Hannah has been doing very well lately. She misses Jack, who is giving his attention to Lily as she settles into his home. However, they keep in touch with text messages, and it is clear that each often returns to the other’s mind, which I find very encouraging.
She’s kept herself busy, though—or rather, busier than she usually is. Up until this point, her education and her career has been directed toward her intention of going into practice as a cosmetic plastic surgeon. Now, however, that her interests have changed, she is having to make some changes. She has met frequently with her supervisor to discuss what those changes will be and what the next few years of her life will be like.
It is a decrease in prestige, perhaps, and she will continue to work out of the hospital, rather than having her own office. But Hannah feels a great peace about giving up those things, when faced with the possibility of helping people through very traumatic times in their lives. This, I believe, has always been her calling.
So it was upsetting to her—to both of us—when her father called her into his office this afternoon, as if she were an erring child.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded as soon as she walked in.
She stopped short, her heart dropping. “And here I thought we were going to go out to lunch,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.
Dr. Ramiro Valdez was not distracted. “I talked to Lombard this week. He told me this plan that you’ve got, to stay in the burns unit. What the hell?”
Hannah sighed and set her purse down by the door. “You could’ve talked to me about it.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asked, coming out from behind his desk. “Seriously, Hannah, what are you thinking?”
In that moment, she was thinking several things—primarily that she did not want to be having this conversation. She has spoken to her mother and her brother about this decision, and is even looking forward to telling Jack, since Lily was her inspiration. But she knew that her father, whose life revolves around the influence and power that comes with his position, would not understand, and so she has avoided mentioning it.
“I just think that it’s the right way for me to go,” Hannah replied.
“Well, stop thinking that,” Ramiro said, folding his arms. He shook his head with a sigh. “Hannah, you gotta know that burns is one of the worst units to work in. It’s long hours and it’s thankless work and there’s only so much that you can do. You’ll hate it.”
“Maybe you don’t have to tell me what to think, thanks,” Hannah said coolly.
“You want to watch your tone with me, young lady.”
Hannah’s spine stiffened. “See, here’s the thing, Dad,” she said, picking up her purse again. “I’m not a young lady. I’m thirty years old and I survived med school—”
“Oh, and whose money put you through med school?”
“And whose work put me through med school?” she snapped, meeting his gaze. “Yeah, you wrote the checks, but I wrote the papers and I took the exams and I did the labs. Me, Dad. And the whole time there hasn’t ever been anything I loved as much as I did working with those people in burns, giving them hope that they can have their faces and their normality back.”
She spoke with such passion, and I did what I could to make Ramiro see that, how very strongly she feels about this. But Ramiro is not an emotional man, and he only narrowed his eyes at this outburst. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with some attractive man who had a kid in the unit a few weeks back, would it?” he asked.
Hannah scoffed and opened the door again. “If you have a question for me, Dad, why don’t you try asking me about it, instead of checking up on me like a stalker,” she said. She strode out the door, ignoring it when he called after her.
It was a graceful exit, but in the elevator she wedged herself into the back corner and blinked back tears. I stood with her, whispering to her that this is her choice, that she must follow her joy, and I believe that she still will. But it was sorrow that followed her out of the building.