Page 49 of When We Were Us
Two and a half hours later,Apollo is out of surgery and stable. It was a pretty standard case, and there were no complications, but I would be lying if I said that it didn’t feel like one of the most important surgeries of my life.
I pull off my blue surgical gloves and toss them, rolling my neck on my shoulders. Penny moves around the surgical suite, picking up and discarding used gauze, instruments, and soiled linens.
I’m immensely grateful for her help. Volvulus surgery is typically performed with two qualified veterinary surgeons. Since that was a luxury we didn’t have, I had to rely on her more than I would have liked.
It is a lot of pressure for anyone, but for a vet tech just starting her internship, it could have spelled disaster. But she’d been cool and collected through the entire process, skillfully performing every task I required of her. Even better, actually, than my own vet tech would have. I’m completely impressed by her, and I tell her as much.
“You did a great job, Penny. Thank you for your help,” I say as I check Apollo’s vitals one last time.
I am sure Hank is on pins and needles waiting for word of how it went. However, I want her to know how valuable she was to me, and how much I appreciate her quick thinking and knowledge of procedure.
“You were amazing, Wren. It was my pleasure,” she says with a grin.
I thank her and turn, opening the door to the surgical suite. I step out into the hall, and I suddenly feel exhausted. The initial adrenaline that coursed through my veins the second I knew I would have to perform surgery on Hank’s beloved horse—mixed with the very real possibility that we could lose him—has dispersed and left me feeling drained.
Leaning against the wall, I take a few steadying breaths. In through my nose, and out through my mouth. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I stand and push through the doorway to the waiting room.
Hank is seated in one of the hardback chairs, with elbows on his knees that are splayed wide and his head in his hands. His head jerks up when the door opens, and his features are a study in worry. He searches my face as I cross the distance to him, and he climbs to his feet. Jack sits next to him, watching me closely.
“How is he?” His voice is hoarse and gravelly. He’s standing rigid, with every muscle in his large form tense and unyielding.
“He’s ok, Hank. He’s still sleeping, but the surgery went well.”
The visible relief that sweeps through his body when he hears the words is undeniable. His shoulders drop, his fists unclench, and he lets out a long, slow breath. “Can I see him?” he asks, his voice tight with emotion.
I nod and motion to the chairs. “Let’s give Penny a few minutes to wake him, and then I’ll take you back.”
He turns and takes the chair he vacated, resuming the same position I found him in only moments before. Jack claps him on the back and stands, heading outside.
Hank looks over at me expectantly as I sit next to him.
“Apollo had a severely twisted large intestine.” As I speak, Hank drops his gaze to the floor between his boots. “Thankfully, we caught it in time, and I only needed to take a small section of the bowel. You did the right thing by coming to get me when you did. If you had waited until morning, it could have been a very different outcome.”
I have the sudden urge to take his face in my hands and force him to look at me. I need him to know that while I may have done the surgery, if Hank had not been quick to come get me, things could potentially have been much, much worse. But I keep my hands in my lap and press my fingers into my palms to keep from touching him, forcing my voice to stay steady. He’s got enough to worry about without adding my bullshit impulses, too.
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
“Do you have any questions?”
He shakes his head and blows out a breath. Leaning back against his chair, he scrubs a hand down his face.
“He’ll be ok?”
“He’ll need IV fluids for the next twelve to sixteen hours. I’m not sure of Dr. Callahan’s discharge procedure, but if all goes well, you should be able to take him home in a week or so.”
He just nods, so I continue. “He has a pretty large incision, which I’ve closed with surgical staples, and I’ve applied a tension bandage to his abdomen to help support his muscles. It’ll be a slow recovery. He’ll need stall rest for a couple of months, and at some point, he’ll need his staples removed. You’ll need to keep a bed of clean straw for him, and he’ll need close monitoring of his temperature and comfort levels for the first while. It’s likely everything will be fine, but he’ll be sent home with antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory, just to be safe.”
He continues to stare at the floor, so I decide to give him a few minutes alone. I stand and he tracks my movement. His eyes take in my scrubs and the surgical mask hanging around my neck, but his expression is unreadable.
“I’ll go and check on him, and then let you know when you can see him.”
I’m across the room when his voice stops me. “Wren?”
“Yes?” I ask, stopping in the doorway and turning back.
There’s a long pause before he lifts his eyes back to mine. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
