The Surgeon and his Bossy Wife

Wednesday 9:50 a.m. “Peem! Peemmmmm!,” I horned signaling the person whose car laid in front of mine to make way, so I could pass. I kept my eyes on my watch as I speed up my car. Two blocks and I will be in the hospital, if not for this stupid traffic, I should have been there. I kept morning till the red Honda gave way for me. I drove at speed break as my only aim is to arrive at the hospital in less than ten minutes. * I parked my car at the parking, stopping my engine and removing the key. I looked at the time 10:02 a.m. I am two minutes late for the operation and I know it has started without me. Slowly closing the car door, I made I for the surgical ward, racing as fast as my legs could carry me. “Good morning, Doctor, the patient is in the room waiting,” Lisa, a nurse said handing me my lab jacket as I entered the building. “Thank you, Lisa,” I nodded as I increased my steps. I opened the emergency ward and on the table laid the patient I am supposed to work on. Her life mattered to me, yet I joked with it by coming late to save her. It was a three-floor-story building, and the emergency ward was on the first floor at the far end of the hall. The walls were painted white, and the dominant smell in here was that of drugs. In front of the ward, it was boldly scripted ‘EMERGENCY WARD' a red bulb was outside, and a notice was posted beside the door, visible for anyone that was ready to venture. It read; ‘If the red bulb is shining and the drapes are draped, please don’t enter,’ The instructions were clear enough, and I pushed the door slightly, revealing a staff of nurses and doctors. “Good morning Doctor,” the nurses and two other Doctors present in the room chanted, with their equipment placed on the table ready to be used. “Good morning, let’s get to work,” I intoned removing my watch and putting on my attires for the operation. I wore baby blue loose pants over a loose blouse. I used a shower cap to protect my hair and put on my mask and goggles. I rapidly changed my shoes and hung my stethoscope loosely around my neck. “Mrs. Tanyi, how do you feel today?” I asked, giving orders to a nurse to prepare the injection, which was meant to make her sleep throughout the process. “I feel nervous for I don’t know if I will survive this…” I didn’t let her complete her sentence as it caused a lump to stand in my throat. Pushing it down with saliva, I assured her; “Hush Ma, it is going to be alright,” I exclaimed. “Doctor Davis, will you please set the time? Thank you,” I passed another command. When all was set, all the nurses and doctors ready to start, the patient was injected with anesthesia, and we all watched her fall into a one-hour thirty minutes sleep. We are about to do a brain surgery, and utmost concentration was needed with less distraction. The lady's head is well-shaved, as not a single strand of hair could be seen on her head. The room was tensed as everyone is anxious to see this operation go well. This was not my first operation, but for some of the others in the ward, it was. It was Davis's third brain surgery and Gilbert's (the other Doctor) first operation. The nurses were of full assistance to us as a brain surgery needed a team to operate on. The lady had been diagnosed with a grade III brain turmoil, and this was her second operation. It could only take a professional team to do the job, and God's intervention too of course. I am Anthony Barley Norman, the best Neurosurgeon the world has ever recorded with over fifty-five surgeries, ten failed, and over two hundred minor surgeries on more recorded since 2015. They booked me for this surgery, and I regretted having been late because as per the magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) that they had sent to me, the turmoil was fast spreading to her brain and if not acted upon, it risks damaging her cells and kill her. * I let the blade slit on her forehead, cutting lightly on her flesh. I brought the lamp closer to her face as she laid lifeless on the surgical bed, her eyes sealed against the other. “Scissors,” I let out opening my hand and feeling the cool blade land on it. * We had spent Forty-five minutes already, and the sweat streaked my face. A nurse used a white towel to carefully dab across my sweat-streaked face. The bud that formed the turmoil in her brain was now a layer thick from it, and I tried my best to skin it out of the membrane, so it will not touch the spinal cord in case it were to spread again. The doctors helped me stitch the lady's scalp back to one. We fidgeted with the needle and the transparent thread, dealing with it as much as we could. “Doctor, the lady is slowly losing her life, see the dashboard is barely showing waves, and the little waves aren’t constant,” a blonde head nurse explained, and it has was true. I stared at the machine as the waves were slowly disappearing into thin lines. “Bring the oxygen bottle and connect it,” I commanded as everyone got busy with one thing or the other to save a life. The lady laid pale on the desk, as she fought between life and death. “It seems like the oxygen is not of great help, she is losing it already?” Gilbert altered reaching for her pulse which barely signaled a thing. “Prepare the defibrillator,” I passed another command, shifting the equipment on one side to give us more space. The waves had now turned to lines, as I grabbed the defibrillator in both hands ready to ignite life into her. “Fifty percent,” I ordered. And the nurses answered, repeating my exact words; “Fifty percent Doc,” I pressed the machine on her chest as the lady's chest heaved up, yet no signs of life could be noticed. “Increase to sixty-five percent,” I thundered romancing the machines against one another. “Seventy-five percent Doctor,” they chorused. I stumped her lifeless body with the machines, yet the only sound I heard were those produce by the defibrillators that laid in my arms. Perspiration clouded my forehead, making it impossible for me to see. I caught a sweat with the help of my shoulder blade as I yelled; “Accelerate to eighty-five percent,” I called out and I was been served, yet not enough to save her. The beats of waves started to reactivate, and a light of hope glistened in my eyes, but then, it stopped. I used my stethoscope to check her heartbeat, but it had stopped beating. I looked around to find my team in so much shock like I was in too. I slowly shook my head indicating that the surgery had not been successful. “I can’t feel her pulse,” the doctor said. “She had lost a lot of blood,” a nurse noted, and I stood staring at the blood sac which was now half. “She had slim chances of surviving, and it is unfortunate that she didn’t make it,” I lamented. “Pull the sheets over her head, I will inform her family,” I stated, my voice hoarse. My heart was heavy with guilt as I judged that I was the person that killed her. Had I started a bit earlier, maybe she would have survived. I watched her face as she laid on the table sleeping, a sleep that she will never be able to wake up. Her body was still fresh as it has not been long she died. I watched how Doctor Gilbert pulled the sheets to her neck, hesitating to pull it over as if expecting her to open her eyes and give a peal of bad laughter then say; ‘It’s a bad prank, guys,’ But this wasn’t a prank, she was dead, and there was no way she could play such old tricks on us. With much bitterness, he pulled the white sheet over the lady. This wasn’t a good thing, it was so bad that I could not imagine how I will face the family of the deceased. I always hated facing them because they turn out causing scenes that aren’t called for. The last time I announced this kind of news, I was hit across the head with a bat. Some nurses that were around and other people were those who separated me from the hands of that lady and the children who had just lose their husband and father respectively. ‘I pray this time should not be as bad as the previous.’ I made a silent prayer as I matched out of the room to deliver the news.