A Serious Case of the “Concerns”

There was that word again – “concerns”. It was always said with the utmost gravity followed by a meaningful, threatening, pause, and an intense stare. Everyone around Prof Leaman had a case of the “concerns”. I remembered this rather theatrical organisational syndrome from my early days as a newly-minted intern at St. Angela’s working for Sue on the case of the evil MacCawdor. He used it regularly to create a menacing atmosphere. 

Becoming more sanguine with the passage of time, I took in my stride the anxious meeting in the corner (dual aspect) office with the Chief Executive, Alex, and Sue, my handler. They were worried, and irritated, and they had “concerns” about: the impending assessment for the bid (to be a centre of excellence); the succession plan for Prof. Leaman, “the Knife”; the unwelcome involvement of “No. 10” because of that silly letter to the Prime Minister; Mr. Cordell’s exile to “the Hill” and impending court case for the alleged assault on Mr. Regan; and the other casualties of this surgical unit who were pressing their grievances in the courts. It was a very sorry mess indeed, and Alex and Sue needed to be soothed, assuaged, and calmed.

“Are you able to do this job? Do you have enough experience for these complex issues? What’s your plan? ” What and who had seeded Alex’s worried inquiries and waning confidence in my abilities? Who was behind this bundle of Concerns? I had come across this pattern before – remember MacCawdor’s poisonous gang?  Drip, Drip, Drip.

But I was not the naive, inexperienced intern now. Without fear, a swift and confident rebuttal followed: “This is an iceberg situation and there is more to this than meets the eye.” And with that, I got more time and permission to dig further to come up with a plan. But I was mindful of their concerns and their need for constant reassurance – a time-guzzling but necessary activity in the practice of organisational psychology. Time for the saintly Mr. Gonerill. Was he the orchestrator of events, the puppeteer?  

Mr. Gonerill, The Natural Successor?

Jenny, Prof Leaman’s loyal fusspot PA, was very guarded when I interviewed her in the presence of Sue, who was charged by Alex to find out about how the Prof’s letter to No. 10 had come about. It was clear that she was not going to divulge anything easily. Time for the deft use of a threat. Sue alluded to the forthcoming bid assessment and the consequent need for a reorganisation of Prof Leaman’s private office. Jenny understood the implied threat to her job and told us about how Mr. Gonerill was very influential in the office, especially as he was taking over more of the boss’s administrative duties in preparation for him stepping into Prof Leaman’s shoes. Well that was a heroic assumption. Mr. Gonerill had met “the Knife” in the Rowing Club one evening recently to reassure the ageing surgeon that he was still “strong,” and respected, despite the rumours circulating about his failing faculties.

Prof Leaman was increasingly worried about handling big cases as he ached across the shoulders and felt tired after only a few hours at the operating table. He knew his time was coming to an end, and so did Mr. Gonerill.

Mr. Gonerill had convinced “the Knife” that to look important, he should throw his weight around, hence the letter to the PM. Prof Leaman had moments of what can only be called insanity, or megalomania, when flights of fancy took a hold and he wrote letters to the Queen, the PM, the newspapers. He had no notion or care about how ridiculous this behaviour was. Jenny knew, but she just typed the letters that Mr. Gonerill dictated and put them in the system.

The Man Behind the Mask

Mulling over these artful behaviours with my trusted confidante Helen, she decided to dig around while I went to “the Hill” to see the exile, Mr. Cordell.

Although no friend of Prof Leaman, he was very civil and commented that, despite the rumours and his sometimes odd behaviour, Mr. Cordell did not think “the Knife” was past it. And, concerning the assault, a regretful Mr. Cordell said he was provoked beyond reason by the uncouth Mr. Regan who had accused him, a gentleman, of incompetence and theft.

Mr. Cordell thought he was the victim of jealous rage from both Prof Leaman and Mr. Regan as his thriving private practice outshone theirs on every measure. People queued up for Mr. Cordell’s list even when slots were available for the other surgeons. Did Mr. Gonerill have a hand in this? Did he manipulate the pliable Prof Leaman and excitable Mr. Regan?

Helen was on the case – she found out about Mr. Gonerill’s private practice – it was not as successful as any of the others, despite his attempts to woo his colleagues’ patients to his shorter list. And although he was “big” in the Royal College, his peer-review reports were not very impressive; he had a serious problem with his infection and redo rates. Well, I mused with her, he won’t be getting a triple ‘A’ pay award on those results!

I found relief from all these shenanigans at the end of month payday party. Maria kindly gave me a celebratory cold glass of wine and, as I joined in the jolliness of the evening, she and the girls on the switchboard laughed the night away as they recounted wild tales of Mr. Gonerill’s expensive mistress, his love of fast “ton-up” cars, and his gambling habit.  All very expensive to maintain.

Beware of Burning Bridges

Inmy younger days, I would have been out of my depth and very frightened by these circumstances but as time passes, everything can be seen in its correct perspective. My old mentor and teacher gave me many words of wisdom and on this case, he warned me about Burning Bridges, and the risk of being isolated on the wrong side of the fire just when you thought everyone was behind you. It is a very lonely place to find yourself in.

When I was a researcher, he gave me a checklist of what to look for in a socio-(psycho)path. I’ve kept it all those years and, as I sat in the Rowing Club having tea, I read it again and there it was – a description of Mr. Gonerill, the man behind the mask.

He had successfully curried favour with Alex, the Chief Executive, a rower like him. He had an outwardly trusting relationship with Prof Leaman while eroding his reputation and confidence behind his back. He had pumped-up Mr. Regan into a jealous rage to incite the naive Mr. Cordell to thump him. He had cast aspersions on Mr. Cordell’s behaviour in being a snob, a toff, and in pinching everyone else’s lucrative private patients. He had terrorised the sickies – the business manager would never work again as a result of his breakdown at Mr. Gonerill’s hands.

Ambitious and power-hungry; jealous; no empathy; suspicious; manipulative game-player. How should I handle this information? Alex and Prof Leaman were unlikely to believe that their favoured successor was such a nasty person. Sociopaths cover their tracks well. And they go after whoever might be a potential threat. The cold fear I experienced all those years ago under MacCawdor came back to me. Suddenly, I realised, I was on that Burning Bridge, and potentially on the wrong side of the fire, alone and isolated.

Running Before the Wind

I loved the sheer exhilaration of sailing as a youngster. Even after all these years, I can still remember the thrill of finding and capturing the wind from other yachts, and flying across the sea as the big sails filled and billowed with power. This “running before the wind” gets you there first. It takes nous, a sixth sense to feel the presence of the wind, and skill to capture and use it to get ahead and over the line.

That’s how it felt when I met Mr. Gonerill. No cosy chat in the Rowing Club for this one. We met, at his request, in the surgeons’ mess in the theatre suite. A private space only for surgeons, this place communicated the surgeon’s status and put any non-surgeon on the back foot. This show of power was augmented by Mr. Gonerill appearing in his theatre blues with a bright torch strapped to his forehead giving the impression of a human lighthouse.

“I’ve been to see the Chief Executive about you,” he said as an opener. “I’ve got concerns about what you are doing; I don’t like all your snooping around; I want you taken off the case.” And filling his sails, “I’m the natural successor to Prof Leaman, and I’m better than anyone else, and you’re not going to get in my way.”

“I’ve sorted it with my Chief Executive and the boss (Prof Leaman), and Cordell and Regan are nowhere.” What a full-throttle attack!

The problem for Mr. Gonerill was that I pretty well knew his moves, and I got to Alex, the Chief Executive, and Sue, before he did. I sensed the wind and worked out its force and direction, and I was out-running him. And my dear friend Helen had come up trumps on her investigations into his practices.

So, although I was on the wrong side of the fire on that burning bridge, I had a life raft and helpers waiting for me. “Mr. Gonerill,” I said, “I need to understand how you report your private work and income, and your workload and results.” Leaning forward into his space, I explained “you see, we have found discrepancies in the records, and on checking, there seems to be some misreporting.” I held back from using the word “fraud” for later. “Get out of my sight” he said as he terminated the meeting and disappeared into his operating theatre.

Is Mr. Gonerill a goner?  Is Mr. Cordell going to jail?  Is Mr. Regan going to learn some manners?  Come back next time to find out the end of this sorry tale.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.