Surprise Delivery(21)

I look up at her and grin – not that she can see it from behind my surgical mask. “You’re not getting scared, are you?”

“You’d be a fool not to be scared,” she says, chuckling nervously.

I guess I’m a fool, then. I’ve been in Syria for a few weeks now, and the fighting has been constant. The chaotic sounds of explosions and gunfire lull me to sleep every night and provide me with a wake-up call every morning. And of course, the stream of people needing emergency surgery because of the fighting is endless. Some can be helped, others can’t. Though I dare say I’ve saved more lives than I’ve lost. Stick a feather in my cap.

It’s terrifying, in a way, but the rush I get from being in the middle of all this – it can’t be described. Call it sick or perverse, but I came here wanting to feel alive again and this place has given me that in spades. The hospital we work at – which is supposedly a safe, neutral site that’s not supposed to be targeted by either side – has been inadvertently hit by gunfire and some of those rockets have gotten damn close. Every single day, I’ve had the specter of death hanging over my head every hour of every day and it fills me with a thrill I’ve never known in my life.

The conditions are pretty terrible and the equipment we have to work with is outdated and rudimentary. It makes me think of that old show M*A*S*H – I used to watch reruns of it when I was younger. Working in a hospital like this – well, calling it a hospital might be a generous description – is what it reminds me of.

Personally, I believe it’s made me a better surgeon. Rather than relying on machines and robotics to assist me with procedures, I’ve had to go back to basics and actually apply all of the knowledge I’ve accumulated throughout my career. I’ve had to be creative and bold. Daring, even. I’ve had to take risks I’d never dream of taking at my hospital back in New York.

To be honest, being able to save somebody’s life working in conditions this adverse is far more gratifying than anything I’ve experienced back home. And this is exactly why I got into medicine in the first place – to save lives and help people.

“How are his vitals?” I ask.

“Holding steady,” she reports.

I nod and continue working on the patient’s leg. The damage from the shrapnel thrown by the IED was extensive. When they rolled him in, I really didn’t think we were going to be able to save the leg. He’s just a kid – no more than fourteen or fifteen – and got caught up in the middle of something, not of his making. He’d been walking through one of the city’s open-air markets when a bomb went off. The death toll is staggering. The sheer number of patients coming in bloody and broken is surreal.

But seeing this innocent kid laying there in a pool of his own blood, barely clinging to life, bothered me in ways most of my trauma patients don’t. In ways, I’ve never experienced before. New York is a tough town, sure, but my education and training there didn’t prepare me for anything like this.

Not that this is the first kid I’ve seen rolled into my operating theater in bad shape. He’s just the latest.

“I don’t know that we’re going to be able to save the leg, Doctor Clyburne,” Sandra says.

“Watch me.”

I’m not one who backs down from a challenge, nor am I one who accepts defeat or failure. Yes, there are times when you just have to throw in the towel. There are times when nothing can be done to stave off the inevitable. But, until I explore and exhaust every single avenue open to me, I refuse to accept the inevitable.

As far as I’m concerned, a kid this age shouldn’t have to gimp around on one leg simply because it’s more expedient for me to give up and move on to the next patient, than it is to put in a little extra time to see if I can fix it.

“Doctor –”

I look up at Sandra. I haven’t worked with her all that often yet, but I know she’s a good nurse. Smart, efficient, and really knows her shit. I know she thinks we’re wasting time – especially given the backlog of people who need help out there. But this is my operating theater and I’m the one in charge. I appreciate all she does and her professionalism, but my personal feeling is that she’s sometimes too quick to cut her losses and move on.

“I’ve got this, Sandra,” I say.

“We have more patients waiting –”

“We’ve triaged everybody and those still waiting have been stabilized,” I tell her.

“I know, but –”

“Look,” I snap. “My operating theater, my rules. I’m not giving up just yet, so if you don’t like it and want to tap out, just make sure you find somebody to replace you in here.”

“Of course,” she says. “I’m sorry, Doctor Clyburne, I didn’t mean to –”

“It’s fine,” I grumble. “Just clamp that off and be ready to give me what I call for without question or hesitation – this is going to get a little bit tricky.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Good. With the status quo restored, I get back to doing what I do – which is saving not just this kid’s life, but his leg as well.





“I – I have to apologize, Doctor Clyburne.”

I look up as I’m pulling off my gown and tossing it into the receptacle to see Sandra walk into the locker room, the door swinging shut behind her. Stepping over to the sink, I start to wash up, my surgical shift done for the day. I still have some follow up with patients to do, but the rest of the night is mine to do with as I please.