Please,” she begged in a frail voice. “Don’t let them put me under the knife. You know what happened to your father.”
Seeing her mother so frightened and helpless broke Melissa’s heart, but what she had to do was clear. “Mom, that was years ago, another time, another hospital. I know these doctors and nurses. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” she said in her most reassuring tone. “Besides, there’s no choice. You have to have this operation.”
“Maybe if they just gave me another laxative...”
“Did you tell the doctor you’d already taken some?”
Betsy nodded; her eyes filled with tears. “I want to go home,” she said. “Please, Lissa, take me home. Please?”
Melissa maintained her composure, but it was difficult. She recognized the depth of her mother’s fears, and she wished with all her heart that she could do what Betsy wanted, but she couldn’t.
“Mom, I’ve asked for the best surgeon there is to do your operation. I’ll be holding your hand when you go in and I’ll be there the moment you come out.”
Apprehension made her heart pound. No one knew better than a nurse how many things could go wrong in the OR. But nothing would, Melissa assured herself, not here in the hospital where she was chief operating officer. Not with the best surgeon doing the procedure.
Greg Brulotte came in the door. “We’re in luck,” he announced. “Dr. Burke was at home. He’ll be right over.”
“Thank goodness.” Melissa’s sigh was shaky. “Thanks, Greg.”
“No problem.” He smiled and touched Betsy’s shoulder. “We’ll all be sending you good thoughts.”
Melissa walked beside the gurney up to the surgical floor, and she kissed her mother as the nurses rolled the gurney into the operating room.
She was talking to Louise, the nurse at the desk, when James Burke stepped off the elevator a few minutes later. Her heart swelled with gratitude and relief as he strode toward her.
“Here comes Lord Burke,” Louise said in an undertone. “Ramrod firmly inserted.”
Melissa didn’t approve of the nurse’s words. To her, Burke’s erect posture inspired confidence, not ridicule. He was an imposing figure, three inches over six feet, with a well proportioned, broad-shouldered build.
Melissa had heard the rumors about him—that he was a tyrant in the OR when some hapless resident made a mistake; that he was unforgiving if staff deviated from his strict protocol; that he didn’t socialize with his co-workers, was a workaholic, a loner; that half the nurses hated him and the other half fantasized about going to bed with him.
At this moment, though, the only thing that mattered to her was his near-mythical prowess in the operating room, and the fact that he was here for her mother.
“Hello, Melissa.” He nodded, but didn’t return Melissa’s strained smile or acknowledge Louise’s polite murmur. Nor did he try to reassure Melissa or ask her anything about Betsy; instead, he walked right past the two women as if they were simply props on a stage where he was the star. Which, of course, he was.
In spite of her gratitude, Melissa found his brusque manner a little irritating. Still, he’d come at her request, and Betsy would have the benefit of his expertise. That really was all that mattered, wasn’t it? So he had the manners of a Neanderthal, so what?
For the next two hours, Melissa experienced firsthand the emotions she’d so often witnessed during her days as a nurse when the relatives of a loved one could only wait for an outcome that was never certain.
She felt nauseous; her throat was dry; her heart beat at twice its normal speed. Louise was wonderfully reassuring and affectionate, brewing cups of green tea from her own private stock, taking minutes from her own busy schedule to spend as much time with Melissa as she possibly could. It was at her suggestion that Melissa finally went down to the small chapel and spent twenty minutes fervently praying for her mother’s
Seeing her mother so frightened and helpless broke Melissa’s heart, but what she had to do was clear. “Mom, that was years ago, another time, another hospital. I know these doctors and nurses. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” she said in her most reassuring tone. “Besides, there’s no choice. You have to have this operation.”
“Maybe if they just gave me another laxative...”
“Did you tell the doctor you’d already taken some?”
Betsy nodded; her eyes filled with tears. “I want to go home,” she said. “Please, Lissa, take me home. Please?”
Melissa maintained her composure, but it was difficult. She recognized the depth of her mother’s fears, and she wished with all her heart that she could do what Betsy wanted, but she couldn’t.
“Mom, I’ve asked for the best surgeon there is to do your operation. I’ll be holding your hand when you go in and I’ll be there the moment you come out.”
Apprehension made her heart pound. No one knew better than a nurse how many things could go wrong in the OR. But nothing would, Melissa assured herself, not here in the hospital where she was chief operating officer. Not with the best surgeon doing the procedure.
Greg Brulotte came in the door. “We’re in luck,” he announced. “Dr. Burke was at home. He’ll be right over.”
“Thank goodness.” Melissa’s sigh was shaky. “Thanks, Greg.”
“No problem.” He smiled and touched Betsy’s shoulder. “We’ll all be sending you good thoughts.”
Melissa walked beside the gurney up to the surgical floor, and she kissed her mother as the nurses rolled the gurney into the operating room.
She was talking to Louise, the nurse at the desk, when James Burke stepped off the elevator a few minutes later. Her heart swelled with gratitude and relief as he strode toward her.
“Here comes Lord Burke,” Louise said in an undertone. “Ramrod firmly inserted.”
Melissa didn’t approve of the nurse’s words. To her, Burke’s erect posture inspired confidence, not ridicule. He was an imposing figure, three inches over six feet, with a well proportioned, broad-shouldered build.
Melissa had heard the rumors about him—that he was a tyrant in the OR when some hapless resident made a mistake; that he was unforgiving if staff deviated from his strict protocol; that he didn’t socialize with his co-workers, was a workaholic, a loner; that half the nurses hated him and the other half fantasized about going to bed with him.
At this moment, though, the only thing that mattered to her was his near-mythical prowess in the operating room, and the fact that he was here for her mother.
“Hello, Melissa.” He nodded, but didn’t return Melissa’s strained smile or acknowledge Louise’s polite murmur. Nor did he try to reassure Melissa or ask her anything about Betsy; instead, he walked right past the two women as if they were simply props on a stage where he was the star. Which, of course, he was.
In spite of her gratitude, Melissa found his brusque manner a little irritating. Still, he’d come at her request, and Betsy would have the benefit of his expertise. That really was all that mattered, wasn’t it? So he had the manners of a Neanderthal, so what?
For the next two hours, Melissa experienced firsthand the emotions she’d so often witnessed during her days as a nurse when the relatives of a loved one could only wait for an outcome that was never certain.
She felt nauseous; her throat was dry; her heart beat at twice its normal speed. Louise was wonderfully reassuring and affectionate, brewing cups of green tea from her own private stock, taking minutes from her own busy schedule to spend as much time with Melissa as she possibly could. It was at her suggestion that Melissa finally went down to the small chapel and spent twenty minutes fervently praying for her mother’s