Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He dismissed the conversation with crushing force and turned his gaze back out the window.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
In silence, he looked outside, the sunlight casting a reflective light in his brown eyes.
“I’m so happy that you’re doing this. They have complete confidence in you. Marc could be terrified about what’s going to happen, but he seems at peace. So does Angelica. You’ve given that to them.”
He turned back to me, his eyes full of dread. “I hope I can do more than that.”
“I’m sure you will, Dex.”
His eyes lingered on my face, but it didn’t seem like he was looking at me at all, his mind elsewhere. “I needed to leave medicine because I was unfit to operate on patients. Losing Allen proved that my colleagues were right, that refusing to have an emotional attachment to the patient is essential for your sanity. It allows you to handle the surgery like a machine. Just do this step, then this, and this—instead of thinking about the person putting their life in your hands. But here I am again, making the same mistakes…getting attached.”
“I don’t think that’s a bad thing, Dex.”
He breathed a deep sigh. “I’m rushing into this surgery to save his life, so I’m not so certain of that. Now I feel anxious, anxious to cut open his chest and pull out every single clot until he can finally breathe again. I’m desperate to remove the pressure from his lungs so he can walk more than a couple feet, so he can have a normal life once again. I want to give that to him so desperately.”
My eyes started to water at hearing his deep passion.
“Now I feel guilty for leaving medicine because there’re only fifty cardiac surgeons in the world who have done procedures like this more than a handful of times. I’ve done 600 surgeries. I feel weak for allowing the trauma to pull me away from where I should have been this entire time. I think about the patients who went under the knife with physicians who lacked the experience I have. I think about the patients who were turned away entirely because of money…because I wasn’t around.” He inhaled a deep breath and dropped his head toward the ground, like he was doing his best not to break down right in front of me, to burst into tears.
My actions were involuntary, and I immediately moved to the spot beside him on the couch, one hand going to his back, my other hand touching his forearm, my own eyes wet because the tears couldn’t be combated.
He continued to breathe hard, his back rising and falling rapidly, and after a minute, he raised his head again, his cheeks wet but his eyes dry.
“You have to take care of yourself before you can take care of anyone else, Dex. Don’t put that on yourself.” My hand rubbed his hard back, the lines between the segmented muscles, the heat that radiated from his skin and pierced his hoodie. “This is a new beginning, and we’re going to do great things, help so many people, and make a difference in this world.”
26
Dex
I went to see my dad after I left the office. He knew about my appointment today, so if I didn’t call or swing by, he would show up at my apartment. I decided to be pragmatic and come to him.
I wanted to talk to him anyway.
I sat across from him at the dining table, our plates empty, the two of us sharing a bottle of white wine that paired well with the salmon. Mom excused herself, knowing I needed to have this time with Dad, a physician who never stopped caring about his patients, who never severed emotional attachment, which was ironic because he failed to connect with regular people outside of medicine. I still watched him struggle to interact with people Mom introduced him to, to new people they met at charity events or wherever else. But he was the one to take his patients by the hand as they confessed their darkest fears.
Dad drank his wine as he stared at me. He licked his lips and gently set the glass back down. He patiently waited for me to tell him about my time with Marc and Angelica, what the next step was.
“The surgery is scheduled for a week from today.”
He didn’t look remotely surprised, as if he had complete faith that I would buck up and do the right thing.
“His condition has worsened over the last month. When he came into the office, he could barely take a couple steps without losing his breath. There’s so much pressure in his lungs that he can’t sleep at night because he’s constantly gasping for breath. He’s got chest pains around the clock, his blood work is through the roof, his blood vessels are so blocked, they’re about to explode.”