Masks Read Free Page A

this is all a bad nightmare. How could I have let this happen to an animal who trusts me so completely, who relies on me to take care of her?
    Dr. Mac pats my shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. These things just happen sometimes.”
    Yes. They happen to careless, unthinking people who shouldn’t be allowed around animals.
    I feel a tingling in my nose and under my eyes, which is a warning that I’m about to cry. I turn away to get myself under control. When the tingling stops, I look back at my friends. The three of them wear serious, concerned expressions. Maggie forces a tight smile meant to be comforting.
    “I want to help with the operation,” I say.
    “Are you sure, Sunita? You don’t have to,” Dr. Mac says.
    “I’m sure.” I have to be there for Mittens. She depends on me, and I’ve already let her downonce. I don’t want to do it twice. I go and change into scrubs.
    When I step into the surgery room and see Mittens stretched out limply on the surgery table, I take in a quick, sharp breath. My hands shake and I hold them together tightly to stop the quivering. Mittens looks…dead. The room starts spinning. I stagger and grip the edge of a stool.
    Dr. Mac looks up. “Steady,” she says. “She’s only anesthetized. Sit and put your head down.”
    I do as she suggests. After a minute, the room stops spinning. When I look up, Mittens’ belly is shaved and Dr. Mac is swabbing it with orange iodine.
    “Maybe you should let Maggie and me handle this,” Dr. Mac suggests as Maggie comes in.
    “I’m OK,” I say. “I want to help.”
    Dr. Mac nods.
    I set the surgical instruments out on a tray, as I’ve done so many times before. Dr. Mac inserts an I.V. into Mittens’ foreleg. “She’ll need fluids during surgery,” Dr. Mac says, “and we’ll start her on high levels of antibiotics, too.”
    Maggie monitors the anesthetic as well as Mittens’ vital signs. Then Dr. Mac reaches out to me with her right hand. “Scalpel.”
    I place the instrument firmly in her outstretched hand the way she’s taught us. At least I try, but my hand shakes slightly. Dr. Mac notices and looks at me sharply, with concerned eyes. For a moment I think she’ll tell me to leave, but she turns back to Mittens.
    Maggie adjusts a small, intense lamp on Mittens as Dr. Mac makes a precise slit up my cat’s belly. I’ve seen her do this on other animals before, but this time I have to turn away.
    I try not to look at Mittens, but sometimes I just have to peek. Dr. Mac makes small cuts along the intestine with the scalpel, then tugs out the yarn a little at a time. The process of snipping the intestine and pulling out the yarn takes forty-five minutes. It takes her another half hour to stitch Mittens’ intestines and belly back up. Finally Dr. Mac flushes out Mittens’ abdomen with saline before closing.
    “Done,” she announces. On a white towel beside Mittens are inch-long pieces of orange yarn. “I’ve removed all the yarn, but I’m afraid she’s not out of the woods yet, Sunita,” Dr. Mac tells me.
    “What could go wrong?” I ask.
    “Mittens had a small tear in her intestines.That happens sometimes as the yarn pulls—it causes the intestines to rupture. When bacteria from the intestines leak out into the abdomen, we have to be concerned about an infection called peritonitis,” she tells me. “All we can do now is wait and watch.”
    When I saw all that yarn laying there beside Mittens, I’d thought the danger had passed. Now I’m scared all over again. “This peritonitis,” I say. “Is it…I mean, could it…”
    “In a severe case it could be fatal.” Dr. Mac answers my unasked question.
    I blink back tears.
    Dr. Mac turns to me. “Sunita, try not to worry. Everything probably will be fine. I just have to be honest with you about the possibilities.”
    “I know,” I say.
    “Mittens will sleep for a few hours now,” Dr. Mac explains. “You can leave if you need to.”
    “Thanks,” I say as I