The first time it doesn't work

FLASH FICTION

I’ve always had answers for almost every single question that my patients ask me, “Do you think he’ll make it?” “Doctor Chad, will he need another surgery after this?” They would ask. “Doctor, how can I ever thank you enough?” Miss O’Neill cried on my white lab coat as she received her seven year old daughter who had been cured of a kidney issue, and we all joined in one hug.

“I don’t know, but his results seem positive, we can only pray,” “If he responds well to this one, which by the looks of it he is, it should be his last one.” I would say to the patient's family or friends. “You can thank God, He did all the life-giving,” I respond to the tear-filled Miss O’Neill as her skinny daughter clings to me with all the happiness she can master. This was what I was called to do. The feeling of having restored joy and hope and life to people always felt like summer evenings. Calm and satisfying.

With over 100 successful surgeries in my three years of being a practicing surgeon, I hadn’t known death or failure, so when Chanel’s mother asked me why I couldn’t answer the question and God didn’t answer that either, because I asked Him, more than once.

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I sit in my office, red eyes, tear stained cheeks, smelly clothes. I haven’t moved at all for the past twenty four hours. I have had anything to eat or drink, or even a bathroom break. I stare at my favorite Bible verse, Jeremiah chapter twenty nine verse eleven. It means nothing to me at the moment because I don’t understand. Why?

Prior to, I was in the waiting room with her joyful mother, waiting for Chanell to wake up so she could go home. But she never did. And the nurse broke the news to the both of us in the midst of our laughter and chit-chat.

Prior to, the nurse walked in to check Chanell’s pulse and heartbeat. Flat. Unresponsive. She grabs the defibrillator. Shocks her heart. Nothing. Lifeless. Dead. No one saw this coming.

Prior to, they all clapped as I stitched her skin back together and the team cleaned up. Easiest heart surgery. Chanel was a delight to work with.

Prior to that; she walked into the surgery room with nothing but a bright smile and the hospital blue dress with pretty pink flowers that we give to kids. The bright white lights were nothing in comparison to the joy she radiated. She laid on the bed, still smiling and wished us good luck. She was the one who needed it, I thought. I injected the anesthetics and she went numb.

Prior to that, “It’s a simple procedure with minimal complications,” I explained to them. Chanel was on her mother’s lap holding her mother's hand tightly. She was nodding along as I explained what would happen.

Prior to, a young mother, with a happy child walk in. Mother to Chanel Phillis. She was laughing as Chanel told a story smiling as words slowly rolled out of the mouth. They were happy.

Prior to all that, Chanel was alive, the mother was happy, and I knew and believed that God had good plans in store for all my patients.