Prepare the Knife

Jessica looks over the x-ray results on a large projected screen, discussing them in hushed tones with another doctor in the practice that she’s tapped for assistance. Dr. Bo, a short, serious Chinese man who wears glasses thicker than my thumb, is a man capable of discretion. He’s also an expert in the trauma field, unlike Jessica, who is technically an oncologist.

“Clear my schedule for the next six hours,” Jessica says to the nurses in the room. “And Dr. Bo’s, too.”

“But the Rosers—” one begins to protest.

“The Rosers will be happy to have an excuse to put off their annual check-up,” Jessica says. “We’re about to move in to surgery, and the Rosers are going to have to wait. Oh, and when you reschedule, reach out to Mujahid, not Alex—he’s the assistant who’ll actually listen to us.”

One of the nurses scampers out of the room to make the phone call and sort out the schedules. Jessica jots down several more notes on the computer, another nurse leaves the room, and then she finally turns to face me.

“I’ll walk through the diagnoses and treatment in order of severity,” she says. “Let’s talk about the pains you’ve been feeling in your face first. Unfortunately, you have a fractured cheekbone. Fixing this is going to require surgery. We will make a cut through the hair in your temple, about an inch long, and then sew it back up. You’re lucky the damage dealt wasn’t worse—oftentimes the procedure requires plates or screws. Luckily, it’s a one-shot procedure that should not require any follow-up on our part.”

She pauses then, giving me a second to take in the information. I nod slowly, indicating that I understand, and she carries on: “The wound on your arm is a serious bruise. It has sustained burn damage—second degree—but the larger issue is that the bruise is suffering from compartment syndrome. This is caused by rapid bleeding in the area, leading to a build up of abnormal pressure. The standard intervention here, a fasciotomy, will involve cutting open the skin and relieving the pressure.”

She pauses again, and I look into her eyes, holding on to the comfort of her voice and the beautiful curve of her face. She quietly pats my right hand, and I realise that, even resting on the desk, there’s been a small tremble there. Is this a result of the arm wound? Or am I just taking the situation this badly?

“The other issues are less serious. You’ve got some bruised ribs, and we suspect minor traumatic brain injury. Both of these should recover in their own time, although we’ll talk you through how you can facilitate better recovery before you leave, especially seeing as how you’re not—” she glances at Dr. Bo “—not coming back after this. We would typically offer physiotherapy and counselling services, alongside other support systems for recovery, but your case is a little unique.

“Any questions for us?” she concludes. I lean back in my chair, exhaling.

“Thanks for doing this, Jess,” I say, using an old pet name. “I mean it, dead serious. You didn’t have to… didn’t have to do this for me. You could have called Father on me, or just kicked me out, but now you’re… you’re risking an awful lot just to take care of me. I know I can’t repay you now, but I promise… someday. Someday I’ll make it up to you.”

My words bring a small smile to her face. She pats my hand again.

“Let’s get going. The nurses have prepped the operation room, and the sooner you get out of here, the less of a headache in paperwork this is going to be afterwards.”