Once it happened in real time, the fear left me.
Like the muscle memory had never left me, I did what I was trained to do, standing over Marc and cutting his chest open, stopping his heart, and getting the bypass going. The clock started—and I had thirty minutes to make this happen.
“Suction.” I used my tools to get access to one of the vessels, cutting it open so I could pull out the first clot. “Tray.” I dropped the tissue into the cup, and the nurse took it away. I was always aware of the pulmonary wall, making sure my hand didn’t sway by a fraction of a millimeter and inflict deadly damage. “Time.”
“Twenty-eight minutes, sir,” the nurse said.
I had to speed up.
I kept working, kept removing the clots, kept my hands steady and pushed out all my thoughts. It was almost like mediation, to have my brain empty of everything else except the heart in front of me.
Clot after clot was removed.
There were machines hooked up to Marc to notify me how the heart was doing every step of the way, but I could tell just by looking at the heart. A happy heart looked different from a distressed heart—just with the naked eye. And every time I removed more clots, the heart became happier. “Time.”
“Ten minutes, stir.”
I only had a few more to go. I was making great time, better time than I thought, and I was almost finished with time to spare. When I was on the last one, I started to feel anxiety. I was so close to the finish line, and that just made me more afraid that something would happen and fuck everything up.
I was not letting Marc die on me.
When I got the last clot, it was over.
Now I had to start his heart and get him off bypass. “Restart. Remove bypass.”
We completed the next steps, his heart beating instantly, practically smiling at me. Bypass was removed, and his arterial pressure was checked.
“His levels are normal.” The nurse turned to me, and a mask covered her mouth, concealing her smile, but it was visible in her eyes.
I smiled back. “Fuck yes.”
The nurses laughed.
“Let’s get Marc closed up.” I stitched him back together and continued to monitor his vitals. Everything looked good. His blood pressure immediately improved, his heart rate was now at normal levels, and everything looked perfect.
Once it was finished, I stepped back and let the ICU nurses take him away. My gloves were pulled off, and the nurses helped me remove all my gear. It was over, everything went well, but my heart still beat a million miles a minute.
I went into the waiting room after I scrubbed out.
My parents were there, along with Sicily.
It was déjà vu.
Angelica was there with her kids, sitting beside Sicily and holding her hand.
But this time, it was different because there was a big-ass fucking smile on my face.
Dad’s eyes lifted, and a slow smile moved on to his lips, already knowing what happened.
Mom was already welling up, on the verge of tears.
Angelica left her chair and walked to me as I walked to her, her hands shaking and her eyes terrified despite my wide smile.
“Everything went perfectly.” This was what I missed most about my job, walking into the waiting room and saying this to the family of the patient, that they would get to take their loved one home…and be happy.
Her hands covered her mouth, and she started to sob. “Oh my god…”
I felt my eyes start to water too, started to feel the old ache in my chest, to be reminded of why I got into this…and not to let the past ruin what I was meant to do. My hand moved to her shoulder to silently comfort her. “His vitals are normal. He’s breathing well. When he wakes up, he’ll feel like a whole new person.”
She continued to sob into her hands beside me, the catharsis taking her over, the sobs making her chest heave.
I kept my hand on her shoulder. “You can see him in a little bit.”
She eventually dropped her hands and looked at me. “Thank you…thank you.” She grabbed my hand and held it between hers, pressing her forehead down as she said a prayer.
Speechless, I just watched her express her gratitude for what I’d done, something I would have done even if I never got a thank-you, if I never got anything in return.
She released my hand then pulled her necklace over her head, a silver cross on a simple chain. “My grandmother gave this to me…I want you to have it.” She raised it up to put it around my neck.
“Whoa, whoa.” I raised my hand and stepped back. “I can’t accept that.”
“Please.” She moved toward me again. “God bless you, Dr. Hamilton. My grandmother would want you to have this for saving the life of the father of my children. Please.”