Hotshot Doc
Page 43
On top of all that, we still had the hospital to contend with. Back in his office, Matt, Patricia, and I worked tirelessly, trying to come up with a solution that wouldn’t involve Matt being slapped with a lawsuit from the hospital. I could tell he was at his wit’s end, so I spoke up, throwing out a simple, ruthless suggestion.
“Why don’t the other doctors and the legal team meet her? They’re the ones who don’t want to do the surgery. Why should you have to be the one to tell her no? Make them do it.”
It took some convincing, but between Patricia and me, we wrangled the three surgeons into the conference room. Dr. Goddard was the easiest to sway, though technically I did promise him it would just be him and me in there and maybe there were some suggestive hand gestures I’m not proud of.
Matt gathered everyone else, including the head of the surgical department, the person who really could make or break it for us.
I’d warned June what it might be like, that even after pleading her case, the hospital might still say no, but I soon realized I’d underestimated her sheer will to overcome the obstacles life had thrown at her.
Matt and I stood outside the conference room with her parents. June had requested to speak to the other doctors in private, a feat I’m not sure I’d have had the courage to do if I were her.
I watched as those eight men sat silently, listening as one brave girl fought for her right to have this surgery. I watched as tears gathered in her eyes, but they never fell. She spoke bravely, keeping it together just long enough to win her case.
When all three of the surgeons walked out of that room, I knew she’d convinced them to change their minds. I knew it even before Dr. Richards sighed and before Dr. Goddard lifted his head and offered Matt a resigned glare.
The head of the surgical department was the last person to leave, and he said simply, “I won’t let the hospital eat the cost of this surgery.”
“I never said it would,” Matt said calmly, aware of how close he was to winning. “I already have a team in place, willing to work for free. I’ll cover the cost of supplies and any devices used during the procedure.”
He shook his head and brushed past us, defeated.
I wanted to punch the air. Instead, I turned to Matt at the exact moment he turned to me, both our eyes saying, HOLY SHIT! WE DID IT! and in that moment, I could have flung my arms around his neck and kissed him senseless.
June’s surgery is long and meticulous. I’ve endured difficult surgeries with Matt before, but this is different. I’ve never seen him so tense. His attention to detail is only surpassed by his inability to trust himself. I can see it in the way he rolls his shoulders and when he tilts his head from side to side, as if trying to loosen himself up. He’s let everyone’s doubt seep into his head. He’s worried about making a mistake. I want to shake him and remind him who he is: Dr. Matthew C. Russell, a freaking superhero if I’ve ever seen one!
Instead, I stay quiet and focused. If something goes wrong, it won’t be because of me.
Six hours in, he insists I take a break and eat something. I want to protest, but I don’t want to waste any of his time or energy arguing, so I do as I’m told and let another surgical assistant take over for me. Matt doesn’t get a break though. Even if he could, I don’t think he would take one. This is what he was made to do, what he’s trained his body to endure. He won’t leave that operating room until June does.
After I run to the bathroom and scarf down a protein bar, I pass June’s parents in the waiting room. I can’t speak with them, though I wish I could. June’s mom catches sight of me and I offer her a small smile. I don’t linger long, but it’s still enough time for things to go sideways in the operating room. As I step back out of the elevator, I hear curses and shouts and then I realize it’s Matt yelling from down the hall.
I break out into a sprint, grab a mask, and slam my hand against the swinging door in time for him to bellow out, “Page a vascular surgeon and get someone up here. NOW!”
Shit. That means he’s nicked an artery. June’s losing blood and every machine in that operating room is blaring at us to do something. I scrub in as quickly as I can then step into a new surgical gown. I shout at someone to tie the back for me and my hands are pushed into sterile gloves. In a few moments, I’m already back at the operating table, grabbing the suction handle from Dr. Mitchell so he can better assist Matt.
“Her anatomy isn’t textbook,” Matt explains to me, to himself, to everyone. “There shouldn’t have been a fucking artery there.”
It’s a tense few minutes while we wait for the vascular surgeon to arrive. I suction as best I can, but then Matt takes over for me, worried I’m not doing enough. They add another unit of blood. People are scrambling, and then finally, the vascular surgeon arrives.
“I’m occluding the ruptured vessel, Dr. Brown,” Matt shouts impatiently as she walks in. “Get over here.”
She’s calm compared to the rest of us, but then I suppose you have to be to go into such an intense specialty.
After a few minutes of working in silence, she assures us confidently, “The vessel is clamped.” Then she twists her head a little to the left so her headlamp better illuminates the surgical site. “You,” she says, speaking to me. “Suction right here until I tell you to stop. Quickly—I need this area clear if I’m going to suture.”
I do exactly what she tells me to and I’m rewarded with a nod.
“I’m surprised you didn’t tackle this yourself, Dr. Russell,” Dr. Brown says as she sutures the tear in the artery. I watch her steady hand, amazed at how meticulous her movements are. “You could have done it.”
“I didn’t want to take any chances with this patient.”
I glance up, trying to meet his eye, but his focus is on June. I understand. We’re still in the middle of battle and there’s a chance—now more than ever—that this won’t work out the way we want it to. This was a toss-up even in the best of circumstances, and now, with this… I don’t let myself finish the thought. I have to stay optimistic.
I think of that girl fighting in the conference room and I try to stay calm for her, try to endure this as bravely as she endured that.
I have a realization during that surgery with Matt, a sort of are-you-a-freaking-idiot slash come-to-Jesus moment. I have this epiphany mostly because there’s a lot of time to think during an eight-plus-hour surgery, a lot of time to take stock of your life and decide whether you like the direction you’re headed in or if you need to change course.
It’s obvious to me now more than ever that the feelings I have for Matt aren’t going to go away just because I’d like them to.
Working with him complicates things because it’s hard to be around a man like Matt and not engage in at least slight hero worship of him. In the operating room, he’s a force to be reckoned with. A little bit of me has a crush on his surgical abilities alone, but the real problem is that outside of the OR, he’s even better. It’s hard to see the good side of Matt because he’s made of tough stuff, grit and ego and many layers of muscle (as evidenced by that towel situation a few days ago), but there’s a lot to love underneath all that. He’s a man who fights for children who can’t fight for themselves, a man who donates his time and money not because he wants notoriety or appreciation but because something inside of him needs to do it. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a more selfless human.
It’s funny because I think if I asked him if he thought he was a nice guy, he’d say no, which is exactly the point. He doesn’t see what I see, and maybe not many people do, but now I can’t un-see it: the real Matt, the soft version of him that cuddled with me on that couch.
Suddenly, I want to be the woman who gets him, in and out of the OR.
I’ve pushed him away from the beginning because by anybody’s standards, it was the safer, better option. A passing crush isn’t worth jeopardizing my career over, but now I’m confident this isn’t just a crush. Now I think I might be stupid if I don’t jeopardize my career for him.
There are other surgical assistant jobs.
“Why don’t the other doctors and the legal team meet her? They’re the ones who don’t want to do the surgery. Why should you have to be the one to tell her no? Make them do it.”
It took some convincing, but between Patricia and me, we wrangled the three surgeons into the conference room. Dr. Goddard was the easiest to sway, though technically I did promise him it would just be him and me in there and maybe there were some suggestive hand gestures I’m not proud of.
Matt gathered everyone else, including the head of the surgical department, the person who really could make or break it for us.
I’d warned June what it might be like, that even after pleading her case, the hospital might still say no, but I soon realized I’d underestimated her sheer will to overcome the obstacles life had thrown at her.
Matt and I stood outside the conference room with her parents. June had requested to speak to the other doctors in private, a feat I’m not sure I’d have had the courage to do if I were her.
I watched as those eight men sat silently, listening as one brave girl fought for her right to have this surgery. I watched as tears gathered in her eyes, but they never fell. She spoke bravely, keeping it together just long enough to win her case.
When all three of the surgeons walked out of that room, I knew she’d convinced them to change their minds. I knew it even before Dr. Richards sighed and before Dr. Goddard lifted his head and offered Matt a resigned glare.
The head of the surgical department was the last person to leave, and he said simply, “I won’t let the hospital eat the cost of this surgery.”
“I never said it would,” Matt said calmly, aware of how close he was to winning. “I already have a team in place, willing to work for free. I’ll cover the cost of supplies and any devices used during the procedure.”
He shook his head and brushed past us, defeated.
I wanted to punch the air. Instead, I turned to Matt at the exact moment he turned to me, both our eyes saying, HOLY SHIT! WE DID IT! and in that moment, I could have flung my arms around his neck and kissed him senseless.
June’s surgery is long and meticulous. I’ve endured difficult surgeries with Matt before, but this is different. I’ve never seen him so tense. His attention to detail is only surpassed by his inability to trust himself. I can see it in the way he rolls his shoulders and when he tilts his head from side to side, as if trying to loosen himself up. He’s let everyone’s doubt seep into his head. He’s worried about making a mistake. I want to shake him and remind him who he is: Dr. Matthew C. Russell, a freaking superhero if I’ve ever seen one!
Instead, I stay quiet and focused. If something goes wrong, it won’t be because of me.
Six hours in, he insists I take a break and eat something. I want to protest, but I don’t want to waste any of his time or energy arguing, so I do as I’m told and let another surgical assistant take over for me. Matt doesn’t get a break though. Even if he could, I don’t think he would take one. This is what he was made to do, what he’s trained his body to endure. He won’t leave that operating room until June does.
After I run to the bathroom and scarf down a protein bar, I pass June’s parents in the waiting room. I can’t speak with them, though I wish I could. June’s mom catches sight of me and I offer her a small smile. I don’t linger long, but it’s still enough time for things to go sideways in the operating room. As I step back out of the elevator, I hear curses and shouts and then I realize it’s Matt yelling from down the hall.
I break out into a sprint, grab a mask, and slam my hand against the swinging door in time for him to bellow out, “Page a vascular surgeon and get someone up here. NOW!”
Shit. That means he’s nicked an artery. June’s losing blood and every machine in that operating room is blaring at us to do something. I scrub in as quickly as I can then step into a new surgical gown. I shout at someone to tie the back for me and my hands are pushed into sterile gloves. In a few moments, I’m already back at the operating table, grabbing the suction handle from Dr. Mitchell so he can better assist Matt.
“Her anatomy isn’t textbook,” Matt explains to me, to himself, to everyone. “There shouldn’t have been a fucking artery there.”
It’s a tense few minutes while we wait for the vascular surgeon to arrive. I suction as best I can, but then Matt takes over for me, worried I’m not doing enough. They add another unit of blood. People are scrambling, and then finally, the vascular surgeon arrives.
“I’m occluding the ruptured vessel, Dr. Brown,” Matt shouts impatiently as she walks in. “Get over here.”
She’s calm compared to the rest of us, but then I suppose you have to be to go into such an intense specialty.
After a few minutes of working in silence, she assures us confidently, “The vessel is clamped.” Then she twists her head a little to the left so her headlamp better illuminates the surgical site. “You,” she says, speaking to me. “Suction right here until I tell you to stop. Quickly—I need this area clear if I’m going to suture.”
I do exactly what she tells me to and I’m rewarded with a nod.
“I’m surprised you didn’t tackle this yourself, Dr. Russell,” Dr. Brown says as she sutures the tear in the artery. I watch her steady hand, amazed at how meticulous her movements are. “You could have done it.”
“I didn’t want to take any chances with this patient.”
I glance up, trying to meet his eye, but his focus is on June. I understand. We’re still in the middle of battle and there’s a chance—now more than ever—that this won’t work out the way we want it to. This was a toss-up even in the best of circumstances, and now, with this… I don’t let myself finish the thought. I have to stay optimistic.
I think of that girl fighting in the conference room and I try to stay calm for her, try to endure this as bravely as she endured that.
I have a realization during that surgery with Matt, a sort of are-you-a-freaking-idiot slash come-to-Jesus moment. I have this epiphany mostly because there’s a lot of time to think during an eight-plus-hour surgery, a lot of time to take stock of your life and decide whether you like the direction you’re headed in or if you need to change course.
It’s obvious to me now more than ever that the feelings I have for Matt aren’t going to go away just because I’d like them to.
Working with him complicates things because it’s hard to be around a man like Matt and not engage in at least slight hero worship of him. In the operating room, he’s a force to be reckoned with. A little bit of me has a crush on his surgical abilities alone, but the real problem is that outside of the OR, he’s even better. It’s hard to see the good side of Matt because he’s made of tough stuff, grit and ego and many layers of muscle (as evidenced by that towel situation a few days ago), but there’s a lot to love underneath all that. He’s a man who fights for children who can’t fight for themselves, a man who donates his time and money not because he wants notoriety or appreciation but because something inside of him needs to do it. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a more selfless human.
It’s funny because I think if I asked him if he thought he was a nice guy, he’d say no, which is exactly the point. He doesn’t see what I see, and maybe not many people do, but now I can’t un-see it: the real Matt, the soft version of him that cuddled with me on that couch.
Suddenly, I want to be the woman who gets him, in and out of the OR.
I’ve pushed him away from the beginning because by anybody’s standards, it was the safer, better option. A passing crush isn’t worth jeopardizing my career over, but now I’m confident this isn’t just a crush. Now I think I might be stupid if I don’t jeopardize my career for him.
There are other surgical assistant jobs.
