Page 26 of The Doctor's Twins

“Ten…nine…eight…seven…sss…”

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“Dr. Taylor...can you hear me?”

I tried to open my eyes, but the lids were so heavy. It took me a few attempts. I blinked slowly, trying to focus on the face above mine.

“Ah, there you are. Hello, Doctor. How are you feeling?”

“Jim Dandy,” I slurred. “Is it over?”

“Yes. You’re in recovery.”

I tried to sit up.

“Slowly,” the nurse instructed. “The anesthetic will take a while to wear off.”

“Where’s Ben?”

“Dr. Forbes is in theater. He’s busy with another patient. But, he did ask me to tell you that he’ll pop in to see you before he leaves.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I dozed on and off until they wheeled me through to my ward. There were four beds in the room, with mine closest to the window. All I wanted to do was sleep, but that wasn’t the way a hospital operated. Oh, no. Patients were prodded, poked, and woken up at ridiculous hours—all the stuff I had only ever observed and experienced from the other side of the bed.

The nurses had already changed shifts when I arrived in the room. They went about their work while I tried to get some sleep. I was exhausted and felt empty. The tiny clump of cells that was growing inside of me wasn’t big enough to miss, but emotionally I felt the void the baby’s absence had left.

Someone touched my arm. It was Ben.

“Hi, Peyton. How are you feeling?”

“Like I could sleep for a century. How did the procedure go?”

“It took me longer than I’d anticipated. There was a lot of damage, Peyton.”

“What kind of damage?”

“The kind that takes more than one tumble down a flight of stairs to inflict.”

I knew what he was asking me, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it.

“Please, don’t ask.”

“Okay,” he said and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“So, what are your plans, now that you’re in New York? Are you going into private practice?”

“I haven’t completed my residency yet. I guess I’ll have to apply to a few hospitals and see where I can slot in.”

“I see. I have a vacancy for a resident doctor if you’re interested. Why don’t you take a few days to recuperate, and when you’re ready, you can call me, and we’ll discuss it. Here,” he said and pulled a business card from his pocket, “my cell phone number. Call me anytime.”

“Thank you, Ben. I’ll do that.”

“Good. But, for now, I want you to rest. I’ve prescribed something for the pain. I have to apologize in advance, though. The pharmacy’s out of tequila, so I substituted.”

“All good, Doc. I can always have some cactus courage when I get home.”

Ben laughed, squeezed my hand, and left me in the care of the nursing staff.

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