Page 12 of Fourteen of a Kind

“How is that possible? Those are extremely rare as it is.” I glanced at him.

“In my entire career, I’ve never seen this. It’ll take hours to try to remove the one by the optic nerve. If we work together, you can remove the one on the left side while I work on the other side near the optic nerve.”

“Yes. Of course. Have you scheduled her surgery yet?”

“I sent her over to Cedars for admission. Her parents are devastated and broke down in the office.”

“I’m sure they did. Poor girl.”

“I want to do the surgery in a couple of days. Can you clear your schedule?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He hooked his arm around me.

“Her blood pressure is dropping, Jackson,” Marty, the anesthesiologist, said.

“Got it.” I dropped the tumor in the basin.

“Jackson, did you hear me?” Marty asked. “You need to get out of there.”

“Don’t panic, Marty. I’m almost finished.”

The sounds of the machines erratically beeped.

“She’s crashing,” Marty said.

“Got it.” My Uncle Jackson held up the tumor after extracting it.

“She’s stabilizing,” Marty said. “Jesus, Jackson. You do this to me every time.”

“You should be used to it by now.” I smiled at Marty.

“Dr. Handler, would you like to close?” My Uncle Jackson asked.

“Of course, Dr. Kind. It would be an honor.”

“Get to it.”

We moved out of the way and carefully watched the resident close up the patient’s head.

I removed my mask, gloves, and gown and threw them in the bin. After giving Laurel’s parents an update, I went to the rooftop for a cup of coffee. Stepping out of the elevator, I saw Grayson and my Uncle Christian sitting at one of the tables. After grabbing my coffee, I joined them.

“How did the surgery go?” Grayson asked.

“It went good. She’s going to be okay.”

“Excellent,” my Uncle Christian said, looking at his watch. “I have to run. I have a Zoom interview with a potential new pediatric surgeon. I’ll see you two later.”

“When are you leaving for New York?” Grayson asked.

“In a couple of days.” I smiled.

“You’re okay, right?” he asked with concern.

I looked down as my hands were wrapped around the Styrofoam cup.

“I can’t get the image out of my head.” I looked up at him. “I think if I had found out by hearing it from someone, it wouldn’t hurt as bad as it does. But seeing what I saw?—”

---