Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Christmas Lost

   Copyright by Joesephus

   ------ Synopsis: Christmas Lost is a partial story I found last week on
an old drive it is unfinished.  I'm posting it for his fans.  I started not
to allow voting, but that was not his way.  When you vote, please remember
this is a first draft, and be kind.
Codes: MF cons het cheat anal doct slow



   Note from jonnyrebel82: This story is unfinished and I am posting it
just for his fans.  If you have not read any of Joesephus' work I urge you
to read some of his other stories first.  I found this story on a 16 Mb USB
drive I was about to throw away.  (1/1000 the size of the USB drive I
currently use!) I think it was something that Joesephus was working upon at
the time of his death in October of 2007.  It is clearly a first draft. 
You will find inconsistencies in details like sending or not sending
emails, characters ages and the length of the marriage.  These show how his
thinking about a story and characters changed as he wrote.  They would have
been fixed before the story was posted.  I left those in for two reasons.
First is I am not qualified to fix them.  Second is that I am not sure how
he intended them to end up.

   If you're not a Joesephus fan this story isn't worth reading!!!  You've
been warned

   There is a hint at the end of where the story was going, but not of the
ending.  That was also typical of Joesephus.  He did not use a formal
outline.  Instead he would write a series of comments and start writing,
leaving the comments at the end.  As the story passed the point of the
comment he would erase it.  He frequently did not know exactly how a story
would end and would make massive changes based on responses from his
editors and first readers.

   Finally, at the end of this draft I have included the comments of Erik
Thread who did what he called "light editing" fixing several hundred typos
and minor mistakes in grammar.  He offered to make another pass, but I
think it is too much to ask.  Besides, I think some of the mistakes give
some insight into just how much editors helped Joesephus.  I know that
sometimes his stories would go through as many as ten revisions.

   So, if you are a fan, enjoy this for what it is.  If you are a writer
and want to take a shot at an ending, I know that Joesephus would approve.
He always hoped someone would write an alternative ending to some of his
stories.  I am still hoping someone will write a finish to Dilemma.



   I looked down at the gorgeous young nurse in front of me.  I corrected
myself, she wasn't gorgeous but what she was doing was.  On her knees with
her face on the bed she was spreading both of her ass cheeks for me to
apply the AstroglideÂ(R) to her virgin anus.  I'm a heart surgeon, but no
proctologist ever used more care inserting a digit than I.

   When I thought I'd put enough on her I applied a generous amount to my
dick.  I was as hard as I can ever remember, anal sex was something my wife
had refused to even consider and now I was just seconds away from finding
out how good it could be.

   I pushed in slowly, I knew that she needed time for the muscle to relax
even though she was more than willing.  I barely had the head all the way
in when she screeched for me to stop.  Her hands were now clutching the
sheets so fiercely, I didn't need to see her face to understand the depth
of her pain.  I on the other hand was feeling mildly disappointed.  I
expected more pressure and after about thirty seconds I pushed farther into
her.  Again she screeched like I was murdering her but this time she didn't
ask me to stop so I didn't until I was fully inside her.

   When I began to withdraw she actually shrieked as her hands flew back to
claw my rump to hold me in.  "Please, not yet let me adjust for just a
minute.  Please you have no idea how much this hurts."

   Frankly, I didn't give a damn how much it hurt, but I waited knowing
that if I didn't she might not let me finish.  After what I thought might
be a minute, I began pulling out again but slowly.  She moaned her pain,
but she didn't ask me to stop.  I pushed back in and heard her grunt in
discomfort.

   I used both hands to spread her cheeks to see my dick in her asshole.  I
didn't doubt this was her first time, but it just didn't feel any tighter
than her pussy, or my wife's pussy for that matter.

   Even though it didn't feel any tighter, the sight of my dick buried in
an ass and the idea of what I was finally doing set me off.  I couldn't
hold back any longer.  I began to pump into her and I ignored her muffled
cries as she bit down on a wad of sheet.  Perhaps three or four minutes
later she pulled away taking my dick all the way out of her.

   Looking over her shoulder, I saw the tears running down her cheeks. 
"Please put some more lube on, its getting very dry and it really hurts."

   I could also see her anus gaping open in a most erotic fashion.  I
grabbed the little bottle and squirted half of it into her orifice then put
more on my dick.  Without waiting for her assent I pushed into her and was
again struck by how much it felt like her pussy.

   Nevertheless, a few minutes later I was finished.  I pushed down on her
so I was lying on top of her, my dick still buried in her ass.  I kissed
the top of her hair before I realized that it was sweat soaked.  This must
have been harder on her than I thought.  Still, she'd volunteered for this
with "no strings attached," but I still felt guilty.  I'd never used a
woman like this, with no concern for her own pleasure.

   As I rolled off her, pulling out with a sleazy sound, I thought "I
cheated for the first time for this?" Aloud I said, "Shelia, that was even
better than I'd dreamed it would be.  I'm sorry I was a bit rough, but you
got me so turned on I just couldn't control myself."

   Turning to face me she replied, "It made it special for me knowing that
I was doing something for you that your wife wouldn't?  I'll do it again if
you'd like, but could we just make love next?"

   Before I could answer my emergency phone went off.  I leaned across
Shelia to grab it, accidentally planting my hand on her abused rectum. 
"Dr. Nelson, what are the vitals?" Shelia moaned.

   "Where are you?  I'm sorry to use this..."

   I cut my wife off, instantly furious.  "I told you never to use this
number, it's only to be used for transplants.  I told you that I was
expecting a heart this evening and I'm at the hospital.  I'll call you in a
little bit."

   I ended the call and muttered, "That damn bitch!  I'm sorry she knows
not to use that line and..." the phone rang again.

   This time I checked the caller ID and it was the hospital.  "Don't hang
up on me, Lindsey broke her leg jumping off the swing.  It's a compound
fracture and they're going to have to operate.  If you can leave your whore
long enough you might want to see her before they do..."

   After a long pause I heard a sob and she hung up.

   I sprinted to the bathroom to wash the feces I'd just noticed just below
the head of my dick.  I gave myself a quick sponge bath to wash Shelia
scent from me.  With my job I'd learned to dress in less time than it takes
to tell.  I was almost out of the door before I remembered to turn to
Shelia and say, "My daughter broke her leg, compound fracture.  I've got to
get to the hospital.  Sorry, next time will be better I promise."

   Actually, I wasn't sure I wanted a second time.  It hadn't been that
good.  Nothing had been that good for the last six months.  Even the rush I
used to get from a heart transplant had become mechanical.  My whole life
was one big blah.  The only bright spot was my daughters.  Triplets, are
not uncommon when fertility drugs are used.  What was very rare is that
ours are monozygotic, identical.  Even with fertility drugs we'd had to use
in vitro fertilization to get her pregnant.  Twins did run in her family,
but ours were the only triplets we could find.  A scientific oddity,
perhaps, but they're three most wonderful three-year-olds on the planet. 
No, in the history of the planet!

   I didn't see my wife because I used the doctors' entrance to the
operating rooms.  I scrubbed and talked to Lindsey before the gas passer
put her under.  I'm not current on orthopedics but I knew George was the
best.  His sutures were almost as good as mine.  She wouldn't have much of
a scar on that beautiful leg at all.

   I stayed with her in post-op until I knew that she'd passed all danger
then I went out to face my wife of eighteen years.  George had already
briefed her on the surgery so I knew she'd be loaded for bear when she saw
me.

   She was facing the other way when I entered the waiting room.  A distant
part of my brain recorded that she looked nice in shorts and blouse.  She'd
worked hard to lose all her weight after the girls were born, and continued
to firm up afterwards.  Her skin was creamy white, and unwrinkled, a
reflection of her zeal to use sun block anytime she was outside. 
Consciously, I wondered why she held so little interest for me sexually. 
Or any other way for that matter.  She had a fine mind, she'd made senior
partner at a top law firm before she left when she finally got pregnant. 
[1]

   Now all her attention was focused on the girls and ...  she just didn't
seem interesting anymore.

   I think she heard me coming because she started to turn.  Before I saw
her face I said, "Jan, why don't we go to my office so we can talk
privately." I then turned and hurried down the hall to my office.  I wasn't
ready to face her, and I didn't want her to start in front of others.

   She was only a step behind me when I unlocked my door, and I held it
open for her.  As it closed behind me I looked her in the eye for the first
time.  I expected to see her eyes sizzling instead I saw desperate sadness.

   "I'm not going to go on like this.  How many does this make five?  Six?
I don't know why you suddenly decided that everything we've worked for
doesn't matter, but if you don't get yourself under control, I'm going to
take the girls and get a legal separation."

   I felt my guilt transform instantly into anger.  "They're my girls and
I'll never let you take them.  I don't care what you do, stay, go or drop
dead, but I'll never let you take my girls if it takes every cent I have."
My voice had been rising, but now I shouted in full roar, "Do you hear me?"

   Jan's expression turned from sorrowful to stunned.  I couldn't believe
how hard I was breathing.  I'm a very controlled person, I couldn't
remember the last time I lost my temper and yelled.

   We both stood in pregnant silence as the antique grandfather clock
tick-tocked in the corner.  After an eternity, Jan took a deep breath and
said softly, "I think it might be better if you took off for a few days and
think about what you're doing.  I think you might need to think about
professional help."

   I exploded, "I'm not crazy, who the hell do you think you are to say
something like that to me?  I should have a heart tonight.  When I'm done
we can discuss this like adults." I realized I was shouting again; I turned
and left her standing in my office.

   Once again fate stepped in because I hadn't taken five steps when my
tether went off.  The young man had been declared brain dead after three
days, a motorcycle accident.  Even a helmet won't protect you when you hit
a parked truck doing 60 MPH.  His family's loss ...  but it meant life for
a 46 year old woman.

   As my team assembled, I wondered about my patient and her family.  She
was almost the exact same age as Jan.  I was going to be giving her family
a new life at the same time I was ending my life with Jan.

   It was the last personal thought I had for almost ten hours.  Doing a
heart transplant is the most delicate surgery currently undertaken, and I
am the best.  Patients fly in from all over the world to have me do their
heart work, and pay top dollar for it.

   I had developed several new processes, and my success rate was almost an
order of magnitude better than any other heart surgeon in the world.  I had
the best team and the best hospital, and I was treated like the star I was.

   As I walked out of the OR, I made a quick stop to tell the family that
everything was going to be fine.  She came through with flying colors and
they should be able to visit tomorrow.  I checked to make sure Lindsey had
been released, then went back to my office.  After I changed back into
street clothes, I walked to the admissions office to pick up my paycheck.
Forty thousand dollars for each hour, wasn't a bad payday.  I grinned
mentally, 'I wonder if I could charge time and a half for overtime next
time.' Certainly there was no shortage of patients willing to pay.

   As I walked out, I tried to remember which of my two new cars I had
driven in.  About seven months ago I'd bought both on the same day.  The
first was a "Flame Red Pearl" H1 Hummer with everything on it.  The second
was pretty red Ferrari.  The two dealers were located almost across the
street from each other.  As I drove past them following a very difficult
but successful transplant, I rationalized that one of each would cost a
little less than I'd just charged.  Less than an hour later I had two new
cars.  I drove the Ferrari off the lot and had the H1 delivered that
evening.

   I can't say I've gotten tired of either one, but they just weren't as
special as I hoped.  I grew up in a lower middle class family.  With those
two cars and my daughters, I had everything I'd ever dreamed about.  I was
at the top of my field and had all that went with that.  I had an
incredible home, a beautiful wife, a private plane -"everything, absolutely
everything.  My problem was, I realized, that my life was more than half
over and I wasn't happy.

   I looked down at the check in my hand, glanced at my watch and realized
the banks wouldn't open for another eight hours.  Getting my payment
immediately after surgery was another quirk I'd developed in the last year.
The first time, I did it just to see how far I could push my star status. I
then took that check and walked into a small bank where I opened an account
for close to a half million.  I wanted the thrill of it.  The thrill didn't
last long because my quarterly tax deposit was due a few days later.  I'd
had to pay all of it, and a lot more to cover my taxes.

   It really pissed me off.  I'd never really paid any attention to just
how much I was paying my Uncle Sam until then.  I'd let my accountant take
care of all that, but this was different.  It wasn't that I didn't want to
pay my fair share, but I'd never realized what a scam the government had
going.  Unless I was prepared to make risky investments, I would lose
ground after taxes and inflation.  My accountant suggested I move my money
off shore.  Bringing it back as spending money wouldn't be taxable as long
as I used principle and not earnings.  That turned out to be one of the
dumbest things I ever did in my life.

   Looking at my reserved parking spot I realized that I'd brought the
Hummer.  I resolved again to take it someplace where I could give it a work
out, Central America perhaps ...  and that brought me back to the hell I
was going to face when I got home.  I had no idea that Jan knew I'd been
cheating.  Thinking about it, I realized that I hadn't been very careful.

   Sex with Jan was okay, but routine.  We'd done everything and I knew her
limits and her every response.  Besides, once she was well along with her
pregnancy, she wasn't that interested in sex.  After they were born, she
always seemed too tired to meet my needs.  Her life had become centered
around the kids and when I first thought about having an affair six months
ago, I didn't think she'd mind all that much if she found out.

   I turned around and headed back to my office.  I had a private bedroom
there.  It really wasn't a luxury; there were times I needed to sleep and I
didn't have time for the hour's commute to the house on the water that Jan
insisted we buy.  It was very plain, just a place to crash but I decided I
just didn't feel like facing Jan tonight.  In the morning I'd feel more
rested and ready to face the dragon.

   It was a fitful sleep, filled with dreams of Jan running away with my
girls.  At one point I dreamed that I arrived at our house, rang the
doorbell -"only to be informed that the girls had decided to spend the
weekend with a friend instead of me.

   When I woke up, I was furious and coldly determined.  I also knew I had
a losing hand.  I didn't know that Jan had proof that I'd been cheating on
her, but it wouldn't be all that hard to get.  With that in hand she could
get full custody of the girls and most of my money.

   Perhaps that should have been the first sign that I wasn't thinking
straight.  It was true that for the last four years mine had been the major
income, but Jan's senior partnership continued to pay her a mid six-figure
income even though she wasn't practicing.  When she had been in active
practice, her income generally exceed mine-- until I developed my new
procedures right after she got pregnant.

   Acting on the spur of the moment I called Jan and told her that while I
understood we needed to talk and that I needed to make some changes I
didn't want to have that discussion at home in front of the girls.  I
suggested she meet me at the club and we could have our discussion while we
played a round.  It would give us complete privacy.  Left implied was that
it would also be a public place where neither would be able to give full
reign to our tempers without embarrassment.

   I was a bit surprised that she agreed with alacrity [2] to meet me at
ten when there was an open tee time.  I used the next two hours to put
hasty plan into action.  I knew I didn't have a contract with the hospital.
That was part of my leverage with them.  I couldn't think of any other
legal obligations but I made a quick check with my attorney to make sure. I
had him draw up a limited power of attorney to handle the upcoming divorce.
If I hadn't moved almost all our money offshore I could never have done
what I did next.  I used my online banking to empty our accounts.  A twinge
of conscience made me leave a third for Jan.  I figured twenty million was
more than she deserved and would keep her from being able to bring in the
police.

   At nine thirty I watched her drive off for the club.  At that time of
day it would take her about an hour.  As soon as I was sure she was gone, I
pulled in and collected my passport and the girls.  I told our housekeeper
I was taking them for a surprise lunch with my wife.  She didn't ask any
questions.

   I didn't take any extra clothes for the girls.  When they asked where we
were going, I told them that some very bad men were chasing us and that we
had to run away to protect mommy.  They were so scared it should have
broken my heart but instead it made me even more angry with Jan for
thinking that she could take them away from me.

   I headed off for Mexico, a seven hour drive from Houston, not counting
stops.  At eleven I call Jan and told her that I'd picked up the girls and
I changed my mind.  I said I had decided to spend the night with them at a
hotel before we had our talk.  I apologized, sounding as sincere as I
could. I told her that I realized how important my family was and I wanted
to soak up a bit of happiness before we began our talk.  Jan was crying but
I hung up before she could answer.

   I only stopped twice for the girls to go to the potty before I crossed
the Mexican border.  Because I frequently traveled overseas both Jan and I
had the girls on our passports so I didn't have any trouble at the border.
I finally stopped for the night when I got to Monterrey.

   This is where I began to get clever.  I parked the H1 in one of the
sections of the city known for its nightlife, with a spare set of keys in
the ignition.  The next morning the girls and I boarded a plane for Mexico
City.

   When we arrived I stopped at a bank and arranged for a transfer of funds
and exchanged for a little over 100,000 pesos.  That kept it under the ten
thousand dollar reporting amount.  I didn't think that applied to funds
coming from the Cayman Islands but I wanted to be careful.

   Funds in hand I took the girls shopping for new outfits.  What is it
about women?  They weren't quite four and shopping with them took six times
as long as I expected.  Part of that was because I insisted that they not
get any outfits alike.  Once we had a few dozen outfits for each I took
them to a hotel beauty shop and had their hair dyed and styled so that each
had a different color and look.  It was the best I could do.  People tend
to notice identical triplets and I was determined to leave as faint a trail
as possible.

   I considered my next step a stroke of genius.  I hired a nanny service
to provide a nanny for each.  We flew to Cancun as four separate groups and
the girls did their very best to pretend they didn't know each other.

   In Cancun I bought a fully equipped Lexus LX for cash.  Hell, with all
the Mexican taxes the damn thing cost almost as much as my H1.  I guess it
was worth it.  I soon discovered that Jake Silverstein was right when he
described the Pan American Highway as more an idea than a road.  I put that
LX through hell by the time I reached Peru.

   At a country that I won't name I'd acquired a new identity and new
passports.  Once in Quito, we flew to Nigeria.  There I acquired two
different legal citizenships for yet other unnamed countries.  There seems
to be no end to what you can buy in corrupt countries.

   Three months and over two million dollars later I breathed a sigh of
relief when I was able to buy a nice villa in one of countries south of
Mexico which has English as an official language.  Since the girl's
birthday, May 21st was only two weeks away I decided to combine a
housewarming party with a birthday party for the girls.  I had carefully
coached them as to their new last name and that they were never to mention
anything about our life before, but I was still a bit worried about it.

   I decided it would be a great idea to hold a family council to make the
point clear and to find out what they'd like for their birthday.

   Lindsey was always the boldest and was their spokesman that night. 
"Daddy, I know that we can't see mommy, but we decided that we want to talk
to her for our birthday present.  Can you make that happen?  We'll dye our
hair and get new clothes..."

   My head began pounding in the fiercest headache of my life.  As I looked
at my three beautiful daughters the scales fell from my eyes and I saw what
I'd done.  I couldn't contain a sob as I told them that I'd make sure they
had the best birthday ever.

   I fled to my room before my shame overwhelmed me.  I couldn't believe
the type of person I'd become.  I spent the hardest night of my life
looking at who and what I was.  I tried to dismiss my actions as an extreme
case of midlife crisis, but I couldn't.  By three AM I knew what I had to
do and I placed a call to Houston.

   I arranged for a charter jet to be waiting in the morning for Jan to fly
down here.  Then, in the hardest thing I've ever done I used one of my
disposable cell phones to call home.  It was nearly six in the morning and
I heard Jan's sleepy voice.

   "Jan, there's a charter waiting for you at Hobby.  It will bring you
here for the girls.  I'll be gone when you get here so don't delay." I hung
up before she could say a word and wept.

   In my flight to paranoia I'd bought a special identity to use if I was
permanently cut off from my money.  I'd used a different source so there'd
be no connection to my other aliases.  It was full legend, which meant it
wasn't just legal name and citizenship to a tiny and corrupt country.  This
one had a full history, schools and even credentials from a third rate
medical school in a different fourth world country.  I figured in a worst
case scenario I could earn enough as a doctor to support us.

   Now I was about to learn just how little a medical degree could be
worth. The "exam I'd taken to get the license could have been passed by any
junior pre-med student.  The jobs available were on about that level, not
that I applied for any.  Instead I wanted to join "Fingers in the Dike."
FID is a private medical charity that sends doctors and nurses into the
pandemic areas around the world to provide free care to the most needy.

   I almost wasn't accepted.  My medical school wasn't fully accredited but
after hours of interviews I ended up in front of a elderly doctor whose
white hair floated around his bald center like a fluffy halo.  He was the
first person not to ask about my credentials.  Instead he asked about my
reasons.

   I swear that cherubic exterior was an evil disguise for the soul of
Tomás de Torquemada.  No, I take that back.  Torquemada required hot coals
and torture instruments.  Father John just needed a gentle smile and eyes
that gouged into your deepest soul like a left over tunnel borer from the
"Big Dig" in Boston.

   I'm not Catholic.  Hell, I'm not anything, but I found myself asking if
he could hear my confession.  When he agreed it all came pouring out in a
rush.  He listened asking a few penetrating questions and an eternity later
I was wringing wet with sweat and limp as a wet noodle.

   "My son, don't you think you should go back home and face your wife?"

   I shook my head, "I can't.  I can't look myself in the mirror much less
Jan.  My lawyer has the power of attorney to let her divorce me.  I've
instructed him to give her everything.  Right now I'm not worthy to talk to
her much less ask her to forgive me.  I couldn't stand to be there and not
see the girls and I don't trust myself not to try to run off with them
again if I were back there.  Besides, what's the point?  I've had
everything a man could want and it didn't make me happy.  Maybe if I devote
myself to the care of others I might find some measure of peace."

   I saw depthless sorrow in Father John's eyes, "It won't help, but I
don't suppose you'll listen to me about that either.  If you'd listen, I'd
send you back to Houston to use your God-given skills to support a dozen
less-skilled doctors."

   He sighed, "But you'll need to find out for yourself.  I'm bound by the
confessional not to use the information you've given me.  Still, I no
longer have a concern that you're not competent to practice tropical
medicine.  I'm going to send you to sub-Sahara Africa where there is an
expanding outbreak of bacterial meningitis.  There's not a lot we can do,
but it's where we're needed the most."

   I spent three months at a training facility to learn how to deal with
disease and conditions I'd only read about for trick test questions on
medical exams.  Then I was off.  I went to see if I could somehow balance
my Karma by doing good deeds.  I was more than appalled at what I found
there.  I expected conditions like I'd seen in parts of South America where
hospitals for the poor still used wards holding as many as a hundred
patients.  In this African country I saw nearly that many in rooms that
were little more that grass huts.  There was no sanitation ...  there was
no running water!  I found people left to die with no privacy and even less
dignity.

   I threw myself into my work, we did have medicines.  Many of the major
drug companies would provide us with out of date supplies.  These were
still perfectly good, merely past the point that they felt safe selling
them in lawyer-rich countries.

   I was only dealing with the worst cases, but there were several hundred
worst cases.  I found I was performing one or two tracheotomies (a tube
inserted through a hole in the throat to allow a patient to breathe) a day
because we didn't have the oxygen equipment needed to avoid them.  I was
also losing about that many patients a day.  I was also doing minor and
major surgeries, and after a typical twelve-hour day I'd spend as much time
as I could hunting for the source of the outbreak.

   The problem wasn't finding a source, it was that I had too many possible
sources.  Sanitation methods would have been laughed at during the Dark
Ages.  And it wasn't that the country didn't have the money to fix the
problem.  Aid from first world countries had been more than adequate.  The
problem was that the money ended up in the pockets of endless bureaucrats,
petty officials and especially those at the top.  Oh, it would pass simple
audits, but these examinations didn't show that every service was
overpriced and done by companies owned by those in power.  I was beginning
to hate corruption.

   After I'd been there about three months a light went on.  Actually it
was more of a "duh" moment.  I was sitting in my screened-in desk, a
headache pounding while I was writing one of my daily emails to my
daughters that I'd store but never send.  I was absently scratching flea
bites while I tried to tell them what I was doing.  Suddenly I realized
what I WAS doing.  Then it dawned on me that we might not be fighting
meningitis, but meningeal plague.  The symptoms are very similar and it's
easy to misdiagnose meningeal plague, a rare form of medieval Black Death
as meningitis.  I remember what one of my medical professors once told me
about diagnosis, "If you see horse dropping, you don't go looking for a
zebra." Well, this was Africa and if you find droppings here it is as
likely to be a zebra as a horse.

   Energized I took three samples and placed a call to CDC.  It's amazing
how quickly you can cut through that bureaucracy when you mention plague.
In less than 24 hours they had a team on site and were able to confirm my
hypothesis.  They also confirmed that it co-existed with an actual epidemic
of meningitis.

   I was a hero!  Everyone's darling, and reporters wanted to interview me
...  and I didn't care.  I already knew that fame was a hollow god.  In my
depression I also understood that trying to be a plaster saint didn't bring
me happiness.  I seriously thought about self prescribing anti-depressants,
but I was too good a doctor to do anything that foolish.

   Father John had arrived with the CDC team, and girding up my loins, I
braced myself for another of his probing sessions.  It didn't go the way I
expected.

   I thought that Father John would tell me that the source of my lack of
happiness was being isolated from my family.  I expected him to send me
home to face whatever Jan had in store for me.

   Instead, he spent hours and hours making me look at my value system. 
Tough questions that made me question my actions and search for the
underlying assumptions that had led me to my choices.

   It was during one of theses sessions that my hands began to tremble
uncontrollably.  My head felt like someone was trying to carve a replica of
Mt.  Rushmore inside.  It didn't last long, but felt the need to dash to
the bathroom before I made a mess in my pants.

   The next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital bed; a clean, fresh
hospital bed in a modern hospital room.  When I reached for the call
button, I had to use both hands because of the trembling.  Instead of a
nurse Father John appeared, his gaze the sort I hope I never see again.

   "Where am I?" Before he could answer I continued, "This is part of my
confession Father John, you can't tell a soul about it."

   I could see his internal struggle, and then his face relaxed.  "How long
has this been going on?" his voice grave, concern etched on his face. 
"Have you have any other full-blown seizures?"

   "No!  This was the first time for the trembling too, but I've had the
headaches for months."

   "Physician, heal thyself?"

   I gave him a rueful grin, "No, I thought they were just stress
headaches. What do you know?"

   "You're in Johannesburg, we used one of the CDC planes to fly you down
here.  An MRI shows a primary tumor we're not sure if it's a Grade II or a
Grade III."

   I felt a chill go down my spine.  Knowing it was a primary tumor meant
that I didn't have to worry about cancer in other parts of my body.  That
didn't give me much comfort though.  A Grade II brain tumor gave me an
excellent shot at full recovery.  A Grade III reversed my odds, a Grade IV
tumor was a death sentence.

   South Africa had a great medical system.  Dr.  Christiaan Barnard
conducted the first heart transplant here back in 1967.  I didn't feel any
need to go back to the States as long as they were trying to treat me with
radiation.  By the time they started using a gamma knife on me I had
confidence in the team treating me.

   As the girls' birthday approached I was so ill from the radiation I
could barely cruise the internet long enough to locate the latest and
greatest fad toys for my angels.  I had to empty the emesis basin three
times during the process.  As I looked at the confirmation screen, using my
false name I felt tears form in my eyes.  I wasn't in hospice care yet, but
my prospects were not great.  I was going to miss a second major event in
my daughters' lives and I was utterly alone.  The closest thing I had to a
friend was Father John, and ours was a confrontational relationship at
best. Worst of all, as I examined my life I realized I still had never
found that illusive state of happiness that most TV commercials assure was
the human norm, neither in my successes nor in my wealth.  All the months
of selfless service hadn't made me happy either, and now I was facing my
human mortality knowing I ...  knowing I knew nothing, I'd accomplished
nothing, and if I died I didn't have enough friends to serve as pall
bearers.  My tears were every bit as bitter as the bile I continued to
dispose in my emesis basin.

   The next two weeks were worse.  A pre-teen doctor trying to mimic a
mature visage informed me that the radiation treatments weren't working. 
The only remaining option was surgery.  At least he had the grace not to
look at his watch as the delivered the message.  His fidgeting left me no
doubt about his real motives.  He wanted to test his mettle by hacking into
my brain.  I know he was disappointed that I didn't give him immediate
permission.

   Three days later I was still trying to decide what to do.  If I was
going to let someone twiddle my gray matter, there was only one man I
trusted to do it, Dr.  Jim Murphy.

   Dr.  Murphy was a few years younger than me, and even more arrogant than
I'd ever dreamed of being.  Can you call it arrogance, though, if you're
even better than you think you are?  Dr.  Murphy was that good.  He was the
only person I had ever seen whose stitches were as tight as mine.  More
important, he had the same gift of healing I had.  During my time in South
Africa I'd become addicted to "House, M.D." and I was pretty sure that
they'd used Dr.  Murphy as the prototype but had toned down his
personality. The problem was that if I even contacted Dr.  Murphy, Jan
would know where I was before I got off the phone.

   I woke in the middle of the afternoon with another wave of nausea and
had just punched for the nurse when my door burst open to a chorus of
"Daddy!" which preceded three hurtling bodies.  Fortunately I wasn't
holding my emesis basin when I was enveloped in little girls.

   It had never been possible for me to hear what any one of them said when
they were all talking at the same time.  At the first pause in the kissing
and hugging I pulled back to look at each of them.  I'd never had the
slightest problem telling who was who.  I just always knew, and frankly I
didn't think they were fully identical.  As I looked at my precious girls,
they still looked very different from each other, but I was horrified to
realize that I didn't know what name went with which girl.  They'd grown
and changed so in the year apart that couldn't say which was which.

   Tear began to fill my eyes and of course the girls saw it.  "Daddy does
it hurt for us to hug you?  Mommy said you were very sick..."

   Until that second I hadn't realized that Jan wasn't here.  "Where is
Mommy?"

   "Oh, she's downstairs.  She said that since it was our birthday present
that found you we should get to see you first.  Now that we found you, you
won't be lost any more!  Right, Daddy?"

   I asked other questions and as the girls used each other's names I got
them sorted out.  They were full of news, but it was the news that
fascinated five-year-olds.  CNN didn't have a chance; even Fox News might
have been challenged to keep up.  Still, they'd been going on adrenalin and
one by one they fell asleep clinging to me as if afraid I might disappear
again.  How can an act of love break your heart...  ?

   Only minutes after the last one fell asleep three young interns appeared
and one whispered that they were going to take the girls to a bed in the
doctor's lounge area.  I couldn't quite read his expression as he addressed
me as "Dr.  Nelson."

   I knew Jan would be here in a few minutes and I tried desperately to
figure out what I was going to say.  I wanted to apologize for my stupidity
with the nurse and with the kidnapping of our daughters, but I also wanted
to tell her how much it meant to me for her to bring them to me right now.

   Just as I decided to start with the apology, she walked into the room
and my heart soared into my mouth plugging my ability to speak.  She was so
beautiful, so regal, so perfect I felt more tears trying to form.

   I saw concern in her eyes as they met mine and then saw it deepen as she
saw my hands shaking.  "I wish I'd known about this when you were doing all
those crazy things..."

   I interrupted her before she could continue, "The tumor didn't cause any
of my actions.  That was me and my lack of character.  I wasn't happy and I
couldn't figure out why.  I had everything a man could want but something
was missing.

   Her eyes locked with mine, "I know that, but the girls don't.  I hoped
you'd stand accountable, but the fact is that I don't want to deal with or
dwell on that time unless you make it through this ordeal.

   "If you're going to die, I want to the girls to think that your brain
tumor is what caused you to do all those despicable things.  Now this is
the last we'll speak of that until we need to deal with our future."

   I felt my heart swelling again, "But what did you tell them about our
divorce?  Don't we..."

   She cut me off, "We're not divorced."

   I felt my jaw drop, "Why?  I left my power of attorney and instructions
to give you everything.  What happened?"

   Jan sighed, "I had my reasons, not least of which was that still being
legally your wife made it easier to find you.  That's all I want to say
about that right now."

   I gulped, "How did you find me?  I was pretty sure the account I used to
email the girls was untraceable."

   "It was, but I appreciate you emailing them.  I can't tell you how much
they looked forward to hearing from you.  When you went a full week without
a message they were almost impossible to console."

   I winced, "There were some times when I didn't have any access to a
phone, much less the internet."

   I could see the conflict on Jan's face.  She didn't want to discuss what
I'd done but she desperately needed to know where I'd been and what I'd
done.  I decided to volunteer the information and let her cut me off if
she'd had enough.

   "I've been in Africa almost from the day you picked up the girls.  I've
been working with FID and it wasn't for any noble reasons.  It was because
I hoped that if I were doing something selfless, helping others, it might
make up for all the shit I've done and I might be able to find a little
happiness.  It wasn't working.  I kept thinking that all I was doing could
be done by any fourth-rate doctor..."

   Pride fleeted across Jan's face, "It took a first class doctor to
diagnose plague instead of only meningitis."

   I was quite while I tried to figure out what her expression meant.  Was
she proud of my work with FID or of my luck in diagnosis.  Could there be
any pride in me?  As I thought about it, I decide that I didn't know enough
to hazard a guess.

   Before I could continue Jan said, "It was the girl's birthday gifts. 
Your store provided the return address and our detective had your alias and
hospital that afternoon.  It took us a bit longer to locate you because
we'd assumed you were practicing here and not a patient.  Getting access to
your medical records was a bit more difficult.  I had to wait until we got
here and show proof that we were married.  No one here believed your alias
by the way.  You're too well known in heart surgery to escape unnoticed at
a major heart hospital."

   "I talked to Dr.  Murphy, I assume you want him to do the surgery.  We
can get you on a medical flight to Houston tomorrow.  Until then just
remember the girls think you've been sick for over a year.  At their age
things don't have to make perfect sense."

   Jan's façade cracked and she sobbed for a second, "Has anyone told you
your odds?" Her eyes crackled but again as well as I knew her I couldn't
read her expression.  I just couldn't decide if it was hatred or deep
concern.

   I shrugged, "Yeah, about one in four live five years.  About one in six
to get out of this with no brain damage.  Part of the reason I been
thinking about Dr.  Murphy is that I'm not sure I want to survive if..."

   Jan pounced and I felt her nails dig into my shoulders.  "Listen, you
selfish son of a bitch, isn't it about time you stopped thinking only about
yourself?" Her voice now dripped with contempt, "You want to know why you
weren't happy when you had everything a man could want?  It's because you
had yourself at the center of your universe.  You made yourself god of the
universe.  Man is a spiritual creation, and until you find something bigger
than yourself you'll never fill that hole in your soul..."

   Tears rolling down her cheeks Jan turned and marched out of the room.

   I was left speechless.  Neither Jan nor I are religious people.  Her
family were twice a year Catholics, mine vaguely agnostic.  I suppose I
believed in Alcoholic's Anonymous' "higher power," but my philosophy was
that if It left me alone I'd return the favor.

   Before I could give that idea any more thought Jan returned, her eyes
still glistening and her makeup smeared.  "I'm sorry, I had no right to say
anything like that to you.  After you left me, I was so lost I returned to
the church.  It's helped me get through some very rough times, but I had no
intention of discussing the state of your immortal soul.

   "What I want to do is to pretend that we're a happily married couple
while you go through this.  If you die, that will help the girls later in
life.  We both know what divorce does to kids, even those where the parents
remain close.  It's much better if one parent dies.  If you're going to die
I want you to spend time with them and to lie like a 'bastard at the
reading of a will.' I know you love the girls and I expect you to do this
for them.

   "Confined to the bed like this, I don't expect you'll be chasing
whores..."

   I flinched, "Please, Jan, it was only that one, in our twenty-two years
of marriage I never cheated on you, except that one time.  I just..."

   I'd started to say that I just wanted to see if anal sex was what it was
cracked up to be.  Thank god, before I could get that out she snapped,
"Twenty-three years damn it.  I told you we're still married, and you're
still wearing my ring!"

   I looked down at my left hand.  It was trembling so hard the finger
blurred in my vision.  I held them up and I really wanted to cry.

   ------

   It was the Monday after Thanksgiving when we arrived in Houston. 
Getting checked into a modern teaching hospital is a nightmare.  I think it
was even worse for me.  I built two wings of this place with my practice,
and I expected not to have to go through some of mal-practice prevention
nonsense.  I certainly didn't expect to have to bounce all over the place
getting tests done and new scans made.  Yes, the equipment was the very
latest, but the pictures weren't actually any more useful in my case. 
Frankly I felt like I was at one of those old gas stations where a little
bell dinged as the bill increased.  Make that a whole chorus of bells
ringing like mad.

   Finally I was waiting in my room with Jan and the girls, trying to make
casual conversation, but I'd been unable to focus long enough to know if
they were even coherent.  After a period of time that made the ice ages
seem like a restroom break, Dr.  Murphy waltzed into my room, his face a
carefully practiced bonhomie.

   I knew before he opened his mouth to give me his grave but confident
expression, the one I'd seen him perfect in the doctors' lounge mirror, the
news wasn't good.

   "Dr.  Murphy, we've known each other for a very long time.  Shoot
straight and let me know what you've seen."

   It took him a second or two to recover and when he did I saw his normal
face.  It really wasn't very expressive but it at least looked natural. 
"Dr.  Nelson, I'm sorry it doesn't look good.  It's on the line between a
Grade II and a Grade III.  I'm pretty sure I can get all of it, but we both
know that it could come back in multiples even if I do.  If I don't get it
all your time will be greatly reduced."

   He paused.  "I remember you telling me one time that you used the family
test when you did surgery.  You'd ask yourself what you'd do if the patient
was a member of your immediate family.  If you were my son I'd operate.  If
you were my father I wouldn't.  I know you made your decision by coming
here, but I think I have to tell you that this is one that I'll see in my
dreams for a while.  I'll probably do an article on it regardless of how
the surgery goes."

   I looked over at my family and the stricken look on my girls' faces tore
my heart into tiny pieces.  Lindsey braced herself and said, "My Daddy
can't die yet.  We talked to God and told Him that Daddy has to stay with
us now."



   [Here ends the draft Joesephus left.  He had written two notes
indicating where the story would go, but not the end of the story.  -- Erik
Thread]

   go back for surgery

   leave just before Christmas for cabin

   Erik's's comments:

   [1] [this was Joesephus's way, but senior partner at a top anything is
almost impossible to achieve while still young enough to begin a family. 
He resisted and I insisted.  I usually did not read the final version to
see who won, but I think he did--because he kept at it.  He had his
beginning architect win something like "Archie of the Year" at an
incredibly young age--and then win it two more times in the next five.  Or
the restaurants where they ate weren't just good, they were beyond the
best. Etc.  So I would have recommended that she had positioned herself to
make partner when the triplets came--but I don't know that Joe would have
bought it.]

   Jonnyrebel82 note: It looks to me like Joesephus was writing a mid-life
crisis story and that the children were born very late in their lives. 
However, as I said in my note at the top these were the sort of things that
he changed over and over as he polished his story.



   [this is another disagreement I had with Joesephus.  He would stick
these 25¢ words into a 10¢ scene; I thought they didn't fit and he wanted
to use a better vocabulary.  He, again, generally won.]

   Comment by Jonnyrebel82

   As you know English was not Joesephus' first language, but he loved its
ability to be specific.  We actually had long discussions about a word's
nuances because he really did learn English by reading a dictionary.  He
would change a word if it did not fit and sometimes his malapropisms (a
word he taught me) were hilarious!  However, unless he was told that a
character would not use a word he rarely changed it.  In his opinion, if he
knew the meaning of a word, so should his readers.  Personally I agree with
Erik.


   ------ The End ------