Synopsis:
Two doctors travel a surprising path when they must choose between treating their patients and keeping their jobs.
Georgia Brownβs profession as a urologist requires her to interact with plenty of naked men, but her romantic prospects have fizzled. The most important person in her life is her friend Jonah Tsukada, a witty, empathetic family medicine doctor who works at the same clinic in Charleston, South Carolina. They have become family to each other.
Just as Georgia travels to the Netherlands to attend a medical conference, Jonah delivers startling news. The clinic is directing all transgender patients to seek care elsewhere . . . and instructing doctors to stop providing medical care for those patients.
Jonah, a gay man, refuses to abandon his patients. And when he is fired, Georgia is stunned by the predicament in which Jonah finds himself. Her natural instinct is to fight alongside him.
But when Georgia’s attempts to address the situation result in incalculable harm, both Georgia and Jonah find themselves facing the loss of much more than their careers.
Review:
Kimmery Martin, an emergency medicine physician, is the author of one previous novel, The Heart of the Matter, exploring the startling secrets in a friendship between a cardiologist and a trauma surgeon. She says the original plot of The Antidote for Everything, her second novel, was far different than the finished result. She did not originally set out to write a story “steeped in the currents of cultural upheaval.” But fate intervened when North Carolina enacted legislation prohibiting local communities from passing antidiscrimination laws. Her research into the issue revealed that protections afforded to various groups vary dramatically, depending on locality. ” . . . [T]here are many places in America where not only can you be booted from a cake shop but you can also be fired from your job or evicted from your home or refused medical care solely because you’re a person who doesn’t fit into someone else’s definition of an acceptable identity.” Although Martin readily acknowledges that she has not been subjected to the type of bias and discrimination she depicts in The Antidote for Everything, a colleague was ordered to stop providing medical care for her transgender patients. And when she refused, she was fired. Hence, Martin found her revised storyline for a novel that deals with equality and social justice, and is an unabashed “ode to friendship.”
Georgia Brown — just like the song — is a nonconformist. Female urologists are rare. And Georgia is also an opinionated redhead with a nose ring, penchant for 1970’s fashion, and unyielding dedication to her patients. She practices at a privately-owned clinic outside Charleston which is part of a large hospital complex founded by a fundamentalist megachurch. She was raised by her now-deceased father after her mother left when she was just five years old. Jonah Tsukada is more than just her best friend of seven years. Disowned by his own family when he came out to them at the age of eighteen, Jonah and Georgia are each other’s family. Their relationship is the centerpiece of The Antidote for Everything and the reason why the book is instantly compelling. Martin is known for her characters’ snappy dialogue and the conversations Georgia and Jonah are wholly believable and frequently hilarious. Martin illustrates a friendship that is solid, comforting, often exasperating, and thoroughly indispensable in both of their lives with compassion and authenticity.
As the story opens, another of Georgia’s relationships has ended. She does not have a good track record with men, but is “perfectly comfortable being picky. She was not perfectly comfortable dating someone who said snide things about the pants size of the cashier at the grocery.” She is scheduled to depart for the a medical conference in the Netherlands, but Jonah, who was supposed to attend with her, never registered. Just before she leaves, Jonah sends a text message: “I think I am going to be fired.” Georgia is, of course, concerned, but Jonah tends toward exaggeration. He then clarifies that he believes his job is not in jeopardy, but “something weird is going on with my patients.”
En route to the conference, Georgia is pressed into service when a medical emergency arises on the flight. Over the Atlantic with nowhere to land, she reluctantly tends to the unconscious passenger. Recalling information learned in medical school, but never put to use in her urology practice, she is able to correctly diagnose the problem. When the plane touches down in Frankfurt, the “mortified” passenger insists on purchasing her train ticket to Amsterdam . . . and buying her a drink. Mark McInnis is a six foot, five inch handsome American living and working in Amsterdam with whom she has “history’s most epic conversation between two strangers on a train,” and to whom Georgia feels an “instant attraction.” The two find that they have much in common. Like Georgia, Mark has had a series of relationships, none of which has been spectacularly successful and, at age forty, he has begun questioning why he has been unable to make a commitment. He tells Georgia that he is attracted to smart, funny women, but that dishonesty is the one thing he cannot tolerate. “I don’t want to be with someone who lies or who hides something major from me. Ever.”
However, as Georgia’s medical conference and romance with Mark are just beginning, back in Charleston Jonah is facing a career crisis. The clinic has notified patients in the LGBTQ community to find other doctors, and rumors are swirling that the medications stolen from the clinic were taken by Jonah.
There’s an antidote for everything. Sometimes you just have to figure out what it is.
The pace of The Antidote for Everything never slackens as Jonah’s troubles worsen and Georgia remains by his side, determined to help save his career. Mark proves to be a staunch ally who understands and appreciates Georgia’s devotion to her friend, even as Georgia prioritizes Jonah’s needs over her burgeoning relationship with Mark. And Mark is able to provide assistance — the name of one of the IT experts employed by his company — when Georgia confides that she has an idea that might help Jonah save his job and cause the clinic to rescind its referendum. She refuses to disclose the details to Mark, however, insisting that he is “better off not knowing.”
Martin examines the lengths to which Georgia will go in her attempt to help Jonah. Jonah’s career, freedom and, eventually, his life are at stake as Georgia navigates
a growing crisis at the clinic that also threatens her own career. She pursues alliances in surprising quarters as she plots to outmaneuver the clinic powerhouses who want to uphold the clinic’s purported moral standards, along with those of some of the clinic’s other employees, many of whom are members of the church that runs the clinic. the legal considerations militate against Georgia and Jonah since in recent years the courts have leading toward permitting private enterprise to rely upon the religious exemption to discriminate with impunity. As Jonah sadly explains, “Their argument is that since homosexuality is condemned in the Bible, I’m condoning immorality by facilitating a gay — and transgender — friendly lifestyle in my patients. To say nothing of my own lifestyle.” Jonah is determined to fight for his patients, but as for the prospect of getting his job back following a protracted legal battle? “I don’t want to go through hell for the privilege of working for a group who sees my patients as an atrocity. If they don’t take them back, then I’m going to move no matter what happens with my job.” He gently reminds that Georgia that, as much as she loves and is loyal to him, standing beside him in the fight for equality, “You’re never going to know what this is like. . . . You’ll never be forced to endure the thing they endure. Or the things I endure.”
Martin’s story is inventively plotted, full of surprising twists, unexpected complications, and heartbreaking moments, all of which emphasize the unbreakable bond between Georgia and Jonah, as well as their commitment to equality and access to healthcare for all persons irrespective of their personal characteristics. The result is a fast-paced and frequently shocking, but utterly absorbing and decidedly timely mystery.
Martin challenges readers to contemplate how far they would go to help a friend in need, and consider the implications of laws that permit discrimination in the delivery of medical care or any other essential services, as well as employment. Martin’s compassion and affection for her characters and their circumstances are apparent, but she never permits her narrative to delve into preaching or become heavy-handed in its delivery of a story straight out of current events and the issues that find Americans divided along ideological and political lines. The Antidote for Everything is a compelling, entertaining, and thought-provoking look at the dangers of intolerance and the bounds of friendship.
Excerpt from The Antidote for Everything
1
There’s Nothing Wrong with Manscaping
Most women did not begin their days by stabbing a man in the scrotum, but Georgia Brown was not most women. She’d risen as she always did at five o’clock, prepared her usual concoction of coffee and medium-chain triglyceride oil, and gone for a run. She loved the predawn streets of Charleston: absent the cacophony of tourists and the nuclear blanket of the sun, the air was usually quiet and cool, laced through with the tang of the sea. Afterward, a quick shower, a moment of meditation to try to tamp down the endorphins, a grooming blitz-hair in a twist, a smear of bright red lipstick-and she was ready to work.
Stab was the wrong verb, of course, but you didn’t become a female urologist without a strong sense of humor. In any case, there was little humor in the scenario currently confronting Georgia in the OR, but at least she felt good about her role in it. Well-she felt good about saving a guy’s life, not the unfortunate surgical procedure she’d been drafted to perform.
At first glance, the man splayed on the table in front of her appeared to be the kind of diabetic who, in another era, would have perished from a gruesome case of groin sepsis before reaching the age of forty. But now, thanks to the miracle of modern medicine, this man would live to fight another day. Granted, he might be fighting with only one ball-assuming at least one of his balls survived the infection currently encompassing his manhood-but surely losing a testicle or two was a small price to pay for regaining a life.
“Suction,” Georgia said, as a geyser bubbled up from the incision she’d just made. “Thanks. Okay. Hand me the Bovie.”
Though only his eyes were visible above his mask, the scrub tech-a dour, bearded guy in his twenties-communicated unmistakable, if silent, alarm. A floater, he usually staffed orthopedic procedures, but this patient had come in through the ER and wasn’t on the schedule, necessitating a rearrangement of the ORs.
“I cannot believe I’m assisting in this mauling,” he said finally, rolling his eyes as he placed a cautery wand in Georgia’s outstretched hand. “Even on a fool like this guy.”
“What?” She pointed the cautery in Evan’s direction. “Why would you call him a fool?”
“C’mon, Dr. Brown. I guarantee he smokes, ignores his insulin regimen, doesn’t fill his prescriptions, and probably doesn’t even check his sugars. What did he think was going to happen?”
“Well, it’s a safe bet he didn’t think he’d lose his scrotum to necrotizing fasciitis,” she remarked mildly. “That probably didn’t even crack the top one hundred on his list of fears.”
“Reap what you sow, though, Doc.”
“I talked to him before the case,” she said. “He’s a night-shift manager at a convenience store, and he can’t afford insulin, let alone glucometer sticks, which are about fifty dollars a box. So, you’re right: he hasn’t been checking his sugars in a while.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued, broken only by the sizzle of the cautery and the fwoompy sound of the ventilators.
Evan retreated to familiar ground. “I can’t believe I’m assisting in this case.”
“Evan, if you drip sweat in my surgical field, I’m going to remove your balls too,” Georgia replied, as cheerfully as possible. “Forceps.”
“Omigod-are you actually going to remove-”
“No, just the skin and tissue around them. But a few of these guys do wind up with later removal of the testicles too. And he’s going to need skin grafting for sure.”
“Omigod. I can’t believe I’m-”
“Suction,” she interrupted. Best to nip this in the bud. Men could be so touchy about things like excision of the scrotum.
The room in which they stood was a nice one, as far as ORs went. Square and spacious, it boasted state-of-the-art equipment, everything gleaming like a TV hospital. Georgia had operated in some exceptionally dumpy ORs during her time, so she appreciated the clinic’s facilities; everything was new, from the gargantuan office complex to the operating suites. The clinic, part of a large hospital complex founded by a church, combined doctors from more than twenty different specialties. It had been challenged in its initial days to attract patients to this budding suburb so far outside the city. But they’d offered good salaries, pulling physicians away from long-established practices in Charleston, and eventually the patients had followed. Now it had more business than it could handle.
“Dr. Brown,” said the circulating nurse, a reedy, nondescript woman whose name always slipped Georgia’s mind. “Your phone is blowing up. Do you want me to look at any of these texts?”
“Please do,” she said, forcing her voice into false calmness. She’d left the security code off her phone for the explicit purpose of having the circulator answer texts and calls since Dobby, her rescue mutt, was at this moment at the animal hospital recovering from surgery. The irony of his particular ailment-a kidney tumor resulting in a nephrectomy-was lost on no one, save Dobby himself, of course. Waggy and loyal to a fault, he greeted each day with an exuberance bordering on mania. He wasn’t perfect: at age three, he still occasionally gave in to the longing to chew on furniture legs, and he shed so much hair on the floor of Georgia’s nine-hundred-square-foot house, it looked like an unswept beauty salon. Worst of all, he fetishized the smell of feet to the point where he couldn’t sleep without cuddling one of her shoes, usually an expensive one, as nice shoes were one of the few things she was willing to buy brand-new. But, like every good dog, he loved unconditionally and enthusiastically. Georgia needed him in her life.
The circulator frowned, clicking through the messages. Georgia waited for at least five seconds before giving in. “How is he?”
The nurse didn’t answer, so Georgia risked a look at her. Her expression had changed: it was, without doubt, the face of a person who did not want to answer the question she’d just been asked.
A ball of grief thudded into her stomach. “Just read it,” Georgia whispered.
“Dr. Brown,” said the woman, “I really think you should wait until later.”
“Knowing is better than dreading,” Georgia said stoically. “I’m done here anyway. It’s fine.”
“I don’t-”
“It’s fine! It’s fine. Tell me.”
The circulator cleared her throat. “Dear Georgia,” she read. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s over.”
Everyone stopped moving. Across from her, Evan stared at the wall with the suction tube held aloft as if he were a flash-frozen orchestra conductor in a blue gown; even the anesthesia people had gone still behind their curtain.
Now that she’d started, the circulator had evidently determined she’d see the mission through to completion. Before Georgia could stop her, she continued: “I’m guessing you don’t want to see me, so I’ll stop by for my board if you leave it on the porch.”
“Hey,” Georgia said weakly. “That wasn’t what I–”
“If you want my advice, in the future-”
“I don’t!” she yelled. She lowered her voice. “I don’t want his advice.”
“–you might try to pretend you don’t know more than everybody else.”
Dead silence. Even the patient, unconscious and ventilated, appeared to be holding his breath.
The circulator cleared her throat. “One more thing,” she read. “You might also want to consider waxing. Or at least trimming.”
“Ouch,” someone said finally: Debra, the nurse anesthetist, popping her head above the curtain. “That last part was . . .” She trailed off, defeated by the search for an appropriate adjective.
“It doesn’t mean what you think it means,” Georgia tried. It did mean what they thought it meant, actually, but she couldn’t care less. Who had the time for extensive crotch maintenance? Or for pretending to be unintelligent? “Is there any way y’all could just unhear this?”
A chorus of assent filled the OR: Absolutely! Already forgotten it! Unhear what? She looked from face to face-terrible liars, all of them. Evan in particular wore the contorted expression you might see on someone trying to suppress a sneeze. Georgia waved a hand at him. “Go on, then,” she said. “Let it out.”
With a braying honk, Evan sucked in air and bent double. After a beat, Debra and the circulator started laughing too, followed by Georgia. She hadn’t been all that into Ryan, to be honest.
“That’s what I get,” Georgia wheezed, “for dating a manscaped surfer.”
“There’s nothing wrong with manscaping,” said Evan.
“Oh, here we go,” said the circulator brightly, once she’d recovered. “This one is from your vet. Your dog is doing well.”
Before Georgia could respond, the woman continued.
“And-let’s see-an auto-reminder. It says don’t forget your passport.”
“Okay, yes,” Georgia said, wondering if it would be possible to record a shrieking voice reminder set to play at a specific time, like a Howler from the Harry Potter books.
“Two more of those: Don’t forget your passport. And this one: Really, don’t forget your passport.”
“Passport, got it.”
“And another one: you have a message from Dr. Jonah Tsukada. He wants to see you after you finish your cases.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. All he said was, ‘Karaoke. It’s on, baby.'”
“Oh dear,” Georgia said. Jonah, her closest friend, was currently irritated with her. Declining to sing with him tonight wouldn’t help matters. Despite being unencumbered by the demands of a husband or family-or possibly precisely because she was unencumbered by the demands of a husband or family-Georgia seemed to take the least vacation time of anyone in the clinic. It had been over a year since she’d had more than a long weekend away from work. So when the clinic offered a stipend to attend a conference in the Netherlands-a multi-speciality program on physician efficiency-she and Jonah had decided to attend together, making plans to visit the Van Gogh and Anne Frank museums and also, at Jonah’s insistence, the tulip fields, even though the season was completely wrong.
But the registration deadline had come and gone without Jonah signing up. There had been an issue with his stipend, apparently; the clinic wouldn’t pay it. By that point, Georgia had purchased plane tickets and made a hotel reservation; she couldn’t very well cancel the trip out of solidarity, even for Jonah.
“Okay, thanks,” she said. “I’ll call him when I’m done for the day.”
“Wait,” said the circulator. “He’s typing something else.”
Georgia broke scrub, nodding to Evan to finish packing the patient’s wound. The circulator had drifted over to a counter along the edge of the room, where she was entering data into a wall-mounted computer. Georgia shed her mask, gown, and gloves, leaving her tangled red hair caught up in the OR cap, and retrieved her phone. Three blinking dots, indicative of an incoming message, filled the text bar; she set up at another computer to jot a quick note about the case. By the time she glanced at the phone again, the dots had vanished, replaced by a sterile message field. It wasn’t until she’d left the OR that the dots returned, followed in short order by a single terse sentence:
I think I am going to be fired.
She called Jonah, let the phone ring through to voicemail, hung up, and called again. No answer. She tried texting: What do you mean? Are you ok? She was halfway to the offices of his family medicine practice when he texted back. False alarm. I’m ok. But something weird is going on with my patients. Will fill you in tonight.
Tell me now, she wrote.
No answer.
This was, of course, worrying, but at the same time, Jonah had a propensity toward exaggeration. Also: talk about burying the lede. How concerned could you be about losing your job if the first thing you mention in a text is karaoke night?
Georgia and Jonah had been friends for seven years. He’d been a patient, one of her first, and after she’d resolved his urologic issue, he had invited her for drinks. Ordinarily, this would not have been advisable: fraternizing with one of the penises. You needed a clear line of demarcation there. But Jonah was a dear: the bro genre of millennial, he offered everyone fist bumps and held an incomprehensible fascination with video games and had a thing for craft beer. He wore skinny pants and bow ties and styled his black hair like a Euro soccer star and occasionally descended into jealous fits brought on by having to compete with women for hot guys. They loved each other so much heΓd joined a practice here at the clinic, enduring an hour-long commute and an office full of older partners who still seemed perplexed by him. Resolving to put her concerns aside until she could find out more, Georgia exited the double doors from the OR suite to head for her office.
Massive and institutional in appearance, the clinic held an OR suite, a pharmacy, a rehab facility, and offices for more than twenty kinds of specialists, but if a patient needed to spend the night after surgery, they got shuttled to the attached community hospital, where Georgia now headed to check on her last few inpatients. Late-morning sunshine streamed through the glass walls of the arched pedway to the hospital, refracting against the white ceiling. Half-blinded by the bright light, she could just make out a swaying row of palm trees outside. From her house near the historic section of Charleston, it took a good forty-five minutes to reach this utterly tasteful, utterly boring community a few miles outside the Charleston County line.
Excerpted from The Antidote for Everything by Kimmery Martin. Copyright Β© 2020 by Kimmery Martin. Excerpted by permission of Berkley Publishing Group. All rights reserved.
Also by Kimmery Martin:
Enter to Win a Copy of The Antidote for Everything
NOTE: The book may only be mailed to a United States address.
6 Comments
New author for me. Sounds like an interesting story.
The Antidote for Everything sounds captivating and compelling. The subject matter is timely and the characters lives are affected greatly in this plot.
I’ve always found medical ethics a fascinating topic, but as someone with a transgender daughter, this book really speaks to me. I look forward to reading it and I thank the author for taking on such an important topic.
Kimberly is a new author to me. I enjoyed the synopsis of the book and I’m looking forward to reading the book.
I haven’t read one of Kimberly’s books yet. I really love the subject matter of this book.
Looks like a great book.