Chapter 9
Sage
Sage had to jog to keep up with Chrissy the ER nurse’s and Jasher’s long strides. “Is Dr. Babbage the patient? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Freak fly-fishing accident. Dr. Smithers looked at the x-ray and he’s broken two bones in the little fingers of both his hands. He’s refusing to say how it happened, exactly.”
Didn’t matter how it’d occurred, just that they had to do something to save his hands—and his career. Without functioning fingers, an anesthesiologist didn’t have a job.
But without an official anesthesiologist available, I’m the only one at this hospital who can administer during surgeries. Until Babbage heals, that is.
Which meant, she was going to have to be in every scheduled—and unscheduled, like this one—surgery with Jasher Hotchkiss until further notice.
Dash it! Just when she’d determined to stay as far away from him as possible.
Well, after devouring his pastry-chewing mouth with her eyes, of course. Man, that had been incredibly hot. He could eat like he was making out with the cinnamon roll. Furious with him or not, she had to get her some of that man’s mouth. Crazy as it made her feel, every time she looked at him, or stood near him, or heard his voice, she shot through a time warp to high school and his lips were on hers and she was basking in every tender touch of his lips. A sigh floated out between her parted lips, and—
Wait. Stop! What kind of traitor was she? Or at least what kind of traitorous scheming was going on in her body chemistry to make her think it would be okay, just once, for old time’s sake, to make out with Jasher Hotchkiss? Please. He was in the process of ruining the Mendon health care system.
Sort of. She couldn’t blame him for trying to leave as soon as possible, considering his blaze of inglorious shame. Of course, now that she’d heard his story, she could see why everyone would be giving him more than just the famous Mendon Stink-Eye. He deserved it, in their minds. Big time.
Still, he shouldn’t be shutting down Dr. Parrish’s clinic. Or … selling it to someone his mother disliked. What was that about?
Sage needed to dig deeper.
She waited outside the curtain while Jasher examined Dr. Babbage within the partition. Man, Babbage could make a ruckus. For a doctor, he had no pain tolerance whatsoever.
“Grahhhaarrgghh!” Babbage’s gurgle sailed through the hanging fabric. “Watch it. They’re broken, kid. Didn’t you see the x-rays?”
“Surgery. The third phalanx is broken in both the little fingers and the ring fingers of both hands. The middle phalanges are suffering incomplete fracture, as well. I’ll need to insert pins or we risk them healing crooked—if they heal at all.”
“If!”
“Yes, I said if.”
“That’s ridiculous. Tape them to tongue depressors. They’ll be fine. I’ll be back to work tomorrow. First thing.”
“I’m afraid not. And I’m also afraid if we wait, the swelling will make surgery more complex.” Jasher had a firm voice when he was working. It made a tickle form in the base of Sage’s stomach. “Sage, you out there? Prep Dr. Babbage for surgery. We’ll begin in an hour.”
“No!” Babbage shouted. “I need more time.”
“Sage.” Jasher emerged from the curtain, sliding it aside with a metallic whisk of rings against their metal rod. “I think a block anesthesia at his wrist makes the most sense.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Don’t listen to him, Sage. I need a general anesthetic, not a block. If I have to do this, I want to be out.” He slammed the rail on the side of his bed, which triggered more pained groans. “But I’m not having surgery, so it doesn’t matter.”
“A general anesthesia is not advisable, sir,” Jasher said, ignoring the all-too-familiar demanding blats of orders. “Your insurance won’t cover it.”
“I’ll pay cash.”
Ugh. Doctors made the worst patients. Sage kept her face a stone and didn’t argue.
“I still don’t advise it.” Jasher scribbled something on a chart and handed it to Chrissy, who also looked ready to bolt away from Babbage. Then he turned to Sage and with serious eyes asked, “Are you comfortable with endotracheal intubation, if it’s at the patient’s insistence?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Her?” Babbage grunted. “She’s not even an anesthesiologist.”