

"Your only work tomorrow is to get well."

"Martha, I promised Ms. Russell we'd get to work."

"Mel, let the others take over for a while!" I'm surprised at the sharpness of my own voice.

"What others? Langly has to go back to work tomorrow, Byers is on his honeymoon."

"That doesn't mean you have to go out and jeopardize your own well-being because they happen to be busy!"

"That's exactly what it means."

"Mel, listen to me. We all need you. I need you. And we aren't going to have you if you don't take care of yourself! How many times do I need to say this?" My frustration, which I can normally keep in check, has risen to the surface.

"Martha, love, I don't have the time."

"Then you're not going to have any time at all!"

"Martha, it's a cold!"

"And you've damn near died on us twice in recent history!"

"Martha, I'm going to be fine."

"Not if you keep this up."

"Martha, I've been in bed all day. Tomorrow I'll be fine and ready to go again."

I give up.

"Fine. Then I'm going home."

"Why?"

I feel the tears rising in my eyes-and let me tell you, I don't cry easily. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

My point exactly.
 

"Michael, dear, I'm leaving now." I swallow my anguish and try to keep my voice calm and level.

"You working tonight?" he asks, not looking up from his biology text.

"No."

"So why're you leaving?"

"I don't think your father wants me around right now."

He looks up. "Ah, don't let him get to you. I told you he's a bastard when he's sick."

"Well, if he wants to be that way, he can do it to someone else."

Michael just looks baffled.

Men. They simply don't get it.
 

I try to keep calm driving back to Baltimore. I concentrate on the road.

I check the time.

Gizzie should be off by now. She has a science fiction program she never misses on Sunday nights. I should be able to get maybe 20 minutes of her time. This is assuming she answers the phone.

I luck out-Ron answers the phone, says the old lady's there, can I hold on for a moment? I can hear the dogs barking and the birds cawing. They live in a zoo, and she works in one. I'd like to know how she manages.

"Now what is it?" She feigns irritation when she picks up, but I can tell she's not. You can tell when Gizzie is truly aggravated. At least I can-I get to see it plenty.

"Does it have to be something?" I ask her, trying not to let my voice crack.

"Martha, anytime somebody calls me, it's always something."

"But I like to call! I like to say hello!" I try my Merton Muffly imitation from 'Dr. Strangelove.'

"Sure, sure. Now tell me what's wrong, you got 17 minutes, and even Ron knows not to hit me up for sex during X-Files. And don't give me any shit about nothing being wrong. You know there is. Now give."

"It's-it's Mel."

"Well, duh! I figured that. What's going on, girl?"

"He's sick again."

"Fuck and double fuck. What is it this time?"

"Only a cold, but you know, what with his recent history-"

"You put him in the hospital yet?"

"No."

"Probably should."

"I don't think he'd go."

"Tell him if he doesn't, I'll sit on him."

Gizzie's a fairly big woman. The image amuses me. I actually find myself giggling.

"And his leg seems to be swollen up."

"You said he just had bypass? And that leg's swollen where the vein got stripped? Are you an idiot? Get him in!"

I feel humiliated, cowed. I'm not used to having my professional judgment assailed, especially not by Gizzie. And it hurts.

"Martha, girl, you're losing your clinical judgment here. He might be your lover boy, but right now, he's your patient, and you do what's best for your patient, even if they kick and scream. You got it? Why am I telling you this, anyway?"

"I'm...I'm in Baltimore right now." Cross town from her by just a few miles.

"You're what? You left him, at home, in his condition? Jesus, Martha, you're losing it."

One thing about Gizzie-she'll never mince words when it comes to appraising what you've done professionally.

"All right, stay put. I'm coming over there."

"What?" It's almost time for her show.

"I said, I'm coming over. We're gonna take a little road trip to Virginia."

"Gizzie, that's the last thing he wants me to do!"

"I don't care. He'll thank you later."

"In the meantime, he's gonna be mad as hell!"

"So? You want him around or not?"

"I do. Oh God, Gizzie, I do so much."

And I feel the tears start to come.

Gizzie's having none of this. "Then pull yourself together, girl, and start doing your job."

Just one question: what is my job, these days?

I wish I knew.

END OF PART 2