The problem was, what if they were right? All of them? What if he'd made the wrong call again? Foreman wouldn't blame them for not respecting him them. He'd be hard pressed to respect himself, if he was wrong for the third time in a row. Maybe he didn't deserve this job. Maybe he hadn't deserved the job at Mercy, either. Maybe they knew--he didn't even stop to think about who "they" might be--but they knew he'd been riding on House's coattails, and he'd blown the one chance he'd have to distinguish himself.
What was left after that? In all the years since he'd gotten out and managed to scrape his way into college despite his terrible sophomore year of high school, Foreman had never once had the ambition to be mid-level management. He was a doctor. He'd put in his hours, he'd suffered working with House for three years. Was that all there was? The best he could hope for? While year in and year out House's new fellows distinguished themselves and went on to better things. Even Cameron was running a department now, although it was just the ER and all that took was a strong stomach and some organizational skills. That wasn't the real work, as far as Foreman was concerned. Any first responder could run a triage. But if he wasn't cut out for the work that mattered, then that's where he'd end up. Like Cameron or Chase. They weren't even working in their specialties. Foreman had never asked, but he wondered if they thought their jobs were just temporary, just paying the bills. That wasn't good enough for him.
Foreman thought he could be happy here, as long as he was doing diagnostics work. It didn't feel like that now. For now, the candidates were still listening to him, but only because he'd given them permission to do what they probably would have snuck behind his back to do if he hadn't. It was all a fucking illusion, and he hated that.
Well, at least they weren't likely to screw up a few simple tests. Foreman plowed through more administrivia to get through the three hours of waiting. This time he wouldn't be late and he wouldn't be distracted, and all he could hope was that the tests would validate him for once.
no subject
What was left after that? In all the years since he'd gotten out and managed to scrape his way into college despite his terrible sophomore year of high school, Foreman had never once had the ambition to be mid-level management. He was a doctor. He'd put in his hours, he'd suffered working with House for three years. Was that all there was? The best he could hope for? While year in and year out House's new fellows distinguished themselves and went on to better things. Even Cameron was running a department now, although it was just the ER and all that took was a strong stomach and some organizational skills. That wasn't the real work, as far as Foreman was concerned. Any first responder could run a triage. But if he wasn't cut out for the work that mattered, then that's where he'd end up. Like Cameron or Chase. They weren't even working in their specialties. Foreman had never asked, but he wondered if they thought their jobs were just temporary, just paying the bills. That wasn't good enough for him.
Foreman thought he could be happy here, as long as he was doing diagnostics work. It didn't feel like that now. For now, the candidates were still listening to him, but only because he'd given them permission to do what they probably would have snuck behind his back to do if he hadn't. It was all a fucking illusion, and he hated that.
Well, at least they weren't likely to screw up a few simple tests. Foreman plowed through more administrivia to get through the three hours of waiting. This time he wouldn't be late and he wouldn't be distracted, and all he could hope was that the tests would validate him for once.