Chapter 90: Identifying Inconsistencies

March 15, 1988, McKinley, Ohio

“She’s in with a client,” Doctor Mercer’s receptionist said. “But she absolutely wants to speak to you. What number can she use to reach you?”

“I’m at home, and will be home for the rest of the day. She has the number.”

“Why don’t you give it to me just in case?”

I did, then hung up, went to the study, and took out my guitar to practice. As I expected, based on how Doctor Mercer scheduled her appointments, the phone rang about thirty minutes later.

“Loucks Residence; Mike speaking.”

“Mike, it’s Fran Mercer.”

“I can’t discuss anything about it, but I assume you’re aware that Angie is in the care of Doctor Leslie Hoffman at The Christ Hospital?”

“Yes.”

“OK. Did you hear from a young woman named Samantha Gilbert?”

“I did. I was very surprised to hear you referred her to me. I’ll be meeting with her tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good. While you and I might disagree on some things, you aren’t the first doctor with whom I’ve disagreed, and you certainly won’t be the last! Samantha needs your expertise.”

“Thank you. What rotation are you doing now?”

“Psych. After careful consideration, I won’t be doing a Sub-Internship, but the Chief of Psychiatry approved a training plan which treats me as if I’m a Sub-Intern.”

“As a Third Year? That’s unheard of!”

“I suspect there was a strong arm or two involved somewhere, but that said, I am qualified to do it.”

“What elective did you choose to replace it?”

“I dropped an internal medicine Sub-I as well, and substituted an ICU Sub-I and a pathology Sub-I.”

“Pathology? Why?”

“Because, as Doctor Roth put it, I’ll be able to use a scalpel every single shift, something that otherwise wouldn’t happen for another four years. It’ll help me keep my anatomy knowledge fresh, provide intellectual challenges, and allow me to further hone my dissection skills, all of which will translate to surgical skills.”

“Refresh my memory, please; what are your other electives?”

“A double Sub-I in trauma, a cardiology Sub-I, and a surgical Sub-I.”

“How are you doing otherwise? And how is Rachel?”

“I suppose the proper answer is that I’m struggling with my interior life, with my faith, and with Elizaveta’s repose. I’m still top in my class, and still earning perfect scores on my evaluations, and focusing on my medical training has helped keep me stable. The same is true for Rachel, in that focusing on her helps me keep things in perspective. She’s doing well and developing normally.”

“Any depression?”

“Of course, but not clinical, and I’m coping.”

“OK to ask about your coping methods?”

“No booze, no drugs, but a crazy amount of sex.”

“Define ‘crazy amount’, if you would,” Doctor Mercer requested.

“More than a dozen new sex partners since mid-December, plus some former ones.”

“Mike, that’s ... sorry, let me try again. I have several concerns, but the biggest one is what I would have to call risky behavior.”

“I’m adamant and very careful about birth control, I’ve had an STD test, and I’m not ignoring the risk. Despite the large number of partners, I’m selective.”

“Selective? With what I’m going to surmise is an average of five new partners each month? Not to mention the previous ones.”

“Believe it or not, yes. You know I was with around two dozen different partners before Elizaveta.”

“Do you feel driven by your libido?”

“No. I suspect, strongly, it’s, at least in part, filling a void. But I don’t feel guilty about it, nor am I struggling with it. I am, to put it bluntly, enjoying the variety and it helps me cope. Fundamentally, I am behaving in a way not atypical of a virile twenty-five-year-old medical student. That said, I’m not engaging in foolish behavior such as banging nursing students two at a time in the on-call room.”

“Why does that sound like something that actually happened?”

“Because I know the Resident who did it,” I replied. “I have a firm rule that I will not engage in inappropriate behavior in the hospital, and also not be involved in that kind of relationship with anyone who is supervising me or who I might supervise. Of that number I gave you, there are zero nurses and three fellow medical students. One of those was a pre-existing relationship.”

“You and Clarissa?” Doctor Mercer asked.

“Yes. At her request, though, as I fully expected, it was that one encounter, and we’re back to how we were before I married Elizaveta.”

“Please, please tell me that Samantha is not on that list.”

“She’s not. I know full well that sexual intercourse is not a cure for lesbianism, if that’s what this is, despite the opinions of some doctors I know. I’ll leave it to her to explain, because my perspective isn’t particularly relevant and I don’t want to bias you.”

“Are you developing any relationships, or is it all just casual?”

“I’m actively pursuing a long-term relationship, and there are three girls I would say are good candidates.”

“Please do not rush into that,” Doctor Mercer counseled. “It’s only been seven months, and you admitted you aren’t emotionally stable.”

“I did admit that, but it’s a long-term, committed, monogamous relationship which will provide that stability. You know full-well that being in love is not a criterion for me; finding the right partner who will be a good mother to Rachel and support me emotionally is.”

“That’s fraught with all kinds of possible trouble, Mike,” Doctor Mercer cautioned.

“No more than acting based on a biochemical reaction which can be induced with chocolate and roses.”

“That’s highly speculative.”

“The roses and chocolate part? I’d say anecdotally it’s true based on observed human behavior. That said, in my mind, applying cold logic is far wiser than following a highly volatile emotion.”

“Perhaps for you; what about your partner?”

“A girl with similar attitudes to Elizaveta would have no trouble with that. And before you say anything, I won’t marry anyone under eighteen. That’s the minimum, and nineteen or twenty is more likely, given what I want and the young women I know who are potentially willing to accept all the challenges that come with my training and me having a daughter.”

“Nineteen or twenty is still awfully young.”

“Maybe in the big city, but around here, it’s pretty common. Remember, the State of Ohio says sixteen is old enough to marry.”

“A political judgment, not one based on psychology.”

“But with the same logic, only reversed,” I countered. “The assumption that they are mature enough on the part of the State of Ohio, and that they are not on your part. Ohio’s application, though, leaves it to the judgment of the individuals and the parents of the partner who is under eighteen, or both, if they both are. I’d like to hear you argue that Elizaveta was not mature enough to marry and not mature enough to become pregnant.”

“An exception proves nothing, Mike.”

“Except it does! It shows that the correct approach is not a categorical ban, but a system that allows the exception to being eighteen to be judged by the individuals and their parents! I’m no wild-eyed libertarian, nor do I believe that government is the source of most ills. That said, our system is based on individual liberty and personal choice.

“It’s only when those choices harm others that they ought to be limited in some way. It’s as simple as my right to choose my own physicians and decide my own treatment, or have my family do it, not the State of Ohio or the Federal Government. Marriage being possible at sixteen is, as my government professor explained it, the will of the people expressed through their elected representatives.”

“The people can, and often do, get it wrong,” Doctor Mercer protested.

“Yes, they do, but when they legislate such that individual choice is respected, they get it right. You know how Ohio would vote if it were possible to make abortion illegal. You think that should be an individual choice, and available without parental consent at age fifteen. Is the right to murder a baby more important than the right to marry or procreate?”

“It’s not murder, Mike.”

“Murder is defined, according to what I heard from the judge in the case against Frank Bush, as the unlawful taking of human life. The Supreme Court says it’s not unlawful to have an abortion. Therefore, legally speaking, it’s not murder. But, pray tell, how is murder defined in the Torah? It’s the unjust taking of human life. ‘Do not murder’ is a commandment against unjust killing.”

“I agree that’s what the Torah says, but I’ll have to disagree with your analysis of how that applies to abortion.”

“Remember, I didn’t say it ought to be criminalized,” I said. “But it is unjust to the unborn child. And why? Because we won’t take away a woman’s right to choose to terminate a pregnancy, even if she’s only fifteen! Your positions are inconsistent with each other. I doubt I’ll convince you, but you do need to acknowledge that inconsistency.”

“Those are very different things, Mike.”

“No, they aren’t,” I replied. “They’re both about individual choice and freedom of conscience. You’re OK with that for one specific thing which you feel is vitally important, and against it for things which you don’t value. I challenge you to look at my daughter and tell me that marrying Elizaveta was wrong.”

“Mike, emotional appeals are not logical.”

“You’re impervious to logic or you would have conceded my point. All I can say is that I intend to advise my patients, gain their consent, and treat them consistent with their personal choices. The exception would be dangerous, highly communicable diseases, such as TB, where the State of Ohio and the Federal Government have mandated treatment for the public good, enacted by the will of the people through their elected representatives. And of course, allowing for mental competency, but then it’s up to the family first, with the State of Ohio stepping in only if there is no family member capable of making those decisions.”

“I need to see my next patient, who’s waiting, but I’d like to continue this conversation. When are you free?”

“Thursday or Friday during the day are best.”

“Let’s speak on Friday at noon, if that works for you.”

“It does.”

I made a note on my calendar, we said ‘goodbye’ and I hung up. I returned to playing my guitar until Antonne arrived for lunch.

“Thanks for accommodating me again,” I said.

“Like I’m going to object to eating real food versus the cafeteria!” Antonne said with a grin.

“I hear you on that one! Grab a seat, eat, and tell me how things are going.”

He sat down, I said the blessing prayer, and we began eating.

“Things are good,” Antonne said. “My mom will be moving in late June. Doctor Stanton’s friend, who works for the county, worked it all out, and she’ll have a job with your father-in-law handling shipping and receiving for his plumbing supply and electrical supply businesses. We owe you.”

“Pay it forward,” I said. “When you’re in medical school or a doctor, you help someone the way I’m helping you.”

“Thanks. Would you be willing to meet with our study group? It’s me and five other pre-med students.”

“Absolutely. What works for you?”

“A Tuesday or Thursday at lunch would be best.”

“I can actually do it Thursday if that works. My plans changed such that my friend is visiting here, rather than me going to Columbus. She won’t arrive before 1:30pm, so we’d have plenty of time.”

“Cool! We can do that.”

“OK to order a couple of pizzas?”

“Sure. Just no anchovies!”

“Don’t worry,” I chuckled.

We had a good lunch, and a good conversation, and fortunately Rachel slept until after he had left. That would mean no evening nap, but that was becoming the norm, rather than the exception. I fed her, rocked her, read to her, then played my guitar while she crawled on the rug in the great room and played with her toys.

March 16, 1988, McKinley, Ohio

Clarissa arrived at the house just after I did on Wednesday evening after my shift. We had a late dinner, spent some time with Rachel, said evening prayers, then put Rachel to bed.

“Does a bubble bath fit into your thinking?” Clarissa asked when we went to the bedroom.

“You know my answer.”

“Tessa’s statement was no sex unless she’s in bed with us. And by sex she means penetration of any kind, and no manual stimulation, either. Cuddles, hugs, and regular kisses are OK.”

“No tongue?” I asked with a grin.

“Not in my mouth or the place you find even more interesting!”

“That second one was obvious! The French kissing one wasn’t obvious, but I totally understand.”

Five minutes later, Clarissa was reclined in my arms with warm, sudsy water rising around us.

“If only there was a way forward where we could keep doing this,” she sighed. “But I’m not sure we could manage all the complications that would arise, not to mention divergent sexuality.”

“I don’t disagree,” I replied, “but it would eliminate the difficulties of having a baby together.”

“Yes, but at the cost of you not being fulfilled. Your vision of marriage doesn’t include very rare sex with your wife and intermittent sex with her girlfriend. Not to mention the other complications for your life, and ours, too. As lesbians, we can, more or less, fly under the radar. But a public marriage between us with Tessa living with us is a totally different story.”

“You know I can adapt,” I said, “but given what you just proposed is the maximum compromise you and Tessa could commit to, I don’t see that we could negotiate something that would work for me, and you know the dangers of that.”

“Yes, that you would suffer quietly for decades. And you wouldn’t go outside our relationship to solve that, even with permission.”

“I may be doing a good imitation of a pig at the moment, but you know what I want.”

“A monogamous, mutually fulfilling marriage, and that doesn’t just mean sex, though that is an important part of it. I think, in the end, what we agreed before you married Elizaveta has to be the solution — best friends and colleagues, with a kid together. Have you broached that with any of the girls?”

“No. I think they need to meet you and Tessa before I could say anything. You know Sara, but only casually from church. I think what I need to do is arrange for you to meet them over dinner.”

“What would you do if they all reject the idea?” Clarissa asked.

“First, I signed over complete control of my deposits to you, so nobody can stop it.”

“You can revoke that, can’t you?”

“Only by suing,” I replied. “Read the documents carefully — it’s irrevocable and you have complete discretion on using or destroying my sperm, but with a waiver of child support if you don’t seek my written agreement first. So in that sense, it’s a fait accompli.”

“That could wreck your marriage.”

“Yes, it could, but if it comes down to it, I’m ‘Uncle Mike’. I’d still be involved, and you agreed our baby could be baptized. Would I be upset at not being acknowledged as Dad? It would bother me, but our child will have two loving moms to raise him or her. For all anyone knows, you used an anonymous sperm donor.”

“And when the kid is the spitting image of you or your mom or sister?”

“The vagaries of genetics. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I think both Becka and Sara are modern enough that they’ll accept artificial insemination with sperm donated while I was at Taft, before I was betrothed to Elizaveta. Dani might not react so well, though she’s not as conservative as her outward appearances.”

“So similar to Elizaveta?”

“Yes. And in just about every way. The advantage she has is that I know the formula works, and the adjustments and sacrifices on both our parts would be minimal. Sara is similar, but with a very different worldview. Becka would require significant adjustments, compromises, and sacrifices.”

The water was within an inch of the top of the tub, so I turned off the tap.

“And you’re still trying with her?”

“In the end, it’s a choice of very different futures, all of which are interesting. In theory, Annette is still in the running, but that would require even more sacrifices and compromises, including on your part. Asking you to move to Tennessee seems wrong, given your relationship with Tessa. And even then, with no support there, we’d have significant challenges, beyond even the ones Becka and I would have.

“And honestly, if I was willing to accept the challenges Annette would require, I’d have to consider Maryam, because despite the significant difficulties we’d encounter, we’d have support here. But we both agreed that the stress on our relationship would be tremendous, and we wouldn’t be much of a couple, so much as raising two kids and keeping house together while we pursued our training.”

“I know you see August as your deadline because of Lara, but perhaps you haven’t yet met the girl who is the next Mrs. Loucks, or you have, and you haven’t considered her.”

“I have so many conflicting thoughts about that, and I’m receiving conflicting advice.”

“If you were forced to choose right now, this instant, who would you choose?”

“Lissa...” I protested.

“Sorry,” Clarissa replied. “You don’t need to answer, but the fact that you can’t or won’t speaks volumes.”

“I know,” I sighed.

March 17, 1988, McKinley, Ohio

“Have a good day at work, Sweetheart!” I said when Clarissa and I shared a hug at the door on Thursday morning.

“I love the way that sounds!” Clarissa declared. “Thanks for the sleepover. I really enjoyed sleeping in your arms.”

“And I in yours,” I replied.

We exchanged a chaste kiss, and I watched as she went out to my old Mustang, got in, started it, and drove off. Once she was out of sight, I went back to the great room to play my guitar while Rachel enjoyed her time on the floor. She was carefully eyeing the couch, and I knew soon enough she’d raise her hands and try to pull herself up.

Rachel had her mid-morning snack and then went down for her nap. I took the time to do laundry and some light cleaning, as I wanted to make a good impression on Dani, though I held no illusions that my definition of ‘clean’ matched that of a Serbian girl any more than it had matched that of a Russian girl.