“Oh… where is he?”
“He and Kate will be here soon.”
Andrea winces. “Can you tell him to be nice to me? I’m in the hospital, so he’s not allowed to be mean.”
“I don’t think he will be,” Isabella counters.
“He’s a big brother. He’s always mean.”
Isabella patiently replies, “I’ll tell him to be nice, or else.”
“La chancla.”
Her mother laughs softly. “Exactly.”
Andrea closes her eyes for a moment, as if to rest, but reopens them quickly. “Baby, why are you so far?” she complains.
Refusing to cause her any distress, I bite back my guilt and come closer. “You know,” she starts pensively, “up until the very end, it was my favorite birthday ever.”
“I blew it with that ending, didn’t I?”
“A little. But at least I’m never forgetting my twenty-seventh birthday.”
Only this woman could make jokes in such a situation. I smooth her hair away with a tender hand and bend over to press a delicate kiss on her forehead. “We’re not very good at birthdays, are we?” I whisper, reminded of how my own went.
“We’re awful at it.”
“But it can’t get any worse than this, so from this point forward, the only way is up.”
Her giggle turns into a whimper. “Ah, don’t make me laugh, you asshole.”
“Sorry.”
“Good to see you’re already laughing,” a newcomer says behind us. Isabella and I turn around to find the surgeon who operated on Andrea, Dr. Keshavan. “But I’m not surprised. After all, you cracked a couple of jokes before we put you under.”
“I did? I can’t remember.”
“You woke up briefly while we were cutting away your dress, and you felt compelled to tell us the lingerie was for your boyfriend, not us ‘perverts.’ And you also asked if Doctor McDreamy would be joining us.”
Andrea cringes and sheepishly says, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. We never know how someone will react in a state of shock. I much prefer your approach to the violent outbursts we get sometimes.Now, about your case. You’re a very lucky woman, Miss Walker. The bullet only grazed your subclavian artery. A quarter of an inch the other way and we’d be having a very different conversation. It didn’t rupture completely, but it tore a few millimeters, which is why you lost so much blood. Your fiancé did a great job applying pressure until the EMTs arrived. He likely saved your life.”
Both Andrea and Isabella tick at the “fiancé” comment, but they say nothing.
“We gave you two transfusions while we repaired the artery and another when we removed the bullet. It lodged against your scapula, causing only a hairline fracture. That’s fortunate. I’ve seen scapulas shattered by the same type of injury, and trust me, you’re glad you avoided that. After two months, you should be all good. Plus another month to regain your full strength and mobility. We’ve set you up with a PCA pump. You can press the button here, and it will give you a small dose of morphine. You get one dose every ten minutes. In a day or two, we’ll transition you to pills. If you ever feel too sleepy, nauseated, or lightheaded, let a nurse know right away.”
Andrea presses the button, betraying the fact that she is in pain.
The doctor looks at the chart at the foot of the bed and adds, “I’ll have a nurse put your arm in a sling, but in the meantime, avoid moving around too much. You’ll also keep a drain in place for a few days, depending on the output, and—”
“A drain?”
The doctor comes closer to pick up a drop-shaped plastic bottle hanging from the bed’s railing, and our eyes follow the tube attached to it, all the way to the collar of Andrea’s gown. “Ew, it goes inside me?!”
“Yes, it avoids fluid accumulation, which can cause distension and pressure.”
Andrea grimaces, at which the doctor indulgently smiles. “Depending on the drain and how the wound heals, you’ll be with us for three to five days. Any questions?”
