Page 2 of You Loved Me Once
“What look?” I ask.
“The one where you’re thinking about what tomorrow is and not the man we were discussing. Don’t think I don’t hear the gossip, missy. I know it’s your big day and you’re refusing to talk about it to anyone. Superstitions aren’t a good thing.”
“I’m not superstitious, I’m being cautious. Big difference, and aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be doing my part if I agreed with you. Besides, you have a handsome doctor who I’m sure does that.”
Back to Westin again. She’s nothing if not persistent. “I assure you, he loves to argue with me.”
“All men do, but do let him win once in a while, it helps the fragile male ego,” Mrs. Whitley’s voice drops to a whisper on that last part.
“I’ll do my best.”
Then she laughs. “I doubt that, but still. I wonder if John will stop by for a visit today.”
My heart breaks for her just a bit.
Years ago, when I asked what kept her fighting the cancer, she told me she was fighting for more time to try to make amends with her son. She wanted him to love her again. She told me how after Leo’s death, she had a hard time being a mother. She loved her child, but he was a constant reminder of her husband. By the time she pulled herself back together, it was too late. His anger had taken root and grown.
But she fought, and still fights for him to come back around. A mother’s love is the strongest bond in the world. My mother would’ve done anything for her kids.
“I hope he does.”
“Me too, but if not, there’s always tomorrow. And tomorrow is a day for miracles, Dr. Adams. I just know it.”
Tomorrow is the big day. The chance to try a new way to fight cancer. So much could go wrong, but then again . . . it could go right. I try to focus on the possibilities rather than the failures.
This could be an answer to someone’s prayers.
“Well, I have a surgery to get to, and you have an appointment with the phlebotomist,” I tell her.
“Off you go then, no need to sit with me when you have people to save.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She smiles a wide grin that makes me feel like a child who pleased her mother. “Tomorrow, when you do great things.”
I wink at her and leave, trying not to feel like I’m floating on air.
A few minutes later, I’m in the scrub room while my patient, Claudia, is prepped, and being wheeled into the operating room. I stand here, scouring my hands and arms, playing through the partial hysterectomy surgery in my mind. I’ve done this surgery over a thousand times, but I believe complacency is the mark of death. I won’t allow myself to get comfortable when someone’s on the table.
Once I’m fully scrubbed, I walk backwards through the doors and everyone goes into motion. My hands are covered, mask tied around my neck, and I walk over toward the patient.
“All right, Claudia.” I give her a comforting smile, but the fear in her eyes is clear. “Do you have any last questions before we begin?”
“Just . . .” She shivers. “. . . want to make sure . . . I’ll be okay.”
Her teeth are chattering. “You’re going to be fine,” my voice is warm. “You’re going to take a nap, and when you wake up, I’ll have taken the tumor out. All of this is good, and you need to let me do my thing, okay?”
She nods, still with terror in her eyes. “Okay.”
I can’t let her be this afraid. I remember a few days ago, she told me she was a singer who toured for a long time before moving back to Chicago. I thought it was really cool that she knew so many of my favorite singers. “You know, before each surgery, we play music once the patient is asleep. I find that it really calms the room. How about this time, we start a little early, and you can listen to the music? Do you have a favorite song?”
She tells me the name and I nod to the nurse. The music fills the air and I watch her release a deep breath along with some of the anxiety. “This is helping.”
“Good.” I grin.
Claudia begins to sing, her soprano voice ringing out with each word. I let her go for a few more bars, and all the nurses sway and sing along. Her voice is beautiful, and I almost wish she wasn’t going to pass out soon, but I watch the anesthesiologist push the drug into her IV and I know she’s got just a few more seconds.
