Perfect Match, page 29
Selena’s eyes sparkled a bit, as she looked at his. A small smile toyed with the corners of her mouth. “Do you like Catalina?”
Roscoe caught himself, feeling a little foolish asking about an imaginary female character in a darned romance novel. “Well…I thought she was…was…captivating.”
Selena blinked her eyes a couple of times slowly, then closed. “You’ll figure….” Her voice faded.
“Figure…what?”
Selena responded with silent breathing.
Roscoe motioned to the nurses. One approached. “Yes?”
“Is…is…Selena okay?”
“She’s fine. She’s resting. Her vitals are still stable.”
He nodded. “I guess the staff guy needs to take me back, but before he does, could I have a few moments by myself?”
The nurse said, “How about that little alcove with the window?”
“Perfect.”
She wheeled him over. He sat watching the lightning bolts ripping through the night sky. The thunder roared as an encore. He prayed as he watched the storm rage. What name do you prefer? I never found out from your preacher-woman Ramona. So, God, Creator of Everything, that’s quite a performance out there tonight. Lots of power, I know that. I don’t understand it, but I know it’s there, so you know what I’m about to ask. I‘ve done the best I know with my homework. I’m submitting it to you and asking only one thing, and that is for you in all your power to let Selena get well. I can give her my kidney, but I know you have the final power to make it work for her. Amen.
On the third floor Dr. Sam Hertford and Dr. Jason Frenchwater had assembled their surgical teams in a large conference room at the end of the wing. Both doctors wanted to reconsider all the information gathered for the transplant.
They combed through the medical files of the donor and recipient. They questioned over and over the data put together by Trevor. They scrutinized X-rays and scans, and compared charts and lab results. One doctor nodded, while the other doctor shook his head.
While the storm raged outside, the tension short-circuited the tempers in the conference room.
Hertford said, “I don’t understand why you’re balking on this?”
Frenchwater snapped, “This is crazy, that’s why.” He waved the computer printouts in his hand. “You’ve got some data here put together by some hospital technician, who’s still trying to get out of a damned community college. Hell, I’ve never heard of the guy. Trevor Drake? Who is he?”
Hertford fired back. “The reason you don’t know him is because you never pay any attention to anyone’s name tag, you pompous ass.” His face reddened.
“Well, that does it. I’ll not be insulted, and I will not participate in some witchdoctor kind of operation. We’ll lose our medical licenses. Do you understand that Hertford?” He stalked over to the window, peering into the electrified sky.
“This young woman could lose her life tonight. Do you understand that Frenchwater?”
He wheeled around. “Don’t try that emotional stuff on me. I’m a doctor; it won’t work.”
The members of the two surgical teams, removal and transplant, sat around the large conference table and either nodded or shook their heads in agreement or disagreement as the two doctors bickered. Not the first time they’d been part of the drama between these two renowned colleagues.
Frenchwater competed with the rumbling thunder. “Get this Trevor guy in here, and let me meet him. I have questions for him.”
Amy, the transplant coordinator, said, “I’ve put several calls into him, but the storm has disrupted the phones. I was able to leave one voice message, but haven’t heard back. Don’t know where he is.”
Frenchwater ran his hand through his hair. “That figures. He’s probably unreliable, probably left town after his little rouge laboratory activities.” He paused a moment. “And what’s this crap about the donor without a name? This would be a great TV show. Frenchwater and Hertford’s back alley kidney boutique.” He gave a false laugh.
Hertford growled. “The donor’s got a name. He just wants to remain anonymous.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. What is he, some kind of pedophile? A 38 year-old male wants to give a kidney to a 17 year-old attractive female, and they’re unrelated? Something’s wacky with all of this.” He returned to one end of the conference table, spilling his fistful of papers, before taking his seat. “How’s the recipient doing?”
Amy said, as she looked at papers in her hand, “All vitals stable, with a couple of marginals.” She rocked her right hand in the air, indicating “iffy.”
Hertford said, “She’s waiting on me to transplant a healthy kidney as soon as you remove it from the donor. Are you going to do this or not, Frenchwater?”
“Of course I’m going to do the removal. I can’t believe you’d ask me that question.”
Hertford shook his head, but chuckled. “Why, oh why, do you put me through this…whatever about four times a year? Why?”
“Come on, Hertford, this is my way of getting psyched up on an important case. I think of this as surgical foreplay. There’s a certain anticipation and excitement knowing that we’re about to do something useful for another human being.” He gave a big smile.
Hertford rolled his eyes. “Frenchwater, if you weren’t so damn good, I’d try to have you committed to an insane asylum.”
They both laughed, and their teams joined in.
Frenchwater said, “Okay, let’s scrub up, and remove an unnamed kidney. Since I don’t pay attention to name tags, just anyone off the street will do as a donor.” He headed for the door, his surgical team pushing their chairs up to the table, and following him.
Hertford said, “His name is Roscoe Fallington.”
Frenchwater stopped and turned. “The Fallington that I know? D.R. Fallington? The most egotistical jerk in town?”
Hertford gave a low chuckle. “Well, seems like he’s changed some.”
“Okay, while I’ve got him on the table, you make a list of unnamed recipients that would like one of his other body parts. I’ll remove those while I’m at it.”
Laughter thundered through the conference room as both teams braced themselves for the coming night.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
1:10 a.m., Wednesday, Asheville
1:10 p.m., Wednesday, Hong Kong
With a whole lot of hurrying and Cold Steel’s international “string-pulling” Madison and her security were booked on flights from Hong Kong to Tokyo, and then from Tokyo to Atlanta, and into Asheville. Flying time was going to be a tight twenty-one hours. The connections would be close, and Madison was becoming more anxious, since they still hadn’t been able to learn any more about Selena’s status.
Madison’s thoughts went from positive to negative, as she tried to settle into her plane seat. She kept thinking if anything bad happened to Selena while on this trip to Hong Kong to clean up another business mess created by D.R. Fallington, she really would kill the bastard. The more she thought about him the more she despised him, and she could feel a certain agitation growing toward Edna Fallington. She’d been far too lenient on D.R. and Rodney. For chrissakes they’d almost kamikazed Fallington Enterprises. She shook her head, as she glanced out the window.
She and her security were booked in first-class. Madison was in a window seat. Beside her was Zhong, who would remain awake, while Mee and Woo napped in the two seats in front of them. There would be a security person awake at all times for the duration of the flights. Madison had never felt so protected and yet she had this uneasy feeling, making it difficult for her to rest in her seat.
Finally she slumped and drifted off, as the plane found a cruising altitude. Her breathing was deep, her flashing dreams unsettling. The plane jostled slightly, and Madison’s body and head leaned against Zhong’s muscular shoulder. The scent of her perfume played havoc with his steeled-discipline.
Since he’d sloshed through the rain, one of the nurses had Roscoe take a preoperative shower with chlorohexidine, before donning a fresh gown, and they covered him with a sheet on the gurney that would transport him to the operating room.
As he was resting, the anesthesiologist, Dr. Joe Billings, approached him. Billings was partially suited up for the operation. “I wanted to go over a few things with you before we roll you into the operating room. I’ve looked over your medical records and studied the numerous reports. Looks like you’re a pretty healthy specimen. And congratulations on being a living kidney donor.”
“We’re wasting time here, doc.”
He chuckled a bit. “Okay, any last minute questions?”
Roscoe shook his head. “Let this be a success for the recipient.”
Billings nodded. “You got it. We’ll be giving you general anesthesia. You’ll be comfortable during surgery and your recovery should be fine. I’ll be monitoring you throughout the entire process.” Billings checked Roscoe’s arm to see that the nurses had already prepared sites for IV.
He said, “Once in the OR, I’ll help position you on the operating table for your comfort and the best angle for your surgeon, Dr. Frenchwater. He’s a hoot. You’ll like him.” Footsteps sounded. “Speak of the devil, here he is.”
“I’m Dr. Frenchwater. Usually doctors and patients have a little more face time before surgery, but I understand you’re in a hurry to be very generous with one of your kidneys. I’ve studied your medical records, and consulted with other doctors. Both your kidneys are in great shape. Do you have a preference which one you want to donate to the recipient?”
“I’d like to give the best one to Selena. You decide.”
Frenchwater thought a split-second. “I’ll take the left one, since both are in excellent shape. Dr. Nancy Smoot will be the assisting physician this evening. We estimate the time of the procedure to be about two and a half hours.” As Frenchwater continued with his explanation, he pulled a surgical pen from his pocket. He lowered the sheet and pulled back Roscoe’s gown.
“We’re going to remove your kidney laparoscopically, called a LAP for short. I’ll make four small incisions, about the width of your index finger, on your left side.” He marked the areas with his pen. “This will allow us to insert four temporary ports so we can see with a camera as we use special instruments to carefully prepare your left kidney for removal.
“Once ready, we’ll make one other incision horizontally through the lower abdomen through which the kidney will be removed.” He made another marking with his pen. “Afterwards we’ll tidy you up with some special stitches and attention, and let you recover comfortably. We’ll even have you walking within the next eighteen to twenty-four hours.” He chuckled.
Roscoe gave a nod. “Sounds good to me.”
“As soon as we remove the kidney it will be checked again, rinsed with a special preservation solution, and then handed off to Dr. Hertford for the transplant into Selena.”
Roscoe said, “Let’s do this. I’m ready.”
Frenchwater chuckled. “See you in a few minutes.” He headed for the door.
Roscoe gave thumbs up, and two nurses rolled the gurney for the operating room, one wheel wobbling noisily.
Once in OR 12 Roscoe noticed a much lower temperature. The ORs were usually kept around 65 degrees, varying only slightly with the preferences of the operating surgeon. The air seemed cleaner and the lighting brighter. He glanced around the room, impressed with the array of monitors, blinking with colorful graphs and beeping at an idle speed, as if waiting for the start of an event.
A member of the surgical team, the circulating nurse, already dressed in her green scrubs, faced him as the gurney was turned. “I’m Barbara. I’ll be assisting with your surgery today. I’m going to take a few minutes to ask you some additional questions.” She checked his hospital ID bracelet again, and proceeded down her checklist of questions and checkpoints that he was already familiar with. The surgical team was well-schooled in verifying everything.
A little later Frenchwater breezed through the door with fresh scrubs, cap, mask, and footies. Another nurse assisted him in putting on the sterile surgical gown and gloves.
He held his gloved hands in the sterile position, out in front of his surgical gown, as he quickly glanced at all the blinking monitors, looked over the tables covered with various surgical items, made eye contact with the anesthesiologist, the assistant surgeon, the surgical nurse, and the two circulating nurses.
He said, “Our surgical team understands your desire for anonymity and we are sworn to secrecy, so I’ll only use your name this one time. I want you to know that the kidney you’re donating to Selena will probably extend her life another twenty years or so, especially since you’re a perfect match. Because of your giving spirit, your name goes to the top of my honor roll of patients. Your gift of life is a good deed, Roscoe.” Frenchwater nodded, genuinely.
There was a moment of silence.
Roscoe kept his composure, as he blinked the watering of his eyes, thinking, first time I could link any of my actions with the word good.
Frenchwater gave a quick nod, “Let’s make our unknown donor comfortable while we do some serious work for him.”
Synchronized movements came from the green-uniformed surgical team. Roscoe was eased from the gurney over on the operating table. Along with the anesthesiologist, two nurses positioned him comfortably. Several clicks and snaps indicated important connections of tubing and wiring were being made to administer medicines to him during surgery, and to receive feedback from his body that translated into readouts on the various monitors.
Frenchwater turned slightly to the circulating nurse. He lowered his voice. “Is my playlist ready?”
She nodded, as she rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dr. Frenchwater. We’re fully loaded.”
Hands moving with practiced precision began creating a sterile field, as Roscoe’s abdominal area was exposed, swabbed thoroughly with a providone-iodine antiseptic. A series of green sterile cloths were draped around the marked surgical area, leaving only the necessary skin exposed where the incisions would be made.
A green curtain-like fabric had been positioned vertically across his upper chest. The drape formed the anesthesia shield behind which the anesthesiologist sat, ready to monitor the measured anesthesia, as he observed Roscoe during the procedure.
Frenchwater gave a slight nod to Billings and the medical equipment began to purr, hum, and whoosh. The general anesthesia was on its way to Roscoe. He let himself relax as he thought, my homework is now out of my hands.
Outside, the storm swirled with a fury. The rumbling thunder could be felt through the OR floor. Loose wiring, tubing or fabric draped across surgical tables wavered.
The room exploded with Frenchwater’s lead song coming from the sound system perched on a wall shelf. Katy Perry belted out Part Of Me, to be followed by three solid hours of club dance music, featuring Frenchwater’s favorites, LMFAO, Lady Gaga, Pitbull, Rhiana, and just about anything else quirky with a beat.
And the operation was underway.
2:20 a.m., Wednesday, Asheville
Frenchwater’s surgical team had worked skillfully, and in barely an hour had removed Roscoe’s left kidney. It was carefully washed, checked, and transported in a special cool saline solution to OR number 13, next door.
The circulating nurse had called Hertford’s team letting them know they could proceed. Roscoe’s kidney was ready for transplant.
Frenchwater continued stitching and finishing up with Roscoe for the next hour and a half. The operation had been trouble free. His team had worked like a well-oiled machine.
Roscoe’s vitals had remained stable throughout.
Only one glitch. The stereo had goofed and skipped one of Frenchwater’s favorite songs in his playlist. But he’d get over it.
2:25 a.m., Wednesday, Asheville
As soon as Hertford got the go ahead that Roscoe’s kidney had passed all the checks and was ready for transplantation, he went to the pre-operative holding area to see Selena. She’d been hovering at the edge of twilight with the pre-sedation she’d received.
Hertford spoke clearly. “Selena, I’m Dr. Sam Hertford. Good news for you. I’ve got a new kidney for you.”
Selena turned her head slightly and slowly opened her eyes. “Might be too late.”
“No, this is going to work for you, but I’ll need your help. I want you to stay strong for me. My team is going to work hard for you, so you have to hang on.”
No response.
Hertford tried another approach, as he cast an eye toward her monitoring devices. “I talked with your friend, Roscoe, a couple hours ago.”
Her eyes opened. “Where?”
Hertford chuckled. “He told me he’s having his foot fixed, and he’d see you after recovery. Said you were a writer of romance novels.”
“You can’t believe everything he says.” She had a partial smile.
“Well, he told me you were a special young woman. Very talented.”
Her smile broadened.
Selena didn’t realize, but Hertford’s questions were to help him assess her, and it also gave him the opportunity to be encouraging before her operation. “What can you tell me about Roscoe’s foot?”
“Hurt it in a wreck, but mainly hurts it by putting his foot in his mouth.” There was an attempt to giggle.
Hertford nodded his head, as he stood by her bed. “Yes, he’s quite a character.”
There was a slight pause.
“Wish my mom could meet…” her voice faded.
Hertford looked around as his assistant surgeon walked up. “Good to see you Norma.”
Selena had tired. Her eyes fluttered a little.
Hertford said, “Selena, my assisting surgeon, Dr. Norma Shulberger, is going to mark a couple of places on your skin, where we’ll be working on you. She’s a real expert.”
