Page 82 of Duplicity

‘You have,’ I tell her. ‘A few times. But you were too little to remember.’Which makes one of us, because I’m still traumatised.

‘It’s a lot of fun,’ Dr Martinez tells Tabs. ‘Because guess what? We put a special mask on you and it smells good! Tell me, do you like the smell of cherry, or strawberries, or bubblegum, maybe?’

Tabby’s eyes meet mine again, and I smile. I know just what she’ll choose.

‘Bubblegum,’ she says, a little more loudly this time. ‘But I’m not allowed to eat it at home.’

Dr Martinez laughs. ‘Right? It’s not great for your tummy if you swallow it. But this way, you get to enjoy the yummy smell without all that chewing. When you put the mask on and you start to smell the bubblegum, it might feel like you’re floating or spinning. That means the sleepy medicine is starting to work. You’ll drift off, just like the cloud on my pin right here, and you won’t feel a thing. When you wake up, you’ll be with your mom and your operation will be all done.’

‘Can I have some food when I wake up?’ Tabs asks.

‘For sure. You hungry?’

Tabby nods, and the vehemence of it makes me and Dr Martinez laugh.

‘Yeah. It’s rough having to starve yourself. You can eat as soon as you feel ready for it, so you just let us know, okay? Now, are you ready for some special stickers?’

A nurse approaches us and begins to prep Tabby. I move to her side so I can hold her hand.

‘Tabby, I'm going to place these pretty heart stickers on your chest so we can see your heartbeat on our special TV screen, okay?’ He brandishes an adhesive patch at her. It’s bright yellow and covered in tiny red hearts. ‘And this clip goes on your finger like a little hat—it helps us see how much oxygen is in your body.’

‘You mean my sats,’ Tabs says, and both medics laugh.

‘Uh oh, we’re in the presence of an expert, I see,’ Dr Martinez says. ‘No pressure, Nurse Jayden, but I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘Well, I did until now,’ Nurse Jayden says. ‘Tabby, do you know what this is called?’

‘An oximeter,’ Tabs says, and they laugh again.

‘Tabby, if you want a job, come back and find us in about ten years, alright?’ Dr Martinez tells her.

Her beam of delight has my heart constricting, even if this light-hearted banter makes me feel the tiniest bit better. This is routine for them. It’s all in a day’s work. They wouldn’t be so relaxed and animated if Tabby’s life was on the line, surely?

As Nurse Jayden affixes the electrodes to my daughter’s little torso, her surgeon, Dr Elliott, wanders into the room. Tabby and I have seen him a couple of times since we checked in yesterday morning, and I’m delighted to report that his air of quiet competence is just as notable in the flesh as it is over Zoom.

‘Afternoon, Tabby,’ he says. ‘How are you doing? Mom, you holding up?’

I nod and give him a bright smile for Tabby’s benefit.

‘Glad to hear it.’ He focuses his attention on me. ‘We expect that the surgery will last three to four hours,’ he tells me quietly. ‘We’ll have someone come and let you know when we’re done.’

I nod. ‘I appreciate it.’ He ran the timings past us yesterday, so I know that the actual valve replacement will take two to three hours. I’ll be notified when the closing-up begins and then again when Tabs is out of theatre.

Eventually, Dr Martinez produces the mask, and I steel myself. There will be other operations in Tabby’s future, but I will never, ever get used to this part, to watching my child lose consciousness and being forced to walk away, leaving her there for strangers to cut open.

I bend over far enough that my face is all Tabby can see and I give her my best, brightest smile. ‘This is it, my love! I’m so proud of you, and I love you so much.’

‘I love you too, Mummy,’ she says, reaching up her skinny little arms and pulling me down for a hug. I drink in her scent for a moment before forcing myself to pull away.

‘I’ll be right beside you when you wake up. I promise.’

She nods, her face so trusting, so brave. I pick up her hand and hold it between mine.

‘Now I'm going to hold this mask near your face,’ Dr Martinez tells Tabs. ‘It might feel a little cold at first. Can you practise taking some deep breaths like you're blowing out birthday candles? Perfect! Now I'll place it on your face, and you'll start to smell that bubblegum flavour. Keep taking big breaths... you're doing so well!’

The mask is child-sized, but it dominates Tabby’s face. She keeps her eyes on me until they start to flutter closed, and then she’s gone, drifting away on a cloud of bubblegum-scented anaesthesia, and I have that awful, terrifying moment where I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just said goodbye to my baby for the last time. I release her hand. Dr Martinez gives me a reassuring smile as the medical team wheel Tabs through to the operating theatre, and I stumble blindly away, wiping the tears off my cheeks.

I know that each second of the next four hours will feel like an eternity.

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