Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(108)

The second she’d formed the thought she knew she shouldn’t have because this was not the time to tempt fate.

Her phone rang and it was DJ. She had hung up on him just as he’d asked about the dinner. Naturally, that was the part he cared about. But she didn’t have an answer for him, especially now. Despite all good sense telling her to let the call go to voice mail, she took it, because it was DJ and Emma was her patient.

“It’s Emma,” he said, his voice shaking. “She collapsed in the bathroom when we were . . . when we were talking.”

“Where are you right now?” Please be in an ambulance, please.

“In an ambulance. She was fine, she was laughing. She . . .”

“DJ,” she said as gently as she could, “is she conscious?”

“Yes, but she . . . the pain. It seems awful . . . Her head . . . They have her hooked up to an IV . . . They’re giving her something.”

Trisha left her office and headed for Anne’s desk. “Is there a paramedic near you? Can you put them on?”

“Emma’s doctor wants to speak to you,” he said to someone.

Trisha got an update from the paramedic and made sure they were bringing Emma straight to Stanford. They tried to tell her that they had to take her to the closest hospital. It took her another five minutes to make sure they did no such thing. “I will get authorization from your dispatch. But this patient has an astrocytoma that I am very closely familiar with. We may not have time for another doctor to get the images and get familiarized with the case. If the patient does not come straight here, you will be responsible for the outcome and it will not be a good one.” She was barking orders, but this was not open to discussion.

Anne stood when she saw Trisha approach. Trisha scribbled the name of the ambulance company on a notepad for Anne. “Call them and make sure they’re routed here.”

Anne nodded and was on it.

“You have to make sure they come straight to Stanford,” she told DJ when he got back on the phone. “Now tell me exactly what happened.”

DJ walked her through it. They had met Jane, and Emma had been in a really good mood. Then she’d gone to use the restroom while he’d been speaking to Trisha. When Trisha hung up, he went to see why it was taking so long. Someone came running out of the bathroom and said Emma had passed out in there. She had regained consciousness, but she’d woken up with an unbearable headache. Yes, she was still coherent. No, she hadn’t thrown up. Yes, she knew her name. Yes, she knew what day of the week it was. She had asked to be taken to Trisha. Over and over again.

This was good news. This meant Emma was going to have the surgery. Please, please let it mean that. And please, please let it still be possible to perform the surgery.

“Hang in there,” she said. “I’ll be waiting for her when you get in. They’ll bring you straight into the ER.”

EMMA WAS CONSCIOUS when they brought her in. But there was almost certainly a bleed in her brain. The OR was already prepped and the anesthesiologist and the team were waiting.

“There’s something I need to say before you put me under.” Emma grabbed her hand and Trisha turned her focus to her. “I want you to save my life, to remove the tumor. And if you can’t now, if it’s too late, I want you to know that I’m grateful for how hard you tried.”

Trisha leaned over and hugged her. “Thank you. I’m going to do everything I can. You’re going to be painting vaginas destroying things for a long time. Or maybe sculpting them. Vaginas destroying things in 3-D? I cannot wait to see what you do.”

Emma grinned. “You bet. I have all sorts of ideas popping in my head for pieces. I’m thinking: mixed media, wrought-iron work mixed in with my canvases. The breaking of chains around physical abilities, that sort of thing.”

“Navigating limitations but not as boundaries. I like it.”

“See, she gets it,” Emma said to her brother. He smiled through his tears and Trisha, despite all good sense, gave his arm a squeeze.

“Seriously, Dr. Raje,” Emma said. “You have no idea how grateful I am. I will literally carry your bags around for you for the rest of your life if you ask.”

“That’s a tempting offer. I do hate carrying bags.”

Emma actually got wistful. “Really? I love my bags.”

“You should meet my sister.”

Emma grinned. Then she turned to her brother and took his hand. “It was not your fault. Mum would have had that stroke, anyway, at work or somewhere else. It wasn’t your fault.”

He nodded.

“It’s not always about you, knobhead. But I do love you.”

“You’re the best thing in my life,” he said simply before dropping a kiss on her forehead, holding on for a few seconds, and letting the nurse lead him away.

Dr. Entoff met her outside the OR. “You don’t have to do the surgery. I can handle it. You can observe if you like.”

To quote DJ: Was he bloody joking? “This is my patient, Dr. Entoff. You’ll have to fire me to keep me from doing this surgery.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s one case.”

Entoff loved to tell the story of how she’d organized that mission of doctors when she was thirteen. “Do you know why I chose neurosurgery, sir? Because the mission we organized to perform those surgeries couldn’t help the patients with neurogenic blindness. So this isn’t one case—it’s the reason I became a doctor.”