Page 14 of Love Sick

He must think me competent enough because when we scrub in, he shoves me into the primary surgeon’s spot and hands me a scalpel. “Sink or swim, Dr. Santini.”

I’ve never primaried a C-section. I’ve observed dozens, memorized the steps, thrown a few sutures in the closure, but I’ve never cut my way down to a baby.

She has no epidural. No time for spinal anesthesia. The anesthesiologist has her asleep and intubated too quickly for me to run through the procedure again in my head.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He gives the go-ahead. With tingling fingers, I set the scalpel to her skin.

Splash and crash. That’s what we call it. Splash of Betadine and a crash C-section, reserved for true emergencies. I have the baby delivered within two minutes—not the fifteen seconds a seasoned attending might have done, but well within time to save his life. My senior and attending correct every wrong move before I can make it and the entire surgery takes far longer than a normal Cesarean, but mom and baby live through it.

And so do I. Sweaty, shaking and possibly in some sort of shock, but I’m alive.

Back in the dictation room, Maxwell is teaching me to put in post-op orders when Dr. K enters. “So, intern, did you make the right decision, taking her to section?”

I’m at a loss. Is that a trick question? The baby was in distress.

“Uh—”

Dr. K settles into a chair, hands over his midsection. His surgeon’s cap covers his curly black hair and his glasses reflect the multiple computer screens around us. “Review the case with me. Did you make the right decision?”

“The baby was in distress.”

He nods. “And?”

“And mom was bleeding.”

A wide smile spreads over his face. “But, Dr. Santini, bleeding is normal in labor.”

I scratch my jaw. “This was a lot of bleeding, though.”

“Ah.” His smile eases. “So what was her diagnosis?”

“She—she had a placental abruption.”

Dr. K’s eyes glint behind his glasses. “And what’s the treatment for an acute abruption?”

“Delivery.”

“Then tell me. Did you make the right decision, Doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Good answer.” Dr. K stands and walks away, throwing a last-second “Good job” my way before he disappears around the corner.

The adrenaline rush transitions into a surge of endorphins and I grin at the computer. “That was awesome.”

“Yeah.” Maxwell’s deep laugh resonates in his chest. “Nothing like a good crash section to get the blood flowing. Welcome to OB.”

Finally. The reason I chose this. All the late nights and years away from my family and massive amounts of debt will be worth it if I can learn to do this job well, to protect those who’ve received the shit end of the stick when it comes to health care.

Like my mom, who almost died when I was fifteen because her doctor didn’t listen, or my oldest sister, whose first pregnancy nearly killed her when a pulmonary embolism went undiagnosed.

I can do better for them.

I will save lives and today is the beginning.

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