Bruce says, “We warned you in advance Dr. Box has a terrible bedside manner. He’s a genius, not a communicator. But remember, he’s never lost a patient at this hospital, or any other.”

“Never?” they say.

“Around here he’s called ‘The Miracle,’ and for good reason. Thirty-two hopeless cases. No fatalities.”

“I don’t like him!” Jordan says.

“I don’t either,” Bruce says. “In fact, I hate his guts. But he’ll find a way to save Lainey.”

“How could he stand there and say there’s no hope?” Will asks.

“It takes the pressure off him to be perfect.”

Nurse Sally pipes in, “The truth is Doc Box ain’t fit to be in the company of man nor beast. The good Lord pulled every ounce of useful goodness outta that man at birth, and stuck a lump of coal where his heart should be.”

“But?” Jordan says.

“But he’s the one you want in that room with Lainey, because he never gives up. He’ll fight the devil to save your child. And he will save her. But after he does, leave him be. Don’t go looking for him. Don’t try to thank him.”

“Why?”

“This ain’t a celebratin’ sort of man. You’ve seen him at his best, not his worst. Trust me, you’ll do well to leave him to his lonely miserableness.”

Jordan and Will grudgingly sign off on the surgical procedure, and for the next six to eight hours, I reside in hell.

Of course, Lainey Sue died.

VIII

 

LAINEY SUE DIED several times on my table, but with her walnut-sized heart in my skilled hands, she came back to life again and again. You’d think this kid was Joan of Arc, the way she fought so valiantly! I got into it like I always do, hurling blood-curdling insults at my colleagues, my hospital, Lainey Sue, her innards, her parents, and even Calfee Coffee, which I actually like.

By the time it was over the nurses were sobbing with joy, and I’d gone through my entire repertoire of oaths and cuss words at least six times, having used them in every possible combination.

My hands were cramped beyond use, my nerves frayed, and the tendons in my back and neck were twisted and gnarled like Gordian Knots from the mental and physical exhaustion that comes from total concentration while standing in a precise position for hours at a time. Like always, the pain in my head felt life-threatening.

On the table, Lainey Sue was resting quietly, pink and fit.

Nurse Janet gushed, “What an amazing little girl! She absolutely refused to die!”

To me she said, “I’m filing a grievance against you for sexual harassment and verbal abuse.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “You’ve worked with me before. You know how I am.”

“Never again. I’m done.”

“We just saved a life here. Do you really care about a few cuss words?”

“You’re getting worse.”

“How?”

“You’re a complete psychopath. You called me the C-word. You barked like a dog.”

“Which C-word?”

“All of them. You called me things that didn’t even make sense.”

“I was in a zone!”

Nurse Margaret said, “She’s right. I’ve never heard such vile language. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

She shook her head.