Page 24

CHAPTER 24

THE IMPOSSIBLE

EMORY

Tara is already in the exam room when I get to the clinic. A gorgeous tabby is on the cold metal exam table. A quick glance at the rapid rise and fall of her chest tells me she's scared and in pain.

"Dr. H." Tara looks me up and down quickly. "You were obviously celebrating. Sorry I had to call you away."

Adrenaline races through me as I root through my go bag, pulling out wrinkled scrubs and an old pair of crocs. As I step out of my heels and into the crocs, I flex my cramped toes and take a deep breath, settling my pulse. "Don't be sorry. Tell me what we're dealing with."

"This is Byron and Sushi. She's almost twelve. Started vomiting last night—no known cause—and hasn't eaten since. Today, she won't let Byron touch her. There are early signs of dehydration. I tried to palpate the abdomen before you got here, but it was causing too much distress."

"Obstruction. But let's get an ultrasound to find out for sure. Byron?" I hold my hand out to shake his and notice that his entire arm is trembling. "I'm Dr. Hopkins. Have you noticed anything missing from around the house? Jewelry, coins, small toys, anything like that?"

To my side, Tara scoops Sushi in to her arms. Even as careful as she is, it's obvious the cat is in severe pain. "We don't have an ultrasound machine, Dr. H. X-ray?"

I nod to her and then look back at Byron. "Nothing I noticed. You think she's got something in her? Blocking her up? I should have looked. I should know what it is."

His skin is on the verge of turning grey and his eyes go wide as he watches Tara carry the cat out of the room. I step in front of him to block his view and guide him into the chair before he collapses.

"She has symptoms of an obstruction—a blockage—but we're going to find out for sure. No matter what we find, we're going to take care of her, okay? Byron?" Even though I'm right in front of him, he won't look at me. His eyes are fixed on the empty doorframe. "I promise I'm going to take care of whatever is wrong. We don't know each other, but I need you to know that I'm damn good at this job. If it is an obstruction like I suspect, we'll have to perform surgery. Are you with me? Byron?"

He finally looks away from the door and nods.

"The x-ray will give us an idea of what's going on, but we won't really know until we make that incision. You love that cat, right? And would do anything for her?" His only answer is a shaky breath. "That's how I feel about every one of my patients, including Sushi."

There's a quick knock on the door and Tara pokes her head in. I can tell by her stony face that it's not good news. "String of pearls in the intestine."

"What? No." Byron shakes his head so hard it's like he's trying to convince the universe of its mistake. "I don't own any pearls. That's not right."

I kneel in front of him and take his hands. "It's not a real string of pearls. That's just what it looks like on the x-ray. It means Sushi probably has what's called a linear foreign body obstruction. It might be something simple, like a string she swallowed, but we have to operate." I turn to Tara. "Start the prep, please? I'll be right in."

"So it's going to be easy? You just pull that string out, and she's back to normal? "

That's not at all what this means, but he's already on the edge of a full panic. "She's in great hands. Tara and I are going to take care of her. You're the one I'm worried about. Do you have anyone who could come wait with you?"

He shakes his head. "It's just me and her. That's why…" Whatever else he was going to say is caught in his throat and only comes out as an exhale.

"What about a hobby? What do you do for fun?" I know that look on his face. His thoughts are going to sink further and further as soon as I'm out of the room. He needs something to keep him busy.

"Hobby? Music… Guitar. Why?"

"That's perfect. You'll write a song about me after this. That's how good I am. Start working on that while I'm in the back, saving Sushi." I wink and finally see just a hint of a smile. "Any questions before I go?"

"She'll make it? She's all I have."

I blow out a short breath. "I'll do the impossible if that's what it takes to save her. Trust me?" He nods, but I can tell he's too numb to really mean it. "This might take a couple of hours, but we'll give you updates when we're able. You and Sushi will both be alright." I rest my hand on his arm and hold his gaze for a moment before leaving to join Tara in the back.

I quickly change into my scrubs and tie the surgical gown over them, but when I finish scrubbing in, I pause at the door to the operating room. The familiar burn of antiseptic fills my nostrils, but that's the only similarity between this and Dad's clinic.

ELH has three operating rooms. Each one is filled with so much technology that I used to joke I would rather have a surgery there than in a human hospital. This is nothing like that. There are only the basics here, and that sends a thrill through me. This is the way Dad started out.

It was a room just like this where he saved Barrow.

I still remember that day so clearly. I was eight and playing with our dog Barrow in the backyard. With each throw, I tossed the tennis ball a little further, but he always chased it down and brought it back to me.

I should have known something was wrong when he slowed down on the last two throws. But I didn't. Then he collapsed. I ran screaming into Dad's clinic next door, sure that Barrow was dead.

The people inside the clinic didn't know what to make of me. Even now, I can see the looks on their faces. Some were concerned, others just shook their heads. But Dad knew it was serious. I watched, helpless, as he sprinted out to carry Barrow back into the clinic.

Before he closed the door where I couldn't follow him any further, he crouched down to my level. His eyes—the same green as mine—were solid and sure. "I will do the impossible if that's what it takes to save him. Trust me?"

I thought for sure our dog was dead, but I nodded anyway because I trusted Dad more than anyone in the world. When he came out two hours later, his surgical mask was still hanging around his neck, but he was wearing the biggest smile I'd ever seen, and I knew he did the impossible. That instant, I decided I wanted to be just like him. I wanted to do the impossible too.

I take a deep breath and force my thoughts back to the present as I step to the operating table. Tara has Sushi prepped and sedated. The IV is started and the endotracheal tube is ready.

Before we start, though, I take a second to talk to Sushi. "Hey sweet girl." I give her a soft stroke between her eyes. "I know you're in pain and you're scared, but Tara and I are here to take care of you. We won't let anything bad happen. Okay, baby? We're going to give you medication now to make you even sleepier. It's okay. You're okay."

I nod to Tara to start pushing the anesthetic while I keep up the gentle strokes until Sushi is asleep. Then I place the tube, hook her to the machine that's going to breathe for her, and hand Tara my phone. "Hit shuffle on the surgery mix for me? "

She stares at me with her eyes wide but doesn't move. "You listen to music during surgeries?"

"You don't? That's fine. We don't have to."

"No. I would, but… Dr. Karchin would have a fit if he knew about this. He insists on complete silence in the operating room."

I make a show of looking around. "Looks like he's not here."

She connects my phone, starts the music, and freezes again. "Club music?"

"Dance pop." I let my shoulders relax and move with the music. "It helps me focus. And a dance break now and then helps prevent stiffness. Are you ready?"

"For dancing or surgery?" She starts to laugh but then catches herself. "Yes, ma'am."

I glare at her. I hate formalities. "Call me Emory."

"Dr. Karchin would kill me."

I raise my eyebrows. "Didn't we decide he's not here? Besides, he wouldn't be able to hear you over this godforsaken noise we call music anyway."

Her lips curl in a slight smile, and her head bobs in time with the bass beat. "Fine… Emory. But only because I hope it fills him with a sudden, unexplained rage as he eats a slice of pecan pie wherever he is right now."

I don't even try to hide my laugh as I pull up my mask and start the surgery.

It takes almost three hours, but finally we stitch Sushi up and move her to the post-op recovery unit. It's really just a couple of large cages set apart from the others, but it's a place where Byron can have a little privacy with her.

"She's okay?" He must ask me that at least half a dozen times as I lead him into the back. "She's really okay? "

"She's okay," I answer again and watch as his shoulders relax and a real smile finally spreads across his face.

This—his smile, this feeling—is the reason I became a vet. And this is what Dad took away from me by not trusting me with anything other than the most menial tasks in his clinic.

"She swallowed a thin piece of string. Probably from the underside of a chair or a couch." I show him the baggie with the string inside. It's several inches long, but not even half as wide as a piece of yarn.

"That's it? So that's good, right? Good that it wasn't anything bigger?"

Tara looks at me and walks back to the operating room to finish cleaning. "You'd think so." I tell him. "But as her body tried to pass it, her intestines bunched up. That led to a sawing motion that cut through her intestine in a couple of spots. We were able to sew them up, and that's good. But she did have some leakage into her abdomen."

Byron's smile falls, and the color drains from his face. "What's that mean? You said she's okay."

"She is," I reassure him. "We had to wash out her abdominal cavity, and she'll have to take antibiotics for a while. But she's going to be fine. You saved her life by calling us today. It would have been a lot worse tomorrow."

I take a deep breath, hoping he'll mirror me. He does. "She's still asleep, but you can sit with her. Give her some soft scratches on her head and let her know you're here."

I watch as he sits in the old folding metal chair beside her. His fingertips ghost across her forehead, as delicate as someone turning the pages of an antique book, and he leans in, whispering something I can't hear. When he looks up at me, I can see the glistening reflection of the overhead lights in his eyes, and his voice cracks. "When can she go home? It's going to be so quiet and lonely without her fussing around the apartment."

"Maybe Sunday, but plan on Monday. Then we'll follow up in a week. Any other questions before I go help clean up? "

He sits silently for several beats before he chuckles. "Guess I need to write that song."

"I told you."

As I walk back to the operating room, I wonder if Dad has ever had anyone write a song about him. Knowing him, he's probably had entire symphonies written about him.