Winning the Lottery - 9. Gabe's medical school years

The new houses were coming along well. We had hired a designer/project manager to oversee their construction and finishing. The only thing I’d asked for was good kitchen appliances. Other than a once-a-week trip to the building site, really just to satisfy our curiosity more than anything, we didn’t get involved in the construction. At this point the foundations for the houses and the garage building had been poured, and the renovations on the house across the road for the security team were underway. With any luck, and the expedited work schedule built into the contract, everything would be ready before Christmas.

The balance of the summer passed pleasantly. When Derrick was away working, Cass and I had our routines. When Derrick was home, the three of us hung out together.

James and I texted frequently.

Just after Labor Day I officially started med school.

My first day was hectic. Lectures started immediately, and I had a shitload of studying and assignments.

I managed to get home at 7pm and we ate dinner as a family. Cass was full of news. He’d met two new friends who were staying in the student residence at the school. The first was Prince Abu-Something-Something-Something, but he was just called Abu at school. The other was Lord Charles Something, and he was called Charlie.

“Charlie knows the Queen of England! And Abu comes from Saudi Arabia! His dad is a prince too! And he said he flew here in a big plane! Even bigger than Gramps’s Gulfstream! Charlie has his own horse! And Abu’s dad has hawks! Can I go to school and play with them on Saturday? Abu has a rad collection of Lego, and Charlie has video games! Can I? Please?”

After dinner I withdrew to the bedroom, where there was a desk set up for me, to continue studying while Derrick and Giselle got Cass into bed and settled down.

The next day, shortly after my arrival at school, I was in medical scrubs looking down on a cadaver and breathing formaldehyde fumes with five other equally nervous students in my lab group. “Make your first cut here,” said our lab instructor.” And so the real work began.

I had to spend hours before anatomy lab studying the body part(s) that we were going to dissect that day, then hours afterwards memorizing, testing myself, and re-memorizing.

Take the elbow: There are the radius, ulna and humerus. The medial and lateral epicondyles. The medial and lateral collateral ligaments. The biceps and triceps muscle tendons. Three major nerves, three major arteries. The list goes on.... It didn’t take long to get over the shock of working on a dead body, and the wonderful thing was that later, as practitioners, we would be able to ‘visualize’ the structures when a patient came to us with symptoms.

And then there was pathology. Every bit of anatomy I learned had multiple things that could go wrong with it. And each malady had several symptoms, which all sounded like suspiciously like diabetes.

I had planned, and pretty much adhered to, a study routine that semester. Every weekday morning I’d get up at 5:30am. I’d wake Cass up by saying goodbye to him at 6, and head to school. I’d put in two hours of studying before my first class. After classes and labs it was research, study group, more study. I’d try to be home at 7pm for dinner, after which I’d sequester myself in the bedroom for three or four more hours of study.

To say that first semester was challenging would be an understatement, yet to use words like ‘difficult’ or ‘stressful’ would imply negative experience, which it certainly wasn’t. I enjoyed studying, so the long hours didn’t bother me, and the subjects—anatomy, physiology, pathology, medical ethics—were not only interesting but had practical application in the months and years to follow. I kept my grades in the top 25% of the class by working hard. There were several students who were in the ‘genius’ class—students who had photographic memories—and were destined to become great surgeons, neurologists, oncologists, psychiatrists, researchers, and so forth. But I was nowhere near that. I got by with a lot of hours of memorization.

Derrick was my rock. He was always there to give me encouragement, to cuddle me when I was too tired to make love, to rub my back when I was tense before an exam. He never once complained about all the time I spent studying.

I was usually able to take time on the weekends to spend with Cass and Derrick (if he wasn’t working). We’d been told to give ourselves mental and physical breaks from studying, and family time was a delightful chance to unwind. Cass was a drama free kid who simply enjoyed getting out to the park to kick a soccer ball around or pretend he was a dog with Lucy in the off-leash area.

Sometimes Abu and Charlie would join us, and there would be a passel of hunky, tough looking, body guard guys lurking in the park keeping an eye out for kidnappers, molesters, rabid dogs and God-only-knows what else. I found their presence intrusive, but the kids didn’t seem to mind. Invariably they’d talk one of the goliaths into participating in the soccer game, which amused not only the kids and me but also their colleagues.

The house was ready for occupation in mid-December and our official move date was the day after I’d completed my final exam for that semester. We’d all seen the final product; the project manager had an uncanny sense of our tastes, and he’d created a comfortable home. He’d even used some of each of our personal furniture to make us all feel at home. I was thrilled with the study he’d created for me, and was glad that I no longer had to usurp the bedroom for study.

Our ‘move’ was simply driving to the new house. Any packing and transporting of personal possessions was done by a moving crew.

Our bedroom on the second floor had a spectacular view, and in those winter months we went to sleep with the soothing sound of waves breaking on the beach. And the sunsets were magnificent. We even saw some passing whales with our telescope.

Douglas and MacKenzie arrived the next day to take up residence in their bungalow. The whole family was in a state of awe about what we’d created. Even Lucy loved her new yard, and was even happier that her new home had a beach where her master (Cass) could throw sticks into the ocean for her to fetch.

Giselle, Cass’s nanny got settled into her little apartment before she headed off to the mainland to join her family for Christmas.

We all drove to the airport to meet the Foroughis and James. The beaming Foroughis expressed mock anger at the extravagance of the Gulfstream jet, but I could tell they were thrilled. They both cried throughout the introductions and kept saying, “How kind you are. Such a pleasure. We are so happy for our Gabriel. Young Cass is such a handsome young man. What a fine family you are....”

James came out behind the Foroughis looking a little wan. After greeting us he raved about the plane never having dreamt that one day he’d ride in a Gulfstream. I hoped that he and the Foroughis had gotten along—who knew what kind of pranks James may have played on them when he was younger. But from the sound of things they’d become ‘best friends,’ which was a relief.

The Dea-Con office took charge of arranging several tours and activities for all of them, but also allowed them plenty time to just relax and socialize with us. James had free use of my Solara, and using a local map we made several suggestions of where he might explore on his own. The surfing beaches on the North Shore seemed to be his ‘go to’ place.

The Foroughi’s were Turkish Kurds who had come to Canada as refugees after all their family had been wiped out in skirmishes between the Turks and Iraqis. They were grateful for their new, safe home in Canada, but it hadn’t been an easy life for them there. They didn’t complain, but reading between the lines they felt isolated and were barely making ends meet with the meagre profits from their little store. They had no surviving family, and I was as much their family as they were mine.

One day when James was out exploring, Derrick and I broached the topic of Mr. Foroughi’s retirement (he was 60 and his mother was 78) by offering to fund whatever sort of retirement they’d like, wherever they’d like. That brought on floods of tears but no answers. Derrick and I had discussed one possibility, and it was Derrick who made the offer. Would they like to come and live in Hawaii and be near us?

“That is too much! No, we cannot do that! You are too kind! We could not impose on you in such a way!”

It took days of cajoling and reassurances, but they eventually capitulated, registering their most strong protests that this was ‘too much!’ Really, in the end, it was MacKenzie, in her lovely, quiet, charming way, that convinced them to accept. I swear to God, my soon-to-be mother-in-law could sell refrigerators to Eskimos.

Not far from where we lived there are townhouses that surround a golf course. The units themselves are typical small, three bedroom structures that were built for snowbirds, but when we showed the Foroughi’s the unit that was for sale they both nearly fainted. “Such a thing is beyond our wildest dreams!”

The Deacon lawyers were set to work obtaining US Green Cards for mother and son. I have no idea how their influence works—most probably Gramps is friends with an influential Senator or the Secretary of State, or something—but we were all assured that there would be no problem.

James and I had a long heart-to-heart talk. He apologized for his past behavior. I hadn’t realized it, but he was desperately trying to please Dad, for whom there was no pleasing.

“You know those trophies in the living room?”

“Yes....”

“Well, they weren’t put there because he was proud of me. They were put there to remind me that our team hadn’t come in first.

“I hate to make lame excuses, Gabe, but I think my meanness toward you was a way of trying to please Dad.

“He pretty much forced me to go to McGill University. Honestly, my heart wasn’t in it. But then it turned out that I loved Montreal and loved the French culture and language. I wanted to major in French, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted me to take strictly business courses, but I managed to get him to compromise on communications. At least that way I could continue to take French language courses right through my fourth year. I was hanging out with a French crowd so I got pretty fluent. I wanted to stay in Montreal, but there just weren’t any jobs, so I had to move to Toronto.”

James wasn’t telling me this stuff to evoke my sympathies, or maneuver me to give him more money. His candid revelations were, for him, cathartic. I admired him for being honest with me. I finally saw him not as a monster, but almost as much of a victim of my father’s brutality as I had been.

There remained for me a kernel of distrust, but I said, “Maybe, down the road, when we get to know each other better, you could consider moving to Hawaii.”

He heard the reservation in my invitation and called me on it. “I know you don’t trust me, Gabe, and I understand that. But I promise, from here on out I’m going to try to do better. I’ve been a screw-up for so many years I hardly even know where to begin.”

“What would you like to do? I mean really like to do?”

“Honestly, I haven’t thought about it. I guess I’d like to do something with my French. Be an interpreter or something...

“But thanks for the offer about Hawaii, Gabe. Maybe that’s a future goal I could set, eh?”

“James, I’d be willing to help you. As MacKenzie once said to me, ‘we’ll give you the tools, but you have to build the house.’ When you know what house you want to build, James, you let me know, okay?”

“Thanks, Gabe, let me think about it. I will, for sure.” And with that he got up and gave me a huge hug.

Christmas was...multicultural. Between the Buddhists, Muslims and pseudo-Christians we managed to come up with a respectable celebration. The main thing was that Cass was happy. Although he missed Charlie and Abu who had returned to their homes for the holidays.

Two days after Christmas our company departed and it was nice to have the last few days of the break to relax.

The next semester passed in a blur of work. Thank God for the support of the Deacons so that I had little responsibility except for studying.

The excitement, or highlight, of that spring was that Cass and Charlie were invited to Saudi Arabia for March break. Abu mentioned something to Cass, but we thought it was just kid’s talk and didn’t take it seriously. Cass viewed as a mere sleepover invitation—no big deal. We gave the “we’ll see” answer to Cass’s entreaty to go. First of all, he was slated to visit his mother during his break.

But when the official invitation from Abu’s father came the whole Deacon family went into a tailspin. Can you imagine entrusting you child to some stranger (princely title or not) and allowing him to whisk your baby off to the other side of the world? To a country where women aren’t allowed to drive and have to cover their heads? Where they stone people like us to death? What would happen if word got out that Cass’s parents were gay? No thank you very much. Sorry Cass, ain’t gonna happen.

When the prince’s official invitation arrived it was very comprehensive—very professional. It contained a detailed itinerary. A two day stopover in England to visit Charlie’s parents, then on to Saudi Arabia where they would be the guests of the prince and his wife at their country estate. Accompanying the children on the family’s private A320 plane would be a nanny, a physician and a Saudi diplomat, should such a need arise.

The prince was too princely to contact directly, but his private secretary would be available to answer our questions....

Cass knew the invitation had arrived, and good kid that he was, he didn’t badger or whine while Derrick and I were making the decision. But he was working on us nonetheless, throwing the odd sigh and exhibiting some anxiety by being more agitated than usual.

MacKenzie, always the voice of reason, suggested we keep an open mind. Cass was, after all twelve years old, well behaved, and could be counted on to be responsible.

Cass had originally been scheduled to visit his mother. She wasn’t doing well. She’d developed congestive heart failure which made breathing difficult and had moved to Arizona for the dry air. She said she didn’t mind if Cass spent his vacation with friends rather than her.

Derrick and I dithered.

The situation was escalated to Gramps who said he’d look into the prince. The prince checked out well. He was a very cosmopolitan man, educated in England and the United States. He was known to be one of the more progressive voices in the Saudi Royal Family.

Derrick and I insisted on talking to the prince on the telephone—forget dealing with the private secretary. I asked him right out if having gay dads would present a problem for Cass in Saudi Arabia. The prince assured us that the boys would pass their vacation on his estate guarded day and night. He declared, convincingly, that he was more ‘enlightened’ that many of his countrymen.

Derrick and I relented.

Prince Abu Senior’s Jet arrived to pick up the kids. We met the nanny, the doctor and the diplomat. The jet was something else. It was an Airbus 320 class, similar to the plane Derrick flew, but it was all decked out like a...palace.

The plane flew off, we fretted.

But we needn’t have. Cass came back safe and sound, richer for his experience, and bursting with news. Charlie lived in a HUGE house! He got to meet Charlie’s HORSE! Saudi Arabia was HOT! He got to ride a CAMEL! He got to pet a REAL hawk! He ate GOAT meat! Abu’s mom was so NICE!

James, at my gentle urging, signed up for psychological counselling. He began to make positive lifestyle changes. He cut down drastically on his carousing, and he took up long-distance cycling and racing. Because it was winter, he began training at a gym until the Toronto weather warmed up. He’d joined a club and had already met a new cadre of like-minded, fitness oriented friends.

One day he phoned with wonderful news. His bosses had noticed his new attitude and work ethic and offered him a promotion to section manager. He’d definitely turned a corner.

The school year ended, and I survived, garnering respectable marks.

Derrick’s parents planned to spend the summer on Orcas Island running Buddhist retreats, and they suggested Cass and I join them for a month or so. Derrick had two weeks off to spend with us.

Unbeknownst to Derrick and me the Deacon’s had a small modular cottage set up on their property. It was several hundred yards from the main house set in a lovely forest clearing. Totally private. “For the honeymooners,” said Derrick’s dad with a wink.

Cass was perfectly happy in the main house with his grandparents and Lucy, while Derrick and I screwed our brains out in the cottage.

Cass was maturing quickly. He was entering puberty, and his voice began to crack. Because I was ‘the doctor,’ I had to lead the discussion of the facts of life. He was mortified, but fascinated with my clinical descriptions. Derrick added, rather casually, that there was nothing wrong with masturbation. Cass put a pillow over his head and declared, “Jesus Dad! Gross!” In spite of the reaction we still thought it was a healthy attitude to impart.

The Foroughis moved and were very happy in Hawaii. We had them as regular guests for dinner, but mostly left them to their own devices, which they seemed to appreciate. They adored Cass, and he them. To me they were always complimentary and supportive. I loved them like I should, but couldn’t, love my own parents.

Cass’s phobia about organized activities precluded him joining any extracurricular sports activities so we were at a loss about how to get him away from the house to socialize more. He loved school; he just didn’t want to play on any sports teams. The answer came one day when we took Lucy to the vet for a check up and shots. The vet ran a small rescue and adoption center, and the animals—mostly cats and dogs—captivated Cass. We could hardly get him to leave. The vet’s young, pretty receptionist noticed his interest, and our tolerance of it, and told us they could really use help on Saturdays: feeding the animals, exercising them, cleaning cages, and generally just giving them some loving kindness. She assured us that none of the dogs were dangerous; the vet was very strict about adopting out safe animals.

Cass immediately said ‘yes’ and we said we’d think about it. Cass looked crestfallen, and on the way home he took his best shot at convincing Derrick and me that volunteering at the shelter was a GOOD IDEA.

“I really LIKE animals!”

“How about full taking responsibility for Lucy?” Derrick said.

“I promise I will!”

“You’d have to commit to going every Saturday. You can’t just go a few times then quit,” I said.

“I will! I’ll go every Saturday. I promise!”

Permission was duly granted. Later, after Cass had gone to bed, Derrick said, “I think it’s not just the animals, I think he’s got a crush on the receptionist.”

“I think you’re right, he kept stealing glances at her when he thought we weren’t looking. He’s chosen his team. We have a straight son.”

“Yeah, puberty has definitely arrived. Our little boy is growing up.”

After his first Saturday shift the vet complimented Cass on his work and said he was a natural with animals. To Cass he said, “Ever think about becoming a vet?”

At dinner that evening Cass announced that he was going to be a vet.

“That’s great, Cass,” said Derrick. “We’ll support you one hundred percent if that’s what you want. Right Gabe?”

“Absolutely. After dinner maybe we can research what becoming a vet entails. I think it’s like medical school only you learn about animals instead of humans.”

I knew from experience that good study habits from the get-go were essential. I gently impressed this idea on Cass. I didn’t want to put him under pressure, but neither did I want him to think he could just sail through and expect to magically become a vet. He asked me several questions about my schooling which I answered honestly.

“You mean I have to get straight A’s from now on?”

“Pretty much. Maybe not all A’s but mostly.”

“I’ll do it Gabe. I promise I will. Can you help me learn how to study good?”

“It would be my honor, Cass.”

Cass was motivated. He began to study regularly. He came home with straight A’s.

Overall, he was a well-behaved young man. There were a few head-butting incidents as he asserted his natural independence, but nothing serious until just before his sixteenth birthday. We refer to that crisis as ‘The Monkey Incident.’

It happened not long after Cass had returned from one of his annual visits to his mother. She wasn’t doing very well. On oxygen full time, she barely had the energy to get out of bed. Her energy level was so low she needed help with toileting. Cass was naturally upset by this turn of events, which I think exacerbated of The Monkey Incident.

The shelter received a foundling Capuchin monkey. An adorable little thing. Cuteness factor off the scale. Cass wanted to adopt it. We did some research and found just too many negatives. They bite. They can’t be house trained and have to be diapered. They damage things if they’re not controlled at all times. They need constant care—for the next 40 years!

We said no. MacKenzie and Douglas backed us up.

We employed logic.

Cass employed emotion.

He went ballistic. He yelled, he argued. He called us stupid and a few other choice insults. We understood his need to vent anger, but we stood our collective ground. He avoided us by sequestering himself in his bedroom (he was okay with a closed door provided he had an opening window), he gave us the Silent Treatment. This distressed me particularly because my parents had used silence and ostracism. It opened old wounds. And Derrick was hurting too. We comforted each other as much as we could. Our guilt knew no bounds.

Finally, as luck would have it, the shelter found good home for the monkey.

Cass was glad the monkey was going to a good home but was still very angry at us for not allowing him to adopt it. It took a few weeks after that for relations in the house to normalize again. This occurred when he formally announced he had ‘forgiven’ us. Not exactly an apology, but close enough.

Those medical school years passed altogether too quickly. The last two years were fun (but a lot of work—always a lot of work) because we spent most of our time at the hospital and clinics. I got to experience all the facets of medicine: surgery, anesthesiology, oncology, psychiatry, obstetrics, gynecology, emergency medicine and so forth. I did rotation at a downtown clinic that serviced the less fortunate population. I loved that experience, and it confirmed my desire to practice in that area.

James continued to visit us each Christmas.

My graduation was a joyous event. I had my own cheering section and there were tears in everyone’s eyes when the diploma was put in my hand. Dr. Gabriel Nichol, at last.

After agonizing over my choices, and much to the family’s discomfort, but with Derrick’s blessing, I chose to do my first year internship at a hospital in downtown Los Angeles. There was no better place to gain experience for the type of practice I aspired to. I thought I knew what to expect, but nothing really prepares you for the nitty-gritty. I saw it all there: spousal and child abuse, knife wounds, gunshot wounds, infections, drug abuse, mental health issues, incurable cancer...the list goes on. But I also saw good: gunshot wounds survived, cancer beaten, healthy babies born, psychosis under control, strong caring, supportive families. The eighteen hour shifts were tiring, but there was never a dull moment. We’d had limited “doctoring” in fourth year school, but in LA I was expected to practice like a “real” doctor. I was supervised, of course, but often left to work on my own, sometimes having to make fast, life saving decisions.

I learned that I couldn’t rescue everyone. My job was to diagnose, treat and occasionally recommend. Nurses, social workers and the police often did the follow up: investigating crimes, helping people into appropriate rehab and finding safe homes for abuse victims.

Sometimes, no matter how hard we tried, our patients died. But eventually I learned to offer sincere condolences to the families then move on emotionally. As long as I practice medicine, though, I’ll never get used to children dying. Whether it’s from trauma like a gunshot wound, or a lingering death from cancer, those losses are always heartbreaking.

Derrick and Cass visited me regularly in LA—the Gulfstream jet got a lot of use that year—so I didn’t feel entirely on my own.

I moved heaven and earth to be there for Cass’s high school graduation that year. He’d honed his good study habits and achieved an almost perfect grade point average. He’d also taken several advance placement courses. He had his pick of universities.

I should mention that he and Charlie and Abu remained good friends. In fact, Charlie ended up spending three summers with us. It turns out that his family wasn’t much interested in him. He was a later-in-life child, a surprise. The third son of the Duke and Duchess, he was neither the heir or the spare who were several years his senior. His mother was a socialite, and his father was busy doing whatever Dukes do. He’d been raised by his nanny, for whom he had great affection, until he was sent to school in Hawaii. It was his nanny who encouraged him to study abroad. His older brothers had been educated at some lordly English private school, but Charlie, having a sense of adventure, chose Hawaii. The parents didn’t much care, as long as he went away to school. We doted on Charlie. I had a lot of empathy for an ignored child. I only hoped we gave him the love and attention he needed, and deserved, because he was a dear, sweet, lovable child. After he graduated he returned to England and was accepted at Cambridge University; he’d chosen to study medieval history.

Abu’s story was a bit different. He was dearly loved by his family, but it was deemed a good education was important, so he was sent to Hawaii. He also spent a lot of time at our house but traveled home for the summers—some of which also were spent on the family’s yacht in the Mediterranean. After graduation he enrolled in Harvard for business studies aiming to follow his father in the Saudi oil business.

Mr. Foroughi met a very nice woman and married her. They continued to share the condo with his mother. Everyone seemed happy.

Part of each summer, except for my residency year, was spent on Orcas Island, a place near and dear to all of us.

By the time Cass finished high school he was an excellent surfer. I worried about too much sun exposure and skin cancer. Derrick worried about sharks and rocks. His body guards adapted to surfing—we always made sure he had his own, discreet, private lifeguard with him.

Cass, much to our relief, chose to attend university in Hawaii. He planned to pursue an initial degree in pre-med studies, but we knew he’d leave the island eventually for vet school. At least we had three more years of him at home.

Derrick’s uncle Darius did convince the board that he needed his own, exclusive use, private jet—a Boeing Business Jet based on the 737-700. And I think with good reason. He traveled constantly to Europe and Asia on behalf of the company, as did his son, Darius 10^th (or whatever). The younger son, Donald, was being groomed to take over the Dea-Con Charitable Foundation. We saw them a few times over the years, but as MacKenzie had told me, they were different from us. They were more socially active, and to my way of thinking, unnecessarily pretentious. Nice enough people, but not really our compatriots. They didn’t criticize our working lifestyle, it’s more like they didn’t understand it and had no interest in it. As if New York fashion week, or the opera, or an art gallery opening were somehow more noteworthy than being a Buddhist monk or a pilot or a doctor.

Young Donald was the exception. He had softer edges. He was genuinely interested in my plans for a community medical clinic and promised what support he could offer.

After the year in LA, I returned to Hawaii to continue the next two years of my family medicine residency. Part of that time would be in a hospital setting, but a good portion of it was in family practice with my own load of patients. It was real work; I was actually earning a modest wage.

Coinciding with my return “home” Derrick was promoted to Captain, meaning he moved up from co-pilot to pilot—right seat to left. The family celebrated with a special BBQ dinner which yours truly cooked. Mahi-mahi for the meat eaters and grilled veggies for the vegans. Afterwards, Derrick showed his appreciation for my efforts in a way that left me very, very satisfied.

You’re probably wondering how Derrick’s and my relationship fared during my school and training years. You’ll notice that we weren’t yet married....