Page 9 of Doctor Second Chance

“That sounds more like the advice you got from one of your paramours.”

He is one to talk. Before he got locked in with his most recent girl, he might have gotten around this town more than I ever did. And I don’t mean helping patients.

Pledge brothers at UF, we have known each other for half of our lives now. We know more about each other than I would like to admit.

My mind wanders back to Elle. She might've been the one that could've tied me down. Instead, I'm in and out of relationships with no interest in any woman beyond a fling. I have no desire to settle down.

Could we have settled down? Maybe during a different time, but pre-med school, no way.

Now I have my work and my son. And that's enough for me. I don’t see that changing anytime soon, if ever. At thirty-two, I find myself becoming set in my ways. I can’t imagine having a woman, the same woman, day in and day out, dictating what I can and can’t do and commanding most of my free time.

I pull up the information on Eloise Kass and realize that she is not part of the multi-car accident. It looks like she fell and injured her hand.

There is a chance I could be called in on her case if there is nerve damage, and this would not be appropriate due to our past together. Now, that is a clear medically ethical no-no. The thought of it causes my heart to race.

A tightness in my chest leaves me feeling forlorn. After the trampoline girl, I make a mental note to check in on this. I’ll make sure she has a good surgeon on her case. It’s the least I can do.

I watch as she is wheeled onto the elevator. Besides the nurse, there is a girl I vaguely remember from college with Elle. What is her name?

Elle and I were very close throughout most of college. We started dating when we were sophomores at the U of F.

I viciously shove it all out of my conscious thoughts. Lock it back up into the deep, dark chamber I've kept bolted for almost a decade. Now, I have a patient to focus on and the laser-precise extrication of a wooden sword from her back.

Part of my superhero talents is compartmentalization. I need to block everything out so my patient and work have my full, undivided attention.

The professional mask solidifies. I slip into doctor mode with a sharp inhale and head to the OR.

9:01 pm

There's a palpable tension in the operating room that crackles like electricity. Bright, sterile lights bear down on me, but I'm in my element. This is where I come alive, where the years of sacrifice and relentless dedication coalesce into something meaningful.

The sight of the girl's spine, barely spared by the intrusive, oversized splinter, is my canvas. A hush falls over the room as I begin.

“Hello, Elizabeth. I’m Dr. Duncan. I’m going to take care of you.”

She replies in a whimper, her nervousness evident. “Thank you.”

She’s been given enough medication to numb the pain but not enough to knock her out. I want her awake while I perform the surgery to make sure she is able to feel the pressure and move on command.

She is lying on her side. An intricate contraption supports the board to ensure it doesn’t move until we are ready. She has been lying like this since she came in over an hour ago.

The pointed piece of wood juts out menacingly, a cruel invader in her young body. Every fiber of my being is focused on it—the enemy that threatens to rob her of her ability to walk. I push away any thoughts of failure or complications. There is only the task at hand.

"Scalpel," I command, my voice steady and authoritative.

The instrument finds its way into my hand without me even looking away from my canvas. I make the first incision with a deep breath, my hands gliding with instinctual precision honed from thousands of hours in classrooms, labs, and operating.

"Forceps," I call out next, my voice clipped and professional.

I need to stabilize the wooden stake before I can even dream of removing it. My hands are steady, practiced from countless hours spent honing my craft. There's no room for error here; a single misstep could change this girl's life forever. The weight of that responsibility settles heavily on me.

"Slow and steady," I remind myself aloud, my eyes never straying from the delicate procedure unfolding before me.

My team moves around me in choreographed harmony, instruments passing back and forth in a well-rehearsed theater. The silence is punctuated only by the beeping monitors tracking her vitals and my commands.

The room holds its collective breath as I grip the wooden intruder with forceps. One false move could mean disaster. I feel the eyes of my team on me, trusting in my ability.

"Suction," I demand without taking my eyes off my task.

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