I lean against the counter and cross my arms. “Why is that again?”
She shrugs. “Life’s short and everybody dies. Will you carry me to your living room?”
I sigh at her nonanswer. Always deflecting. “Such a whiny baby.”
With that, I scoop her into my arms and carry her out.
Frustrating woman.
Asher
Imposter syndrome is a saboteur. The more we learn, the more we realize how much we still don’t know. Be kind to yourself. Focus on the things you’ve done right, and reframe your mistakes as opportunities for growth.
—My Therapist
“I’m going to have to sleep her,” Joss says a week after the tattoo prank.
From the other side of the OR, my head jerks up. No.
No. No. No.
I’ve been expecting Joss to retaliate with some sort of practical joke, so surely this is it, right? She’s totally faking me out right now. The spinal anesthesia went in fine. She doesn’t need to sleep the patient. Notthispatient. This very high-risk patient.
Searching her face makes my stomach curl up on itself. No silliness or mischief to be found. Just contrition.
“No spinal?” My voice is remarkably even. Light.
My insides turn to lead.
The portion of Jocelyn’s face that’s visible above her mask scrunches, and she shakes her head. She knows I’ve been dreading today’s C-section for the past week. This is the patient’s sixth section. She had so much scar tissue during her previous one—with a different surgeon—that she wound up with a bowel resection, a severe hemorrhage and a post-op infection.
I asked Dr. White for an assist today, and he practically laughed in my face.
Can’t do it on your own, Foley? Need me to hold your hand?
Sometimes I hate that guy. Viscerally.
This C-section is not one I want to do under general anesthesia. Instead of taking my time, I’ll have to go faster. Propofol crosses the placenta. Propofol makes humans stop breathing.
Broadly speaking, I like babies to breathe when they’re born. It’s just a thing I like. Helps them be alive and such. Especially since there are no neonatologists at this hospital to limit any potential damage. Safely digging through all that scar tissue will only increase baby’s exposure to the drug.
Must go fast for baby.
Must go slow for mom.
Must balance the two and keep both alive.
Must stop being a pussy and man up.
Ack. Find replacement word forpussy.
Need Tums.
“I tried,” Joss says. “The anatomy is difficult.”
The patient, Hannah, turns toward me and grimaces, mouthingI’m sorry. We’ve talked about this exact outcomeno less than seven times. She knows what she risked when she became pregnant again. She trusted me to handle any complications that arose. I will not let her down. Despite what people may or may not think—still not sure in this regard—I’m a good surgeon, and I’ll get all of us safely to the other side.
Smiling with reassurance at Hannah, I remind her it’s not her fault, then glance at Gabriela, the resident who planned to help me today. “Can you go get the hospitalist? Tell her it’s an emergency.”
