“What are you talking about?” Kim asked, trying to make it sound as if it were a ridiculous question. “Of course, you’ll be fine. They’re just going to open you up like a zipper, patch the little hole, and that will be it.”
“Maybe I’m being punished for not signing up for the Nationals,” Becky said. “I’m sorry now that I didn’t. I know you wanted me to.”
Kim choked on tears that threatened to erupt. For a moment he looked off to compose himself and try to think of a response. He found it difficult to tell his daughter about fate when he was grasping for an explanation himself. Only days before, she’d been the very epitome of youthful vigor; now she was poised at the edge of the abyss. Why? he pondered.
“I’ll have Mom bring me in the application,” Becky added.
“Don’t you worry about the Nationals,” Kim said. “I don’t care about them. I only care about you.”
“Okay, Becky,” a cheerful voice called out. “Time to fix you up.”
Kim raised his head. Both Jane Flanagan, the anesthesiologist, and James O’Donnell, the gastrointestinal surgeon, had appeared from the depths of the OR. They came over to Becky’s gurney. Jane went to the head and released the wheel locks.
Becky gripped Kim’s hand with surprising strength, considering the amount of pre-op medication she’d had. “Will it hurt?” she asked Kim.
“Not with Jane taking care of you,” James said playfully, overhearing the question. “She’s the best sand-woman in the business.”
“We’ll even order you a good dream,” Jane joked.
Kim knew and admired both these professionals. He had worked with Jane on numerous cases and had served with James on multiple hospital committees. James had been at Samaritan with Kim and had the reputation of being the best GI surgeon in the city. Kim had felt relieved when he agreed to drop everything that afternoon and come in to operate on Becky.
James grasped the foot of Becky’s gurney. With Jane walking backward and James guiding, they maneuvered Becky toward the double swinging doors leading to the OR corridor.
Kim walked along the side. Becky still had a grip on his hand. Jane used her rump to open the doors. As the gurney slid through, James reached out and grasped Kim’s arm to keep him from following. The doors closed behind Becky and Jane.
Kim looked down at the hand clasped around his arm and then up into James’s face. James was not quite as tall as Kim but bulkier. He had a spattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.
“What are you doing?” Kim inquired. “Let go of my arm, James.”
“I heard what happened downstairs,” James said. “I think it’s best you don’t come into the OR.”
“But I want to come in.” Kim said.
“Maybe so,” James said. “But you’re not.”
“The hell I’m not,” Kim said. “This is my daughter, my only daughter.”
“That’s the point,” James said. “You stay out in the lounge, or I’m not doing the case. It’s as simple as that.”
Kim’s face reddened. He felt panic about being cornered and confused as to what he should do. He desperately wanted James to do the surgery, but he was terrified to be apart from Becky.
“You have to make up your mind,” James said. “The longer you agonize, the worse it is for Becky.”
Kim angrily snatched his arm free, and, without saying another word, he broke off from staring at James. He strode away toward the surgical locker room.
Kim didn’t look at the faces of the people in the surgical lounge as he passed through. He was too distraught. But he didn’t pass by unnoticed.
In the locker room, Kim went directly to the sink and filled the bowl with cold water. He splashed it repeatedly onto his face before straightening up to regard himself in the mirror. Over his shoulder, he saw the pinched face of Forrester Biddle.
“I want to talk with you.” Forrester said in his clipped voice.
“Talk,” Kim said. He took a towel and briskly dried his face. He didn’t turn around.
“After imploring you not to go to the media with your opinions, I was appalled to hear Kelly Anderson again quote you on the eleven o’clock news.”