Page 10 of Doctor Second Chance

I have to create an opening around the stake without touching it. Sweat beads on my forehead, my concentration unwavering.

It's a game of millimeters now. The wooden picket, slick with blood, gradually loosens. I feel the collective relief in the room when it finally gives way.

“Elizabeth, can you wiggle your toes for me?”

She doesn’t say a word, but a tiny movement on both feet lets me know she is registering my commands and is able to comply. My heart races, and I let out a sigh of relief.

“Great job. You’re doing great. We are almost done. Can you wiggle a finger on your left hand?”

Her pinky moves ever so slightly. Bingo.

But the job's not done yet. The hole left behind needs to be cleaned and stitched up meticulously.

Sunday, July 7

12:59 am

I emerge from the theater, still humming with adrenaline. The wooden stake is out, Elizabeth will walk again, and I bask in the procedure’s success for a moment. There is something indescribable about the feeling of a successful surgery, where I can do something only a small handful of people on this planet can do.

Her parents are waiting, their faces red and drawn in the harsh fluorescent light. I see the fear etched in their eyes, their bodies rigid with tension.

"I've got good news," I tell them as I approach. My voice is steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me. "The surgery was successful. Elizabeth is going to be just fine. She will be a little sore, and she will need some time to heal. Therapy will be a part of her journey, but she will make a full recovery.”

Relief washes over their faces, followed by tears and laughter. The mother wraps her arms around me in a tight hug, which is part of my parting gift. I’m not a touchy-feely person, but sometimes, family members come at me quicker than I can head them off. "Thank you," she whispers into my ear, her voice choked with emotion.

Her father claps me on the shoulder, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. "You saved our little girl," he says. “I’ll never be able to convey how grateful I am that she could come here and that you were on call. Thank you, Dr. Duncan.”

My job theoretically ends after surgery, but I always follow up, at least initially, the next day or two. The residents and PAs handle the cases post-op, working with setting up rehab, adjusting meds, and monitoring vitals. I’m only brought back if there are major issues or unique or unexpected results.

As I turn to leave them with their relief because of the successful surgery, my eyes fall on the stunning woman sitting up in her bed in one of the rooms across the hall. This time, she sees me. Our gazes meet, and my heart skips a beat.

Her hair is pulled back from her face, her eyes wide and vulnerable as they lock onto mine. She's talking with the nurse, and the familiar woman is no longer there with her. Her lips part in surprise as she recognizes me. Everything around me disappears for a moment, and there is only her and me.

My pulse quickens, and once again, I’m transported back to another time, another place—back to when she was everything to me.

It looks like she has a new dressing on her hand, and she now has on a hospital gown. She doesn’t look as gory as when I first saw her being wheeled through the emergency room.

I will clean up, but I should speak to her now that she has seen me. It would be awkward at this point not to. I know she is up and awake, so a quick hello might be good for the both of us.

I pop into the nurse’s closet and remove my bunny suit. Then I take a deep breath, head back to her room, and knock on the doorway, my knuckles rapping lightly against the frame.

My heart is pounding in my chest, an unexpected and unnerving feeling, and I’m suddenly self-conscious she will pick up on it.

As I step into the room, I see her lying in the hospital bed, her hand bandaged, looking as beautiful as ever. Maybe more so.

Her eyes meet mine. For a moment, I’m twenty again, and we have some fraternity events to attend. Everything was more uncomplicated then, and the future seemed full of endless possibilities.

“Elle,” I say, my voice sounding steadier than I feel. “Wow. It’s been too long. How are you? I mean, in general. It looks like currently, you could be better,” I say, gesturing toward her hand.

She looks up, her expression a mix of surprise and something I can’t quite place. “Shep Duncan,” she replies, her voice soft but guarded. “I thought that was you I spotted a little while ago. You haven’t aged a bit in ten years.”

“Yeah, it has been a minute,” I say, taking a step closer. My usual confidence with women seems to have evaporated, replaced by a jittery, almost teenage nervousness. “When I saw you, I had just gotten out of surgery and needed to wash up. But I couldn’t leave without checking in on you.”

“Thanks,” she says, shifting slightly. “It’s... it’s good to see you.”

Her words catch me off guard, and I can’t help but notice how the years have only made her more beautiful. “What happened?” I ask, more to fill the silence than anything else. “I mean, to your hand?”

God, I’m a bumbling idiot.

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