Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“It might help you settle into London and find new friends. You never know, he might even be right, and it might even make you better at your job.” Joshua looked at me, and it was as if he knew I wasn’t buying what he and Gerry were selling. “You understand physiology, right? It’s like running. No one would say that running all day every day would make you faster. Your body would just give up in the end. All athletes cross-train and have rest periods. With work, it’s the same. You need time to do other activities and time to do nothing at all. It will make you better at work. I promise.”
I did want to impress Gerry. Even if I didn’t stay at the hospital forever, a good reference from him could make my career, while a mediocre one could blow it. If doing less was the way to get the career I’d always dreamed of, then I suppose that’s what I’d have to try to do. It wouldn’t be easy. The idea of free time was like a thundercloud blocking out my sun. I didn’t want to think about who I was when I had time to do something other than obsess about medicine. I liked the busy, productive, focused me much better. “I have no idea where to start. I’ve never had a hobby. Don’t even suggest tennis—I’m hopeless.” I didn’t have any interests outside of medicine. Not since before university. Not since the accident.
“You like to cook. What about taking some lessons?”
“Cooking isn’t a hobby. It’s a means of survival. If I didn’t cook, I wouldn’t eat.”
“So make it into one. Start making cakes or preparing sushi or something.”
Would it be that easy to placate Gerry?
“Baby steps,” Joshua said, reading my mind. “Maybe you can give me a cooking lesson or two. And then when you’re cooking, I bet you find something else to do. That’s the way creativity works—it needs space to expand.”
“I’m passionate about what I do. I’m a good doctor. What’s the harm in that?”
“There’s no harm in that unless it’s all you do. He’s right that if you have other things in your life, you’ll get better at your job.”
“I disagree. Look at Bill Gates. Does he have hobbies?”
“I hear he likes to play bridge. And Jack Dorsey is a hiker.”
“Who’s Jack Dorsey? Your mate or something?”
“Just the guy who founded Twitter. And Foursquare. And—”
“Okay, I get it. I’ll take up knitting or something.” I knocked back a gulp of the Old Fashioned and winced. I didn’t like whiskey almost as much as I didn’t want a hobby. But with Gerry and Joshua on my back, I was going to have to try. Maybe Joshua and Gerry were right, and time away from work would improve my skills. What they didn’t understand was the reason I liked to work hard wasn’t just to get better at my job. Medicine had been my balm—the ultimate distraction—for a long time now. It was easy to forget the life unlived when you were focused on saving other people. Nothing save medicine had the power to distract me from considering what could have been, and that was just the way I liked it.
Seven
Hartford
I wondered how long it would take for Joshua to notice I wasn’t wearing my cast. Until he did, I was going to try to figure out what the array of kitchen equipment I’d just unpacked was for. I hadn’t a clue how to use ninety-eight-point-three percent of it. The sieve was familiar. And the mixing bowl. But the rest was way over my paygrade.
“All this was in your kitchen?” Joshua looked as baffled as I felt. I’d dragged him in from next door, where he was “busy” relaxing in his boxers, to help me bake. If he was so adamant that Gerry was right about doing stuff outside of work, then he shouldn’t mind helping me.
“Some of it. I mentioned to Alice on reception that I was going out to shop for ingredients for baking, and when I got back, a huge box with all this in it was sitting at my front door.”
“So we’re here to bake?”
“Yes. You will be pleased to know that I’m not operating on you with a sieve.”
“But why?” He pushed his hand through his hair, looking thoroughly confused.
“Because the sieve isn’t sanitized for surgery, of course.”
It took him a beat to process what I said before he speared me with those blue eyes. “Not why aren’t you operating on me, but why are we baking?”
“Gerry and I had our first meeting on Friday. He was very cross that I couldn’t tell him how I’d been spending my time out of the hospital. He said he wants to speak to me on Monday to see what I’ve done over the weekend. Can you believe it?”