Page 12 of Broken Dream

“Love you!” I call to Lindsay.

“Love you both!” she calls back.

And I’m out the door, where I quickly secure Julia in her car seat and start my SUV. It’s raining. Ugh. People around here don’t know how to drive in the rain.

Lindsay is a teacher, and she has parent-teacher conferences today. Julia stays at the daycare center at my hospital most days, but today I’m taking her to Lindsay’s mother’s house for a day with Grandma.

She’ll probably give her another ridiculous stuffed animal.

My high-risk Whipple procedure is scheduled for nine o’clock sharp, but traffic is a mess, and I’m so not in the mood.

I go over the steps of the Whipple in my head.

First, the incision—a deep cut across the abdomen, which gives me full access to the pancreas and the surrounding structures. I pull the edges apart gently. The head of the pancreas comes into view.

I begin by separating the head of the pancreas from the nearby tissues. I visualize each connection—vessels, ducts, and nerves that must be delicately severed, each one carrying life to and from these organs. Next, I move to the duodenum, where I divide and remove a portion. The bile duct is next, disconnected from the pancreas so it can be rerouted later.

I work meticulously, envisioning the margins, making sure every section is clean and free of any tumor cells. It’s a slow, deliberate process, moving piece by piece, unraveling the?—

The tires skid.

Hands tight on the wheel.

Too tight.

Can’t stop.

Can’t steer.

Rain streaking the windshield, blurring the road.

Brake.

Why isn’t it stopping?

The car spins. My heart pounds, slamming against my ribs.

Everything moves in slow motion but too fast.

Control slipping.

Can feel it slipping.

This is real. This is happening.

Impact coming. Can’t stop it.

I brace. Muscles locked. Shoulders tense.

Hold on. Just hold on.

Flashes. The crunch of metal. Shattering glass. The scream of something breaking—inside or outside, I can’t tell. Body jolting. Air forced from my lungs.

Is this it?

Julia! Julia!

My mind screams a thousand things, but only one thing really matters.