Under the Knife(43)

“Why? Is the … robot—broken?” Mr. Sanchez asked suspiciously.

“No. Everything’s fine. Really. I just want everything to be perfect. So we’re going to delay the operation. Just for an hour, maybe two, to do some additional safety checks. Okay?”

He digested this, then leaned in close to his wife. They shared a brief exchange in Spanish.

“Excuse me, but do you have to use the robot, Doctor?” Mr. Sanchez asked.

“Yes,” Finney said.

Yes, Rita thought. She bit her tongue to prevent the word from leaving her mouth. She tasted warm, salty blood.

What would make her say such a thing?

Because, no, she didn’t need to use the robot.

She had to choose her next words carefully. “Well—as we’ve talked about, Mrs. Sanchez will be part of something exciting. Something that is going to make surgery better.”

“Yes, Doctor. But will it make her surgery better?”

“Yes, it will,” Finney said.

Yes, it will, Rita almost said, but stopped herself. She knew that wasn’t true.

Mr. and Mrs. Sanchez were looking at her expectantly.

Finney, in her head: “Yes. It. Will.”

“No … it … won’t,” Rita responded, as much to Finney as to Mr. Sanchez. She was surprised at how difficult it was to speak. Like her tongue, bloodied and sore from where she’d bitten it, was trying to obey two masters at once.

“Is that really what you want to tell them, Dr. Wu?” Finney pressed.

Rita said, “What I mean to say is that she’s going to do great no matter what. Robot, or no robot.”

“I don’t want her to be a—guinea pig. No offense, Doctor.”

“She won’t be a guinea pig. I promise. I would never experiment on a patient.”

“Experiment.” Mr. Sanchez frowned and pursed his lips, as if the word had left a bad taste. “But … no disrespect, Doctor: That’s what this sounds like. An experiment.”

Mrs. Sanchez’s eyebrows drew together. She posed a question to her husband in rapid-fire Spanish. He shook his head and patted her arm.

“Look,” Rita said, spreading her hands. “Mr. Sanchez. I’ve done this operation over five hundred times. The robot is simply a tool to help me. A tool that we’ve tested literally thousands of times.”

She didn’t add that these tests had been conducted in computer models, simulators, live pigs, human cadavers—everything other than a living, breathing human being.

Until now.

Mr. Sanchez let go of his wife’s hand and folded his arms. “This robot is … safe?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Would you let the robot operate on your family? Your husband?” He held both of his palms up in front of him. “No disrespect, Doctor.”

Your husband. She knew he didn’t mean anything by that, and she tried not to let it irritate her. She heard that a lot. People always assumed she had a husband. She didn’t need a husband.

(But Spencer, she needed Spencer)

“Yes.” She truly believed the auto-surgeon was safe. She hoped, desperately, that it would be safe in her hands, this morning.

Mr. Sanchez glanced at his wife, and in that one look Rita glimpsed so very much. Love. Devotion. Loyalty. Fear.

Would Spencer look at me like that, under the same circumstances? After how I’ve treated him?

(No, can’t think about Spencer don’t think about him not now)

He interlaced his fingers in his lap, peered down at them, and sighed.

She leaned over and touched his arm. “Surgery is scary. I know. I’ve had it myself. It’s one of the reasons I became a surgeon—I wanted to help people.”

He nodded and turned to his wife. More exchanges in rapid Spanish, at the end of which Mrs. Sanchez smiled faintly and nodded.

Mr. Sanchez’s posture relaxed. He offered Rita a resigned smile.

“Okay, Doctor. She’ll have the robot surgery today. You’re a great doctor, and we trust you.”

His smile widened as hers faltered.

You told us everything was going to be fine, Finney had said. But it wasn’t.

“Now, just to go over everything again: You understand what I’m doing today?”

“You’re removing her—vesícula biliar.” Mr. Sanchez gestured toward his abdomen. Mrs. Sanchez nodded.

“Her gallbladder,” Rita agreed. “Correct. And you understand that there will be observers in the operating room? People who aren’t directly involved in the surgery?” Mrs. Sanchez had signed a form acknowledging her approval of observers but could still back out if she wanted to. In which case, they’d go forward with the surgery but not allow any visitors.

And Chase would freak out.

Mr. Sanchez translated, his wife nodded, and he said, “Teaching is important. As long as you’re the one doing the operation.”

“I will be. And you’re okay with the delay?”

An exchange of Spanish. They both chuckled. “She’s wondering if she can have a snack. She’s hungry.”

Rita forced herself to laugh. “Unfortunately, no.” She then asked Mr. Sanchez, “Are you going to be here after the surgery?”

“Yes. In the waiting room. Our daughter will be here, too. She’s driving down from college.”