The Queen on a Contract
It sometimes feels as if everything has finally settled the work is steady, the colleagues respect you, and the patients know you by name. Then life hands you another twist that makes you sigh, Why again?
After a stint of externship where Evelyn took her first steps in British medicine, and the endless Doctor, I feel sick! days that blended absurdity with exhaustion, a new chapter arrived The Queen on a Contract. Ahead loomed Specialty Training, where medicine has its own rules: harsh but fair, and occasionally absurd.
This story can stand alone you can start here even if you havent read the previous parts.
In the cinema, everything is simple: the lawyer fights to the end, the judge is wise and just, good triumphs. In real life not so much. Bitter memories flooded Evelyn after an evening watching an American blockbuster with her husband.
After several years as a GP at the Wellshire Health Centre in York, she finally felt she belonged. Patients greeted her by name, colleagues treated her with respect, and the benefits, by British standards, were excellent.
Then one day the director, hurrying past, muttered:
Theyre selling us out. Things will only get worse. Youd better start looking for a new job.
A few hours later a friend handed her an invitation to a lecture at Dr. Aldridges centre the renowned cardiologist who owned half the buildings on the main thoroughfare. The event was held in his French bistro, complete with a harpist, fine wine and a threecourse dinner.
Hes always on the lookout for new doctors, the friend whispered, winking. And hell write off the taxes.
The evening was flawless: a highlevel talk, exquisite food, elegant music. Then came the introduction a sharp suit, goldrimmed glasses, a confident smile and an invitation for an interview.
The base salary isnt spectacular, but the bonuses are generous, he said, sliding a cheque for forty thousand pounds across the table. Two weeks holiday, occasional Saturdays off, and a closeknit teamspirit. Youll be my queen here.
The only clause that gave her pause was the noncompete: five years and fifteen miles.
Standard practice, he brushed it off over the phone. Well cut it to ten miles. Youll never want to leave anyway.
She believed him. She believed the floortoceiling windows, the fireplace in his office, the fragrant coffee brewed in a Turkish pot by a courteous secretary. She believed the cheque that seemed enormous at the time, because she longed for a fairytale ending.
The first months felt like a dream: her own consulting room, a green courtyard outside the window, a personal medical assistant, and colleagues with whom she could discuss complex cases. Soon, however, she discovered that Aldridge needed GPs merely as machines to generate referrals to his own centres. Bonuses were tied not to the quality of care but to the number of tests ordered.
The climax came when she was ordered to send a sixteenyearold boy for a full cardiac workup, although Evelyn was convinced it was just a pulled muscle. His mother, seeing the suggested diagnosis on the referral, nearly fainted.
A tense atmosphere settled over the practiceroom: constant monitoring, surveillance, sudden dismissals. One day, like a lifeline, Helen a friend from residency suggested they open a clinic together.
I know an elderly doctor selling her practice cheap. Well bring our own patients.
The noncompete clause
They say the court wont enforce it, Helen replied confidently.
For the first time in ages, Evelyn tasted freedom. She would never have dared to act alone. They began planning, until Helen vanished. She returned to Aldridges office with an offer she couldnt refuse: her own consulting room, her own patients on one condition, she could not bring Evelyn with her.
Want an extra ten thousand? Aldridge asked, his voice unchanged, still calling her queen.
Im leaving, she answered, holding back anger and hurt.
Youll regret it. Ill sue if you must! he spat, his lips pressed tight.
A security guard escorted her out as if she were a criminal. The office lingered behind: shelves of reference books, a painting his husband had made, a desk lamp from home. She could only take what fit in her arms. In the carpark she broke down.
The following weeks were a marathon of finding premises, meeting landlords, compiling equipment lists. Just when it seemed everything was collapsing, former assistants called:
Dr. E., were with you.
With their help the new clinic opened. Patients found her despite rumours that she had died or fled to Russia. The old practice was only nine and a half miles away half a mile is nothing, right? Soon a letter arrived from Aldridges lawyers.
The lawsuit dragged on like a lingering flu: hundreds of pounds for every phone call, piles of paperwork, patient witnesses. After each meeting with solicitors Evelyn felt drained, like a soaked rag, and began to believe that Aldridges fairytale might indeed end in her ruin.
Finally the verdict was read.
The judge, yawning and shuffling papers, said:
I see no issue. Reduce the radius, shorten the term to one year.
That was it. All the months of struggle, the thousands spent, the sleepless nights reduced to a brief no problem.
She reopened in a fresh location, far from the oversaturated city centre. The patient list grew even larger. Just when it all seemed behind her, the phone rang.
This is Dr. Aldridge. Hows my queen? Hope youre not holding a grudge. Could you sign the paperwork for the new MRI scanner? I need doctors signatures.
For a heartbeat her heart tightened. She wanted to hang up, to unload everything she felt about him. She inhaled deeply and replied calmly, almost with a smile:
All is well, Dr. Aldridge. Thank you. Youve certainly tempered me.
After hanging up she realised: he had indeed tempered her so much that she no longer needed a crown.
Life had taught her that titles and contracts are fleeting; true authority lies in the courage to shape your own destiny.
