“He’s going to make it,” Dr. Hirsch announced as he entered the waiting room.
“Evan’s going to make it,” his mother, who had sat silently for the entire 13-hour ordeal, finally allowed herself to cry in front of the rest of the family.
“Please doctor, when can I see him?” Already Evan’s mother was gathering her bag and coat looking at the swinging doors to the trauma wing.
“Soon,” said Dr. Hirsch. “Shirley is just finishing up with the bandages, then she’ll come and get you. Evan is heavily sedated though so he may not respond right away.”
“Doctor,” his mother wrapped her tired arms around Hirsch. “Thank you, thank you.” Her voice was shaking now.
Anxiety was always part of a surgeon’s job– you just can’t save everyone. That was a harsh reality that Hirsch had to come to early on. Not every procedure ended in agony though. It was, Hirsch found, wise to dwell in the successes when they came, otherwise Hirsch felt he would suffocate under the emotional weight of the job.
“Great,” Hirsch said disengaging himself from the hug. “His recovery is the real challenge now, so make sure to set up some follow up appointments with Shirley when you see her,” Hirsch said glancing at his watch. Time was getting away from him now, “I’ve got to get going, I have another procedure soon.”
In case you don’t want to go hunting down the letters here they are.
He passed that night.