Chapter 52
FRANKIE
My dad doesn’t call again. My mom doesn’t respond to my texts. But it doesn’t matter because Logan wraps me in his arms and holds me all day.
We talk about daycares and nannies and the pros and cons of meddling grandparents, then take a long afternoon nap that actually feels restorative.
Taking him to the airport this time feels almost routine.
“I’ll see you in Minneapolis next week,” he promises, and a week apart is so much more doable than a month.
“All these frequent flier miles are starting to stack up.”
He kisses me, his hands circling my waist, his thumbs rubbing the secret inside. “Might need to use them on a honeymoon after the season ends and before this baby arrives.”
“I don’t know where we’ll squeeze it in, but the idea of a beach vacation sounds pretty magical right now.”
“I hear that Cabo is a short flight from here.” He grins. “A weekend at least.”
I nod. We can do a weekend for sure.
Then I drive to the hospital for a second night shift on call with the interventional radiologist.
“How are you doing?” Dr. Okafor asks.
"Perfect.” It’s a bit of a fibbing stretch, but I am looking forward to getting back to work tonight.
“Any nausea?”
I shake my head.
He nods. “I ask because it can happen to pregnant colleagues, especially mid-procedure. If it does, hand sanitizer is a life saver. Just inhale a good whiff of it and it’ll buy you fifteen minutes of freedom.”
“Really?” I grab some from the dispenser and rub it on my hands, then breathe it in. I can see how it would help. “Thanks for the tip.”
“No problem.” His pager goes off and his tone immediately turns crisp. “We've got a femoral artery pseudoaneurysm coming up from the cath lab. Post cardiac catheterization complication. Should be a good learning case for you. What are the first steps?”
“Assessment. Stabilization. Imaging.”
"Good. And our approach?"
"Ultrasound-guided thrombin injection?”
“Very good.” He nods at the IR nurse who joins us in the angio suite. “This is Francesca Wilson, fourth year student.”
“Hi.” She verbalizes her checklist as we make sure we have everything we need.
My pulse picks up, but doesn’t start racing.
I love the adrenaline of a new case with every patient, never knowing what's going to roll through the doors next.
The kind of medicine where you have to think fast and move faster.
The patient in his sixties rolls in on a stretcher, looking pale and understandably anxious.
"Mr. Kowalski, I'm Dr. Okafor. We're going to fix you right up. You’re a star tonight, did you know that? You’ve got a special audience. Francesca, introduce yourself as you do an initial assessment.”
The second thing we’re called into is a paracentesis consult in the ER. And just as we strip off our gear from that, there’s a five minute warning that a trauma is incoming.
My blood runs cold when I hear the details. A vascular injury at a late night rec league hockey game.
"Francesca?” Dr. Okafor's voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. "You coming?"
I nod, my feet moving even though my brain is still trying to compartmentalize the real case coming in the door. It’s not Logan, it’s not my dad, it’s personal for me.
“Patient name is Leo Chen, nineteen-year-old male—”
My stomach drops. Just a kid.
"—skate blade laceration to the left thigh, significant blood loss at scene, pressure bandage applied by EMS—"
I'm moving now, jogging alongside Dr. Okafor toward the trauma bay.
And then the doors burst open and EMS wheels him in, already giving report to the ER attending, Dr. Valdez.
"Let's get that dressing off, ready with pressure on that bleeder, I want two units of O-neg running now."
Hockey gear is cut away, even more than the EMS had done. All of it blood soaked.
I shift out of the way, keeping one eye on Dr. Okafor for when he might prompt me to help or answer a question, and also paying close attention to the next steps of the trauma team.
The laceration is deep, maybe eight centimeters long, and it's pulsing, which means arterial involvement. We’re firmly into "this could go very bad very fast" territory.
"Looks like a possible partial transection," Dr. Okafor says, already pulling on sterile gloves. "We need to get him upstairs."
"OR is ready," someone calls out.
"BP's dropping," one of the nurses announces. "90 over 60."
"Let's move, people," Dr. Valdez says. "Get him to OR now.”
Dr. Okafor lifts the railing on the other side of the gurney. “Francesca, you're with me. Keep Leo here company.”
“Hi Leo,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’m a medical student. It’s my job to watch these experts do their thing. They’re really good at it, by the way. You’re in very good hands.” We’re moving fast now. Elevator doors open. In on one. Close. Up we go.
"We were winning," Leo mumbles suddenly.
“What position do you play?”
His eyes flutter closed again.
“I know a bit about hockey,” I tell him. “So maybe I’ll come and see you in recovery and you can tell me more about the game.”
The elevator dings and we're wheeling him into the pre-op area. The trauma surgeon and anesthesiologist are already waiting.
“We can scrub in to observe,” Dr. Okafor says. “If I get paged again, I’ll leave you here if you want to follow this case through.”
I nod. He can’t know how important it is to me that I see Leo safely make it to recovery, but I appreciate it on both a professional and a personal level.
We scrub in silence, and I focus on the mechanical motions of it—soap, water, brush under the nails, count to thirty.
Don't think about Logan being in a situation like this.
When we enter the OR, Leo’s already under.
"All right," Dr. Okafor says, his voice calm and focused. “Tell me what the trauma team will do to save this guy's leg."
Logan
Made it to New York
And my sister had her baby
A little girl named Natalia
Talia for short
I check on Leo a few times throughout the night. He goes to the ICU first, but by morning, just before I finish my shift, he’s moved to a step down unit.
We round on him last, so when everyone else moves on, I stay back. I can’t help but think about Logan, now ensconced at a New York City hotel.
“You were telling me about the score last night, do you remember that?”
He shakes his head. “I think we won, though.”
“Yeah, you said that.”
“Creative way to steal the win, have an ambulance come interrupt the game while you’re a head.” He taps his temple. “Gotta remember that one.”
I smile. “Glad you’ve got a sense of humor.”
His eyelids drift shut. I want to say more, but now’s not the time or the place. This isn’t about me.
I drag myself to the car. I call Logan as I pull into traffic. “A girl, huh?”
“Yeah, she’s pretty cute for a brand new wrinkly thing.”
“I hope your sister is doing well.”
“I think so, yeah. How was your shift?”
I can’t tell him about Leo, but I tell him about how heavy the lead apron is, how much I’m looking forward to a long bath.
“I downloaded a pregnancy app,” he says when I’ve run out of work stuff to chatter about and I’m still stuck in traffic. “Our baby is the size of a Brussels sprout, did you know that?”
Weird to think about a high-fiber veggie representing the tiny little thing inside me that's going to completely rearrange my entire existence. “That’s wild when you think about it, yeah.”
“Oh right, yeah, I bet you know a lot about them.”
“Not that much. I did one OB/GTN rotation last year. I couldn’t fit one in this year. I’ll probably do a couple as a resident, though.” I might end having to do an extra year of residency anyway. But I’ll make it work. Being a doctor isn't something I just want to do. It's a core part of who I am.
Maybe that plan is going to look different now. Maybe I'll start residency hiding a baby bump under oversized scrubs. Maybe I'll be pumping breast milk in the call room at three in the morning between patients.
But I'm still going to do it.
“How was my dad?” I finally ask. Not wanting to know, really. But knowing that as much as Logan wants to be the protector in our relationship, we need to take care of each other.
“He ignored me. Didn’t see him for very long this morning. We have a whole team dinner tonight, but I’ll probably just sit at the other end of the table. It’s fine.”