Chapter 1
Today has been a remarkable day. It’s the kind that every doctor lives for. I kicked ass today. All of my surgeries went perfectly, no big surprises or complications. Two chemo patients got to ring the bell, indicating they’re done with treatment, and I only had to deliver bad news to one person.
That is a good day. Being a gynecological oncologist doesn’t grant me many of them, but this . . . this was one.
“We have another surgery lined up in about an hour. I’m going to check on another patient and then I’ll see you back down here,” I explain.
Martina gives me the look that says I’m micromanaging again. “We’re prepping the room now. Don’t worry, we’re on top of it.”
“Good. I would hate to have to find a new nurse.”
She laughs. “You will never get rid of me.”
“Lucky me.”
“I agree, you’re lucky I love you enough to deal with your crazy!” Martina yells as I’m walking away.
“Feeling is mutual!” I reply over my shoulder.
She is truly the best nurse I’ve ever worked with. Her patients come first, and she isn’t afraid to piss people off to get things done. Which is pretty much how I live. My patients are my world. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help a patient fight this horrible disease.
I enter my favorite patient, Mrs. Whitley’s, room.
“Well, I thought you weren’t going to stop by this morning.” Her smile is bright and warm.
Mrs. Whitley has become almost like a second mother to me in the last four years. Since she moved to inpatient care this month, I have begun coming here each morning to catch up with her and tell her more than I should. Today, though, I couldn’t get here as early as I normally do.
“I had an emergency.”
She scoffs. “Oh, please. I know you’re a busy doctor and don’t have time to sit with a dying woman.”
“You’re not dying today. You’re too ornery to drift off peacefully.”
She’s the patient that med school professors warn you about—the ones you grow attached to and start to look at as something more than just a number.
I’ve done my best to keep her at a distance, but she’s warm, funny, kind, and very alone. I see myself in her more than I care to admit most days. The way she’s pushed her family and friends away when she lost the love of her life. How she struggles with forgiving herself for not doing enough.
But most of all, she reminds me of my mother. Which is really the worst part. “Now, tell me about your doctor beau.”
I roll my eyes because most patients want to talk about themselves, but not her. She got wind of the gossip a few months ago and hasn’t let up since.
“Westin is good.”
“Just good? Then the boy isn’t doing it right.”
I laugh. “He’s wonderful, but you know I’m not going to get serious about anyone, least of all another doctor who is far too busy for a relationship. Whether he thinks he is or not.”
This earns me a pointed finger. “Now, you listen, Serenity, you are not immune to love because you have a career. My Leo was a great businessman, but he had room for me and our son.”
She is also the only patient I allow to call me by my first name.
I never correct her and I can’t help but smile at how just the mention of her beloved husband causes her eyes to go soft. Leo died of a heart attack about five years ago. All the signs were there, but he pretended everything was fine, like my mother.
I knew better and if I had pushed her harder, maybe she would’ve lived.
I shake that off because I can’t get wrapped up in nostalgia today, I have surgeries, and then tomorrow . . .
“I know that look . . .”
“What look?” I ask.
“The one where you’re thinking about what tomorrow is and not the man we were discussing. Don’t think I don’t hear the gossip, missy. I know it’s your big day and you’re refusing to talk about it to anyone. Superstitions aren’t a good thing.”
“I’m not superstitious, I’m being cautious. Big difference, and aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be doing my part if I agreed with you. Besides, you have a handsome doctor who I’m sure does that.”
Back to Westin again. She’s nothing if not persistent. “I assure you, he loves to argue with me.”
“All men do, but do let him win once in a while, it helps the fragile male ego,” Mrs. Whitley’s voice drops to a whisper on that last part.
“I’ll do my best.”
Then she laughs. “I doubt that, but still. I wonder if John will stop by for a visit today.”
My heart breaks for her just a bit.
Years ago, when I asked what kept her fighting the cancer, she told me she was fighting for more time to try to make amends with her son. She wanted him to love her again. She told me how after Leo’s death, she had a hard time being a mother. She loved her child, but he was a constant reminder of her husband. By the time she pulled herself back together, it was too late. His anger had taken root and grown.
But she fought, and still fights for him to come back around. A mother’s love is the strongest bond in the world. My mother would’ve done anything for her kids.
“I hope he does.”
“Me too, but if not, there’s always tomorrow. And tomorrow is a day for miracles, Dr. Adams. I just know it.”
Tomorrow is the big day. The chance to try a new way to fight cancer. So much could go wrong, but then again . . . it could go right. I try to focus on the possibilities rather than the failures.
This could be an answer to someone’s prayers.
“Well, I have a surgery to get to, and you have an appointment with the phlebotomist,” I tell her.
“Off you go then, no need to sit with me when you have people to save.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She smiles a wide grin that makes me feel like a child who pleased her mother. “Tomorrow, when you do great things.”
I wink at her and leave, trying not to feel like I’m floating on air.
A few minutes later, I’m in the scrub room while my patient, Claudia, is prepped, and being wheeled into the operating room. I stand here, scouring my hands and arms, playing through the partial hysterectomy surgery in my mind. I’ve done this surgery over a thousand times, but I believe complacency is the mark of death. I won’t allow myself to get comfortable when someone’s on the table.
Once I’m fully scrubbed, I walk backwards through the doors and everyone goes into motion. My hands are covered, mask tied around my neck, and I walk over toward the patient.
“All right, Claudia.” I give her a comforting smile, but the fear in her eyes is clear. “Do you have any last questions before we begin?”
“Just . . .” She shivers. “. . . want to make sure . . . I’ll be okay.”
Her teeth are chattering. “You’re going to be fine,” my voice is warm. “You’re going to take a nap, and when you wake up, I’ll have taken the tumor out. All of this is good, and you need to let me do my thing, okay?”
She nods, still with terror in her eyes. “Okay.”