The Doctor's Secret Son

She, Trace, her mother, and Savannah had been left in a surgery waiting area where the walls kept closing in around Chrissie. She had cried so many tears on Savannah’s shoulder that no doubt Charlie would think his wife had been caught in a downpour by the time she finally made it home.

Her poor mother was almost as big a mess as she was that she hadn’t gotten to Chrissie’s house earlier, that somehow this was all her fault for having run late.

Her mother had avoided Trace, other than to glare at him as if he were the devil, but Savannah had introduced herself, had hugged him, too, trying to ease his distress.

But not Chrissie.

Chrissie couldn’t bring herself to even look at him.

Because looking at him hurt.

Hurt because Joss looked like him.

Hurt because she’d verbally attacked him.

Hurt because she wanted so much more than what they had.

Hurt because he’d allowed this to happen to their son.

Logically, she knew he hadn’t allowed Joss to get sick, that appendicitis could just as easily have happened while he’d been in her care, while he’d been in Trace and her mother’s care at her house. But it hadn’t. It had happened while he’d been in Trace’s care away from their house when Trace shouldn’t have taken him anywhere.

How long had Joss’s belly hurt? Had he been trying to be brave in front of his father? Had he cried and Trace ignored him? Had the pain and rupture hit suddenly?

How much longer was this surgery going to take?

She prayed and prayed. Over and over. Please, please, please, let Joss be okay.

When she and Trace were called to a consult room, Chrissie could barely walk, but she refused his offered hand.

She couldn’t touch him, couldn’t feel, could only focus on Joss.

“How is he?” she asked the nurse showing them to the room.

“I’m sorry. I honestly don’t know any news on your son. I was buzzed and asked to put you in the consult room for Dr. Rodriguez.”

If something bad had happened, the nurse would know, right?

Then again, why wouldn’t they have told a patient’s family straight away that all was okay so they could quit worrying?

“Joss needs a blood transfusion,” the doctor said immediately upon entering the consult room. “He has a rare blood type and we, unfortunately, have had a run on that type today. I need to type and cross you both for a match.”

“I’m B positive,” Chrissie said, knowing her type from having donated at multiple blood drives over the years.

* * *

“It’s me,” Trace said, fighting the guilt inside him that he’d allowed this to happen to his son, that even now his blood was delaying his son’s care. “I’m O Rh negative.”

He was a much sought-after donor as any blo

od type could receive his blood, but when it came to him receiving blood his options were limited to only someone who was an exact match. Something that had been problematic and almost cost him his life in Yemen after his injuries. Apparently, he’d passed that along to his son.

“Take whatever you need from me,” he offered. He’d give every drop to save his son. Anything to help Joss. Anything to wipe the agony from Chrissie’s face.

Seeing her pain, hearing her sobs, as they’d waited on news of their son had torn his insides to bits. Had brought memories of Kerry and when she’d passed to the forefront of his mind. Memories of Bud and Agnes mourning their daughter. Memories of Trace’s own heart breaking at the loss of the first girl he’d loved. Guilt that he’d been there when she’d passed, and that he’d felt a failure ever since, that he should have been able to do something to save her.

Wasn’t that why he’d become a doctor? So he could save people? Yet no matter how many he saved, there were so many more he couldn’t.

He’d not even been able to spend a day alone with his son without something happening to him.