Page 2 of Violent Things
Oliver frowns, still entirely focused on his work. “Are you the best cardiothoracic surgeon in this hospital?” His voice is totally steady.
The chief doesn’t say anything.
“Because the last time I checked, you were the bestpediatricsurgeon in this hospital and I’d just been promoted to the head of my department. Which just so happens to be cardiothoracics.”
“Oliver.”
“I have this under control, Chief. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to concentrate on not letting my brother’s heart tear itself apart.”
The chief gives me a stern look—I’m still not forgiven for the crazy shit I was caught up in a couple of months ago, and aligning myself with a disobedient Oliver won’t have helped matters. “Fine,” she snaps. “But I’ll be watching every single move you make.” The chief huffs out an exasperated breath and backs out of the room, hitting the exit button with her elbow in order to keep the room sterile.
Oliver looks up at me once she’s gone. “Thank you.”
“Just save him, okay. I’m gonna be working extra shifts in the VD clinic to make up for this.” I must be out of my mind. Don’t rock the boat: that’s what I tell myself every time I step foot through the hospital doors, and what is it I end up doing? Rocking the goddamn boat. Nearly capsizing the goddamn boat.
“Is she up there?” Oliver asks, his eyes darting upward to the observation gallery.
I look up in time to see the chief fling open the door to the glass box above us. The surgical mask is gone, which allows me to see her whole facial expression—how truly furious she is. She glowers at me as she sits down next to…as she sits down next toZeth.
“Fuck.” I whisper it under my breath. What the hell is hedoinghere?
“Ahhh shit. Sloane, something’s not right. I thought I’d stemmed the flow, but there’s more blood now. It’s not coming from the heart. We need to find it.”
Zeth is forgotten. The observation gallery may as well not exist as I fix every last ounce of concentration on the problem at hand. Oliver and I keep our heads down as we both work in unison, part of a well-oiled machine, trying to find the source of Alex’s bleeding.
It turns out to be a perforation in his lower intestine. Not a usual cause for so much blood, especially seeping into the chest cavity, but the damage is severe.
We resect a good portion of Alex’s lower bowel, scrambling to save every millimeter we can. Alex is a firefighter. I don’t know him, but I can guarantee he won’t want a colostomy bag.
Hours slip by. We manage to preserve enough bowel to avoid having to instal a stoma right away, but only time will tell on that front. If Alex develops an infection and the tissue doesn’t heal, we may have to revisit that idea.
Oliver is swaying on his feet by the time we close his brother. I’m fine, clear-headed and alert, until we stitch Alex up and let the nurses take over. Exhaustion hits me like a brick wall to the face as soon as my responsibility to my patient is over, though. I feel drunk as Oliver and I strip off our surgical gloves, masks and gowns and throw them in the HAZMAT bins.
Outside the OR, Oliver loses it. His composure abandons him as he slides down the wall and begins to cry. “Oh my god. Olly, he’s gonna be fine. You did a good job. Hey, don’t worry.” I crouch down and wrap my arms around him, holding him to me as his body shakes. I know this meltdown isn’t about fear for Alex’s safety. The guy should be okay, providing nothing awful happens. This is just shock. The pressure of having to keep himself together for so many hours has taken its toll.
“Thank you. Thank you. I wouldn’t have trusted anybody else,” Oliver says, drawing in a deep breath. “Fuck, this is stupid.” He dashes away his tears with the backs of his hands, and then heaves himself to his feet. His face reddens a little when he looks back over my shoulder. “I think I’ve monopolized enough of your time, Romera. Looks like you’re needed elsewhere.”
Zeth is leaning against the wall down the corridor, hands in his pockets, watching us. He looks down at his feet when he sees he’s been spotted.
“Yeah, I swore I’d be home for Christmas day,” I say.
“Then you should go.” Oliver gives me a gentle shove in the back.
I really should, too. Zeth has never once broken a promise he’s made to me. I aim on honoring my promises right back. “If anything happens, you know you can just call me right away,” I tell Oliver.
“I do.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of days, Ol.” I head off down the corridor, but he calls out to me, stopping me before I reach Zeth.
“Hey, Romera?”
“Yeah?”
He gives me a halfhearted, weak smile. “Merry Christmas, right?”
“Yeah. Merry Christmas, Ol.”
Zeth
