by Susan Ternyey, 2021
Sitting beside his large, rich old mahogany desk, steel-grey eyes and hair gave an equal substantiality to the man’s composed demeanor. He was a doctor, almost father and confessor, in the small community he’d lived for near 50 years. Not much was new or surprising to him, but if it was, no one could tell.
Across from him sat a young woman dressed to get attention, in what he assumed was the latest fad. She had always been a rebel, continually looking for a cause. But he saw that she was in earnest and was not like to be dissuaded with any superficiality. He considered a moment how to answer her—the suggestion to consult with her parents would not be effective . . . they were prone to give into whatever she demanded, though he would never say so to her, or to anyone else. That’s why people trusted him: he was not a divulger. And the difference between him and a priest was that he was also not a preacher. When he spoke, it was with measured thought and word.
Ordinarily when people came to him for a procedure he was uncomfortable doing, he would suggest they go to the newer, younger doctor in town. That wouldn’t work this time. Even his professional counterpart, he knew, would balk at this request.
“There is nothing wrong with it, it is fully functional,” he began slowly. “Why do you want to get rid of it?”
“I just don’t want it,” she easily, quickly retorted.
“You have to realize that there will be pain, both physical and emotional. Once it’s gone, there will be no way to go reverse it. What if you afterwards regret your choice?”
“I won’t,” she glibly asserted in her typical way.
“Frankly, I don’t feel comfortable with this . . .” he calmly countered, with just a touch of emotion behind his low tone.
“But you have to do it, because it’s my body, and I’ve asked you to do it. You can’t hide behind your outmoded morals and ideology,” her tone had a slightly sassy edge.
“Well, actually I don’t have to perform any non-life-threatening procedure that is inconsistent with my professional opinion,” he spoke as if from the bench.
“Haven’t you been paying attention to the news? You can’t refuse medical treatment.”
“There’s no judge that would see it as such, or come to your conclusion, let alone a jury,” he said confidently.
“Well, maybe we’ll see about that,” she spoke defiantly. “You’ll have to pay, and it won’t be pretty for your reputation,” she threatened.
He called her bluff by calmly getting up, walking to the door, and opened it with a nod to invite her to pass through.
“If you find any reputable physician who would amputate a perfectly healthy, functioning leg for no other reason than your whim, the world has gone nuts,” he concluded.
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