Chapter 13
Alexia
“Blood pressure's dropping dangerously, 85/50,” Miguel announces while we work on repairing the aortic valve of our patient — just a child, really. Her skin is pale as winter moonlight under the harsh operating room lights.
“Come on, Katie,” I whisper, my gloved fingers steady despite the tension coiling in my chest. “Just a little longer. Your mom's waiting to show you the snow.”
“Dr. Winters?” One of the residents catches my attention, his voice trembling with concern. “Should we consider putting her back on cardiopulmonary bypass?”
“No, her heart can handle this. We just need to trust a little more,” I assert, surprising myself — confidence has never been my strong suit. The metallic tang of blood mingles with the sharp antiseptic scent that permeates the operating room.
As luck would have it, the valve seats perfectly, and while I'm closing the sutures, I catch myself humming that ridiculous song about giant pigeons that Selene invented for Holly. The melody echoes softly against the steady beep of the monitors.
“Well, that's something I never thought I'd see,” Miguel teases, rolling his eyes.
“Let's focus on closing up,” I growl, but the warmth in my chest betrays my stern tone.
My brief moment of triumph shatters when a nurse with fear etched across her face delivers the bad news just as I'm about to leave the OR. “Dr. Winters, it's Holly Thompson. Her fever's spiking.”
My stomach twists into knots. Post-operative infections in transplant patients are particularly dangerous, and the little girl's new heart isn't fully adapted yet. Now that we've moved her to the regular ward, it's even more precarious.
Halfway to Holly's room, Selene falls into step beside me. She doesn't say anything, just nods hello, matching my hurried pace. She must have heard what's happening.
“She was so happy just a couple of hours ago,” Vivian explains, worry lines creasing her forehead. “She wouldn't stop talking about learning to fly with Selene, and then suddenly…”
“It doesn't have to be serious,” I reassure her, the words smooth from years of practice. “A fever can be caused by countless things, but with a newly transplanted heart, we need to be cautious. I don't see any cardiac dysfunction, so we can almost certainly rule out organ rejection, which would be our biggest concern.”
“The giant pigeons,” Holly mumbles, her voice feverish and distant. “Look, they're wearing Santa hats.”
“We'll do a culture and start broad-spectrum antibiotics. We might need to adjust the immunosuppressants — mycophenolate sometimes causes fever as a side effect. Hey, Vivian, don't worry, she'll be fine, you'll see,” I promise, squeezing her shoulder.
Late in the afternoon, I catch my reflection in the locker room mirror while pulling my hair into a ponytail. The woman staring back at me seems different somehow. Still controlled, still austere, but there's something there that wasn't present just days ago.
Then I remember. New Year's Eve shift. For the past twelve years, I've volunteered to work that night. While everyone celebrates the arrival of the new year, I stay at the hospital, clinging to the solitude of a strange, always too-quiet night.
I wonder if it's too late to change it. It would be incredible to spend that night with Selene, watch the fireworks, or swing by Times Square to welcome the New Year.
“Admiring how hot you look in scrubs?” Arya asks as she bursts through the door, her surgical cap covered in snowmen.
“Some of us have work to do.”
“Right, that's why you're staring at yourself in the mirror like a lovesick teenager. Or maybe you're debating whether to text a certain helicopter pilot?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows as she starts changing.
“I'm in a hurry,” I blurt, trying to escape the locker room before she starts saying something ridiculous.
“Have you noticed how Selene seems to know your surgery schedule these past couple days? Bet one of those Christmas elves is leaking it to her.”
“Arya!” I protest, though the smile tugging at my lips gives me away.
“Did you just throw your surgical cap at me? That's workplace violence, HR has a whole protocol about this kind of thing and-”
“You haven't been to an HR meeting since you started at this hospital. Well, maybe for some protests, but that's it,” I remind her, rolling my eyes. “Think it's too late to change the New Year's Eve schedule?”
“You know New Year's Eve is tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” I admit with a huff. “I wish I could spend it with Selene.”
“You can.”
“I'm on call,” I remind her.
“Yeah, like always during the holidays, but that doesn't mean you can't celebrate New Year's with Selene. Ask her on a hospital date. Do something special in the cafeteria or lock your office door, and you know…” she adds, making an obscene gesture with her fingers.
“You're insane.”
“True, but it's not a bad idea. Might not be ideal, but it's better than nothing, right? Oh, saved by your phone buzz,” she groans as I receive Holly's culture results.
I signal her to wait while I hurry to check them.
“That smile?”
“We've got the cause of the infection,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Well, your girl's with her right now. Better hurry, Winters, before she slips away.”
I shake my head, amused, as she heads for the shower, though I'm not sure if my joy comes from knowing Selene's in the hospital, Arya's comments, or Holly's test results.
“Hey, Arya!” I shout before leaving the locker room. “That idea of yours? Not bad at all.”
I stop by the nursing station to adjust the girl's medication and head to room 305. When I arrive, Selene is kneeling by the bed, telling an absurd story about Christmas elves who change the time in Times Square and manage to make the big light ball drop forty minutes late, so a seven-year-old can make it to the celebration.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” I ask after assuring Vivian that Holly will be much better in just a few hours with the new medication.
Selene looks at me curiously but follows me out of the room, her steps small and hesitant, perhaps surprised by my cryptic request.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, I just wanted to propose something… unusual. See, the thing is, I'd like to celebrate New Year's with you and…”
“That's unusual? Wow…” she interrupts, placing her right hand over her heart in a dramatic gesture.
“I'm on call and can't change it now. Would it be weird if we had dinner here and maybe watched the fireworks from the roof garden? I mean, if you want to — we haven't discussed it, you probably have plans for that night.”
“My plans include celebrating New Year's with a green-eyed doctor. I don't care if it's in Times Square, on the Watson Memorial rooftop, flying through a snowstorm, or locked in your office.”
“Are you serious?”
“I'll bring dinner,” she offers with a wink.