The God Complex
Flash Fiction
When I was a young medical student, I was warned about the pitfalls of my chosen profession: the long shifts that would affect every part of my life including my health and relationships, the mysterious symptoms and elusive diagnosis that would deny me of sleep, and the emotional toll of losing a patient. Some memories will stay with you forever, I was warned. When I was in the midst of my residency, I learned of another danger: The God Complex.
“Mark, do not let yourself think, for one moment, that you are the healer in charge,” I was told by an accomplished doctor as we stood in a hallway outside an operating room. I must have had a smug look on my face. A stopped heart had begun to beat again because of something I did. Without my actions, well, let’s just say things would have turned out differently. In that moment, I was “the healer in charge,” or so I thought.
I haven’t resuscitated a heart in years, but I do help people walk again. I feel pretty good about that. I chose to specialize in orthopedics because there’s a never-ending parade of patients who need new knees and hips. The work is interesting and low-stress. Plus, the money is damn good.
So, when my brother-in-law, Pete, confessed he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to walk his daughter, Emma, down the aisle at her wedding because of his bad knee, I offered to…
