We scramble to find the bleed, and once it’s cleaned up and the patient is stable, I can resume reconstruction. All in all, I’m on my feet for nine hours, and find the exhausted, desperate family on the other side, the mother’s hands shaking as she asks what took so long, and when she can see her son.
“As of right now, he’s stable, and the repair was successful.” As I’m talking, I can’t stop imagining Jules standing here instead, getting news about Gus. Can’t stop thinking about that kid on the table, what it feels like to watch someone disappear into surgery and struggle with the thoughts that they might not come back out again.
By the time I get back to my office, the sun is setting outside, my back is stiff, and I still have paperwork to finish before I can leave the hospital. I grab my phone and find several texts from Jules.
Jules:What time do you think you’ll be done today?
Jules:Hey, are you still in surgery?
Jules:Russ, text me back when you can. Sorry, just worried.
My stomach growls as I text her back. I’m not used to someone noticing when my surgeries run long, and it feels good to know that she was thinking of me. That the OR isn’t always just a timeless nebulous I disappear into.
Russell:Surgery ran long. All good—I’m going to finish up some paperwork and run down to the caf for shitty hospital food.
Russell:Probably won’t make dinner tonight, enjoy without me.
I spend half an hour in my office, distracting myself with paperwork, before I finally decide to head back down to the cafeteria for more quinoa. It’s not the worst hospital food I’ve ever had—the place where I did my residency specialized in dry and overcooked—but it’s not good, either.
When I walk into the dining hall, the lights outside around the fountain reflect over the room. Dinner service is just about finished, and I’m so busy scoping out the station with the “healthy” offerings to see what they have left that I almost miss the two people at a table against the windows, waving their hands at me.
“Jules,” I say, when I get close enough to the table, hoping I’m not hallucinating after nine hours of staring at blood and making incisions.
“Russell!” Gus says, getting to his knees on his chair, leaning forward, and raising his voice, “We’re getting dino another night. Mommy said we should come here today.”
“I see that,” I say, eyes shifting to Jules, who moves side-to-side in her chair, looking abashed.
“Sorry, if you didn’t want visitors,” she says, clearing her throat and twirling a braid around her finger. Today her hair is in two French braids, pulled back from her face, and she looks well rested. Happy. “I thought you might want something other than sh—than silly hospital food.”
She censors herself to keep from cursing in front of Gus, and I feel something in my chest inflating. There’s a plastic bag on the counter, and she pulls it down to reveal two deli containers.
“Turns out, I really liked the food from that place that you brought over when Gus was sick,” she says, smiling as I sit down across from her. “Thought this might be just the thing after a long surgery.”
Looking at her, and at Gus reaching for the bag, talking about how hungry he is, I have a modicum of understanding for my dad’s expectations. Why he might push thissettle down with a family thingso hard.
There was nobody to bring him food when surgery ran long. No friendly face waiting for him in the cafeteria. No small human sitting across from him, pulling his mind away from the precise, exacting pressure of surgery.
Gus tells me all about what he did at school today, and Jules dishes out the food, pulling the sandwich into little bites for him, disappearing to the counter to fetch little Styrofoam bowls. Carefully, she deposits a serving of soup in each one, pushes a full bowl with a compostable spoon in front of me.
That feeling in my chest is only getting bigger. Bolstered by the smell of the deli soup, her soft smile, the way she reaches out with a hand on Gus’s back to keep him from falling out of his chair when he gets too excited.
“Well, look who it is.” A deep voice sounds to our left, sounding amused.
I blink out of my daze and turn as Orie walks up to the table, a Saran-wrapped sandwich in his left hand. He’s in scrubs and a surgical cap.
Gus stands up on his chair and sticks his hand out before Jules or I can speak. “I’m Gus.”
Orie laughs and shakes his hand, darting a glance at me likeget a load of this kid. I raise my eyebrows back, thinkingyeah, he’s smart.
Like his mother.
“Nice to meet you, Gus. I’m Orie.” Turning to us, he tilts his head and says, “Still not used to seeing Russ acting all lovey dovey. Especially not at work. Remember when you used to tear into Gomez for calling his girlfriend on his breaks?”
I wave my hand, “We were interns. And we are not actinglovey dovey.We’re just sitting here.”
“I could feel the love and the dove all the way over there,” Orie says, gently pushing against my shoulder. “It’s sick.”
Jules laughs, but it doesn’t come out quite right. “Well,” she says, pushing back her chair, her gaze darting between Orie and me. “I should get Gus home before bedtime. Orie, it was nice to see you again.”
