A Surgeon in the Village by Tony Bartelme

Author:Tony Bartelme [Bartelme, Tony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8070-4492-6
Publisher: Beacon Press
Published: 2017-02-07T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 26

One of Burchiel’s assistants held up a box of tissues when Dilan walked into the office suite. “You might need this,” he said with a smug look on his face.

Dilan ignored him and took a seat at a round table in Burchiel’s office. His left hand rested against the side of his face, index finger pointing up toward his temple, his thinking pose.

Burchiel sat on the opposite side and began with a list of complaints: Dilan was disorganized in his work at the hospital, just as he was disorganized with his work in Tanzania. The microbubble grant application? It wasn’t ready, and he wouldn’t sign off until it was in better shape. And that grant to look at Mayegga’s work? Bad move. In the future, he wouldn’t be allowed to talk to representatives of medical equipment companies. From now on, everything would go through him.

“And forget about your work in Tanzania. You can’t go.”

“On my vacation?”

“Dilan, I can’t let you go. That’s not why I hired you.”

Dilan took his hand off his face.

I can’t go to Tanzania?

Burchiel sat back in his chair, waiting for Dilan’s response. Seconds passed, then a minute, one of his long silences. Jaw clenched, he began:

“You know this is my first job, and I honestly didn’t know what to expect as an academic neurosurgeon, but here’s my conclusion: I think it’s like dating. And just like dating, sometimes it takes three dates to know whether you’re compatible or not. This is our third date. And, no, we’re not compatible. I think it’s time for me to resign.”

Burchiel furrowed his brow.

Dilan added, “I’d like to have twenty-four hours to think about it before letting you know for sure, but I think it’s time for me to find a place where I fit better.”

Dilan stood up. Neither made a move to shake each other’s hand.

His eyes narrowed into gun slits as he walked out the door. He turned toward the assistant but decided not to say what was going through his mind: Fuck off, I just fired the boss.

Nearly all his mentors called that night.

From Harvard, Arthur Day said with a chuckle, “Dilan, what the fuck? You asshole. What are you doing?” He said he’d gotten a call from Burchiel. “He really wants you to stay.”

From Virginia, John Jane also suggested that he reconsider, but added, “Yeah, that’s the problem. I didn’t train you to work for a chairman. I trained you to be the chairman.”

Others left messages. He dodged their calls. He had made his decision.

No one was going to tell him to set aside his work in Africa. It was too important to shut down. And no one was going to tell him how to run his life.

He would take a financial hit, for sure. He still had more than $160,000 in student debts and another $14,000 of debts on his credit cards. He had no job, no relationship. But he felt a sense of relief bordering on happiness, as if he’d been released after being locked in a dark room.

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