I don’t hear what happens next, but the routine’s always the same. The dads get angry. The moms cry. They demand to speak to the hospital administrator, Bruce Luce. They want a replacement surgeon, refusing to trust their child’s operation to one who’s already given up.
Bruce is on standby when I meet the parents, so he shows up quickly, finds Nurse Sally hugging Jordan to her ample bosom, Security Joe staring straight ahead with dead eyes while Will curses and threatens to physically assault me.
Bruce says, “We warned you in advance Dr. Box has a terrible bedside manner. He’s a genius, not a communicator. But remember, he’s never lost a patient at this hospital, or any other.”
“Never?” they say.
“Around here he’s called ‘The Miracle,’ and for good reason. Thirty-two hopeless cases. No fatalities.”
“I don’t like him!” Jordan says.
“I don’t either,” Bruce says. “In fact, I hate his guts. But he’ll find a way to save Lainey.”
“How could he stand there and say there’s no hope?” Will asks.
“It takes the pressure off him to be perfect.”
Nurse Sally pipes in, “The truth is Doc Box ain’t fit to be in the company of man nor beast. The good Lord pulled every ounce of useful goodness outta that man at birth, and stuck a lump of coal where his heart should be.”
“But?” Jordan says.
“But he’s the one you want in that room with Lainey, because he never gives up. He’ll fight the devil to save your child. And he will save her. But after he does, leave him be. Don’t go looking for him. Don’t try to thank him.”
“Why?”
“This ain’t a celebratin’ sort of man. You’ve seen him at his best, not his worst. Trust me, you’ll do well to leave him to his lonely miserableness.”
Jordan and Will grudgingly sign off on the surgical procedure, and for the next six to eight hours, I reside in hell.
Of course, Lainey Sue died.
VIII
Lainey Sue died several times on my table, but with her walnut-sized heart in my skilled hands, she came back to life again and again. You’d think this kid was Joan of Arc, the way she fought so valiantly! I got into it like I always do, hurling blood-curdling insults at my colleagues, my hospital, Lainey Sue, her innards, her parents, and even Calfee Coffee, which I actually like.
By the time it was over the nurses were sobbing with joy, and I’d gone through my entire repertoire of oaths and cuss words at least six times, having used them in every possible combination.
My hands were cramped beyond use, my nerves frayed, and the tendons in my back and neck were twisted and gnarled like Gordian Knots from the mental and physical exhaustion that comes from total concentration while standing in a precise position for hours at a time. Like always, the pain in my head felt life-threatening.
On the table, Lainey Sue was resting quietly, pink and fit.
Nurse Janet gushed, “What an amazing little girl! She absolutely refused to die!”
To me she said, “I’m filing a grievance against you for sexual harassment and verbal abuse.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “You’ve worked with me before. You know how I am.”
“Never again. I’m done.”
“We just saved a life here. Do you really care about a few cuss words?”
“You’re getting worse.”
“How?”
“You’re a complete psychopath. You called me the C-word. You barked like a dog.”
“Which C-word?”
“All of them. You called me things that didn’t even make sense.”
“I was in a zone!”
Nurse Margaret said, “She’s right. I’ve never heard such vile language. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
She shook her head. “And the things you said to that poor child? And the names you called her?”
She crossed herself.
Then said, “You cursed like a drunken sailor, speaking in tongues.”
IX
Hours later, despite the warnings, Jordan Calfee tracked me down in my office, threw her arms around me and said, “Omigod, you saved my daughter’s life!”
Jordan had looked beautiful that morning. But now, standing in my office, she was positively radiant.
“Dr. Box! Gideon! You’ve given us a beautiful, healthy baby to raise!”
“Who let you in to see me?”
“Your secretary.”
“Lola? Seriously?”
“Your fee, whatever it is, isn’t enough. How can I possibly repay you?”
She seemed sincere.
I said, “Would you consider a blow job?”
Jordan paused a moment, as if her ears momentarily betrayed her. Then she slapped my face full-force, stormed out of my office, and reported me to Administrator Luce. She followed that up with a written statement to the hospital’s board of directors, effectively earning me a four-day suspension and six months’ probation.
We all would have preferred a harsher ruling, but there were two patients in the cue who would die if I’m not on duty when they’re strong enough for surgery. One is Lilly Devereaux, whose parents, Austin and Dublin, offered to donate a wing to the hospital if I save their child’s life.
Since Lilly’s surgery will likely take place in five to seven days, the board voted to suspend me for four days, which would give them time to bribe our existing nurses to work with me, or hire new ones away from our competitors.
Secretary Lola said, “Now you’ll have time to see Shelby Lynn.”
“Who?”
She handed me a letter and said, “It’s from the stack of fan mail I placed on your credenza last month.”
“I’ve got fan mail?”
“You do.”
I look at the letter. “You’ve read this?”
“I read them all. It’d do you good to read them, too.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re loved by many.”
“Right.”
Lola shrugged, left the room. I sat down, read the letter, then went home and booked the next flight to Cincinnati.
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