Page 89 of Six Month Wife
Inside the hospital, the third floor of Good Samaritan is its own ecosystem. It’s a calm contrast to the barely controlled chaos downstairs. No alarms. No shouting. Just focused movement and a different kind of tension in the air.
The elevator ride is slow, the kind that forces stillness. Iwatch the numbers light up one by one, a quiet countdown to go-time.
When the doors open, I step into the hallway as Del Jones turns the corner, a paper cup in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Del is the top cardiothoracic surgeon in Florida.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Palm Beach’s prodigal heartthrob,” she says, raising her brows. “Heard you got married recently. Congrats.”
Every time I hear this from someone new, it always throws me off.
"Yep. The love bug got me. Now it's marital bliss forever." Or, six months.
I'm an idiot. What in the hell? I don't even know what that means.
"You poaching a surgeon for the ER or visiting?”
“Actually, I'm joining Kowalski today,” I say, falling in step beside her. "Looking forward to getting back to the OR. It's been a while, and I'm looking forward to getting my hands dirty again."
“Nice.” She sips her coffee. “Don't let K scare you. His bark is bigger than his bite.”
I smirk. “I don't intend to earn either."
“Talk soon,” she says as she peels off. "Hope the case is a breeze."
“I appreciate it.” I wave and head toward the scrub room up ahead.
I keep walking. My footsteps echo softly against the polished tile. When I push through the door, the cooler air and focused quiet settle over me—this is the rhythm of the OR.
Kowalski is already prepping, scrubbing his hands at the sink. There's something unique about the sound of water running in the scrub room.
“Morning, Matthews,” he says without looking up.
“Good morning to you, Dr. Kowalski.” I hang up my coat and begin the process of scrubbing in.
“You ready?” he asks, finally glancing at me as I finish cleaning my hands.
“Absolutely,” I reply, the excitement in my chest bubbling up into my throat. It’s all I can do to keep my voice steady.
He nods, clearly satisfied with my answer, and we both turn our attention to the sterile field in front of us.
“You’ve seen this before,” Kowalski says, continuing to scrub. “A laparoscopic cholecystectomy. I don't have to tell you. Keep your mind sharp so we get clean, precise movements and focus.”
I nod, swallowing the slight tremor of excitement that runs through me. He’s right. This is a routine surgery. It’s simple enough, but since I've been out of it for a while, I need to make sure I'm on my toes.
We finish scrubbing and head toward the operating room. He opens the saloon door with his back, keeping his sterile hands raised for the nurse to put on his gloves.
The techs are already preparing the instruments, arranging everything with meticulous care.
The patient is positioned on the table, already under anesthesia. I see the familiar sight of the anesthesiologist working with the IV lines, making sure everything is stable. I take my place at Dr. Kowalski’s side, my hands folded behind my back, waiting for his instruction. This is his patient and his surgery.
The procedure starts with Kowalski guiding the laparoscope into the abdomen, the camera feeding us a magnified view of the patient’s internal organs. It’s all so methodical. Precise.
“First things first,” Kowalski says, his voice steady. “Weneed to locate the gallbladder. Once it’s in view, we’ll dissect. Watch the cystic duct. You don’t want to clip it.”
I nod, eyes glued to the monitor. The gallbladder’s tucked under the liver, right where it should be, but everything in here looks softer, more fluid than a textbook.
Just like in residency, he instructs, but not in a condescending way. I appreciate that he recognizes I've been out of the OR, but doesn't talk to me like I don't know what I'm doing. Or worse, completely ignore me.
“See it?” he asks.
