Surprise Delivery(3)

“You have quite an impressive resume,” she says. “The letters of references you provided are impeccable.”

“Thank you,” I tell her.

“Tell me, if accepted, what would be your ideal posting?”

I have to bite back the sharp bark of laughter that threatens to come tumbling out of my mouth. If accepted? I do my best to stay humble, as my folks taught me, but I also know my own worth. Their organization would benefit tremendously from having me on board – I’m one of the best surgeons in all of New York. I’ve busted my ass to get to where I am and I’m proud of all I’ve accomplished.

But like I keep telling myself, it’s as much about politics as anything, so I have to play the game.

“Honestly, my ideal posting would be a place like Syria,” I say.

She looks a bit taken aback by my reply. I guess some folks get into an organization like this just to pad their resume or make themselves look and feel better. I’m guessing most folks would list their ideal posting as someplace where bombs aren’t falling, and bullets aren’t flying. Not that I blame or judge them for it. I mean, who wants to get shot at?

For me though, that sort of setting would be ideal.

“Syria?” she asks. “May I ask why you’d want to go to a place like that?”

“Because that’s where I think I can do the most good,” I answer honestly. “I think my skills would be wasted going someplace just to give vaccines and inoculations or whatnot. I think going to a place where people actually need surgical help would be the best use of my talents.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to sound so surprised,” she says. “It’s just that not many people actually request to go into a region embroiled in a war.”

I shrug. “I’m not most people.”

“Clearly not,” she replies. “Usually, we have to assign people to that region and split their tour time between there and someplace else.”

“I’d be happy to do my entire tour there. No need to split my time,” I say, then add, “If accepted, of course.”

“I mean, you do realize the conditions there are terrible. And your safety absolutely cannot be guaranteed –”

I sip my coffee and look at her, unflinching. “I understand that and accept the risks inherent with such a dangerous posting.”

She eyes me for a moment. “And you’d sign a waiver to that effect?”

“In triplicate, if need be.”

Andrea laughs softly. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she says. “But, I’m curious about why you’re so willing to go into a place that’s so dangerous, given your – background.”

“I think the people there need help. Too many people are dying,” I say. “I think there is probably a shortage of doctors who can patch them up and get them back on their feet.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” she confirms softly.

“My family – my parents, really – instilled a desire to help people in me. A desire to do good in this world,” I explain. “They taught me to always respect human life and help those less fortunate than myself – to always be willing to lend a hand when and where I can.”

“They sound like extraordinary people,” she tells me.

“Yes, my dad was, and my mom is,” I reply softly.

She purses her lips, obviously understanding my meaning. “When did your father pass?”

“About ten years ago now.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” I nod. “And as far as my background goes, it’s because of it that I can afford to take the time away from the hospital.”

She nods and jots something down on a page in the folder. I don’t enjoy feeling like I’m being interviewed or that I have to prove my worth. My resume and accomplishments speak for themselves.

“That’s definitely a plus,” she informs me. “Though we do offer a small stipend –”

“Keep it,” I interject, waving her off. “Use it to bring somebody else on board. Call it a two for the price of one deal.”

“I’ve never been able to resist a good bargain,” she laughs.

I give her a small grin, not really all that amused. I sip my coffee and fall silent as she flips through the last pages of the file, probably just to give her something to do for a moment. Finally, she looks up at me, a warm smile on her face.

“Honestly, I think you’d be the perfect candidate,” she says. “I just need to run this by the board, who will sign off on the final approval, but honestly, I don’t see anything holding you up from getting a posting.”

“That’s terrific,” I say.

We both stand, and I walk her to my office door. She turns and shakes my hand, looking me in the eyes for a long moment.

“And you’re sure about your posting of preference?” she asks. “I mean, it’s not too late –”

“I’m positive,” I interrupt.

She purses her lips and nods. “Okay then. Let’s see what we can do. I’ll touch base with you again soon.”

“I look forward to it.”

I shut my office door behind her and walk back to my chair, dropping down into it heavily. Technically, nothing I told her is untrue. Everything I said is very true. I just left out a few details – details that may have changed her opinion on my candidacy. Maybe. Who knows?