Page 3 of Stat: Love In Scrubs
She smiled and then turned back to her other pictures to finish them. I stood, taking that as my cue to give her space. I continued to walk around the room until I was back at the front with their instructor, Mrs. Mavis. She was a thick woman who always wore her hair in different natural styles. I admired how many things she could do. I inherited my hair texture from my mother, whose Native American heritage took precedence over her African American side.
On the other hand, I inherited the hair, skin tone, and small build that my dad claimed I got from my maternal grandmother. My hair had a mind of its own—some days it laid like it understood the assignment, other days it showed out, puffing up and fighting every product I threw at it. Either way, I would forever admire Mrs. Mavis.
“How’s everyone doing today?” I asked her.
She smiled at me as we stood in front of the class, speaking in low tones so no one could hear.
“They’re doing good today, although Esa has been a lot more into herself than usual. I wanted to send her down to talk with the therapist, but the moment you walked over, her demeanorchanged. Maybe she was having a moment. We’re entitled to those.”
Mrs. Mavis had that teacher instinct—twenty years of working with children had given her eyes that saw everything, even the things kids tried to hide.
I nodded and made a mental note to check in with her grandparents. They were sweet people, so I knew they would love on her a little if I mentioned she appeared a little more down than usual.
“We are. If you see her spirits decline a little more, send her down. I’ll make sure Michelle is ready for her, just in case. Have a good class. If you need me, don’t hesitate to send me a message. I’ll be in my office today. Administrative day.”
Mavis nodded. “Will do. And you take a break too!” she added as I made my way toward the door.
“I hear you,” I said over my shoulder.
I proceeded to check in on everyone. Each classroom held its own small miracles—kids who’d learned to laugh again, to trust again, to believe that love could exist even after loss. Today was one of many, but I made a promise to myself that I would figure out the next moves for Little Angels Academy. It was needed. Not just for the kids who found healing here, but for the little girl in me who was still learning that love didn’t always leave.
“Scalpel.”
The word slipped from my mouth, calm and low, even as the fetal monitor behind me screamed in frantic beeps. The mother was hemorrhaging. Her blood pressure was crashing, and the baby’s heart rate was dropping fast—too fast. I didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. I couldn’t afford to. Not with two lives in my hands and a room full of eyes waiting for direction.
“Clamp.” I extended my hand without looking up, feeling the cool steel press into my palm a second later. Sweat beaded along my hairline beneath the surgical cap, but my hands were steady. The scrub nurse breathed too hard, and the resident to my left was ghost-pale, but I blocked it all out. I was used to this crisis, chaos, and quiet control. I lived here, in the space between heartbeats.
I made the incision quickly and cleanly, the way I’d done hundreds of times before. No matter how many times I’d stood in this exact position, it never got easier. No amount of training prepared you for the sound of silence when a baby didn’t cry right away.
Seconds stretched. The kind that made your chest tighten and your mind race, even when your hands knew exactly what to do.
“Baby’s out,” I said as I lifted the infant, still and slick with fluid. I handed her off quickly to the NICU team and refocused on the mother, who was fading fast. Her pressure was tanking, and the bleeding wasn’t slowing the way it should. I barked out the next set of instructions, barely registering the chaos at the edge of the room. Everything narrowed down to tissue, to clamp and suture, to getting this woman back to her baby alive.
Then it came—the wail. Small, sharp, defiant.
The kind that pushed air back into everyone’s lungs, including mine.
“She’s breathing,” the pediatric nurse called, and the room exhaled with her.
But for half a second, I saw Veronica’s face instead of the mother on the table. Heard her voice whispering that everything would be okay, even as it wasn’t. That ghost never left me. It followed me into every OR, into every victory, into every wail.
I didn’t smile. I rarely did in moments like this. Not until I knew everyone would walk out whole. I finished with the mother, cleaned my hands, and stepped back as the attending closed.
Outside the OR, I peeled off my gloves and pushed open the door with my shoulder. My chest ached the way it always did after cases like that—like I’d been holding my breath too long. The baby had cried. The mother had lived. That was the outcome we fought for, but the relief didn’t stick the way it should’ve.
It never did.
Not when I’d stood in a room just like that one, years ago, and watched my own wife fade right in front of me. Same beeping monitors. Same urgency in the air. The only difference was that no one could save her. The room had been full, but somehow I’d never felt more alone. One moment, I was holding her hand, telling her everything was fine, and the next, I was a father without a wife, a man with blood on his shoes, and a baby girl I had no idea how to raise.
I leaned against the wall, letting my head drop back for a second. People passed, voices blurred, and I stayed still. It clung to my ribs, showed up in operating rooms, in lullabies, in the curve of Esa’s smile. I carried it the way some men carried medals—proof that I’d survived something no one was meant to walk away from.
If it wasn’t for my parents or Veronica’s, I didn’t know where I would be. Those folks had been everything to me. Since that day with my late wife, I adjusted my direction as a doctor. I wanted to be the man who could defy all odds and make sure these mothers made it home with their babies. I was not saying that I hadn’t lost anyone, but it damn sure wasn’t for me not trying.
“Dr. Wilder… Dr. Wilder.” Rhonda called out.
I snapped out of my daze and looked up at her. She held a clipboard in her hand with a soft smile. She was the scheduler in the OR.
“My bad. You know I like to come down after cases like that. What’s next?” I asked.
