Page 16 of Christmas at Watson Memorial

“I don't do anything with my eyebrows,” I protest.

“Yes, you do, and it's adorable,” she insists. “I won't show you how adorable because we might crash.”

“Yeah, better stick to flying the helicopter,” I huff, though the smile tugging at my lips betrays me.

“The Ice Queen saving Christmas. It's like a Hallmark movie,” she teases.

“You're an idiot. Call me that again, and I'm walking back to Manhattan.”

“You know, you're nothing like what people say about you,” she sighs, eyes fixed ahead.

“You don't know me that well.”

“I know enough,” she counters, reaching over to take my hand. “I know you’ve risked your life, that you’re about to perform incredibly complex surgery after spending hours in a frozen cabin to save a seven-year-old girl who won’t make it to Christmas without your help. I’d say that tells me plenty.”

***

Burlington Hospital's OR feels different from my usual domain. I prefer working with a medical team that knows my rhythms, but a heart is a heart, and time is of the essence.

“Scalpel,” I request, and the instrument slides into my right hand. Always the right. Some habits don't change, even in unfamiliar territory.

Through the observation window above the OR, I glimpse Selene. She stands with her arms crossed, watching intently.Our eyes meet for the briefest moment, and somehow, knowing she's there steadies me, even though she can't help with this part.

“Beginning primary incision,” I announce to the operating room. “Donor status?”

“All vital signs stable, Doctor. We've maintained optimal perfusion.”

The procedure progresses normally, without complications. The donor heart looks perfect: young, strong, healthy. I think about the strange workings of fate. This poor boy met his end in a terrible car accident, yet his organs will give new chances to children he never knew.

“Dr. Winters,” a nurse cuts in, “they're reporting light snow starting again.”

“That's not relevant to the surgical procedure,” I respond firmly, though my stomach knots. “Clamp, please.”

From above, I hear Selene's voice through the intercom. I asked her not to speak during the surgery, but I welcome her words anyway.

“Don't worry about the weather. That's my job. You just get that heart ready for Holly.”

“I don't recall requesting commentary from the observation room,” I joke.

“Consider it a bonus service, like the in-flight entertainment with forced landing included,” she quips, and I roll my eyes dramatically.

The OR team laughs, and I'm surprised to notice the tension in the room has eased.

“Separating final connections now,” I announce. “Preservation solution ready.”

The heart releases perfectly. I place it carefully in the transport container, verifying each step meticulously. There's no room for errors, not when a child's life hangs in the balance.

“Time?” I ask, peeling off my gloves.

“Two hours and seventeen minutes since arrival, Doctor. Cold ischemia time approximately four hours.”

“Excellent. Let's move.”

I exit the OR to find Selene waiting, already geared up for the flight.

“Wish my sister had had a doctor like you,” she sighs, running pre-flight checks.

“Selene…”