I tried to post yesterday, but it wouldn't let me! Thanks for your kind words about my friend. I am giving the eulogy today at her funeral and your support has helped me get through writing it. Kim

Chapter 27

No Entrada Las Moscas

Lester Catalonia was a short Italian who I thought bore a resemblance to the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland; he was always late or in a hurry. When he showed up in my office, glasses crooked, hair flying in all directions, I knew something was up. Les was the hospital's head of public relations and so I was curious as to why he was running through my door.

"We're going to hold a meeting in fifteen minutes." He said as he huffed and puffed.

"We're?" I asked.

"The Board. We just got a call from Paraguay. Their president just had a cardiac incident. They're sending you his file and his recent lab work. They've heard about our success with other Hispanic politicians and want us to send a team down to perform the necessary operation."

"What operation?"

"That will be for you to decide."

"You want me to fly to Paraguay to perform surgery on their President?"

"They don't think their doctors are up to it. If we do this, we'll be on top of the heap."

"If it goes wrong?"

"It won't."

I received the file while I was sitting in the meeting. The President was fifty-eight years old and had been through a previous cardiac surgery. He had active endocarditis, unstable angina, moderate LV function, pulmonary hypertension and he needed surgery on his thoracic aorta. The surgical calculators indicated that he had a 73% chance of dying on the table.

I showed the board my calculations. "He only has a one in four chance of living! You can't ask me to do this! We won't be remembered for saving the president; we'll be remembered for killing him!"

"Look, they say that if we fly you down, they'll donate two million dollars to the hospital. We could use the money for that new MRI."

They spent another five minutes haranguing me; convincing me to do it.

"I won't do it unless they know his chances are extremely low. I want them to realize I'm not a miracle worker."

"Fine, we'll tell them."

"I have to make arrangements for my son."

"If you need help, we're here."

I arranged for Tracey to take care of Bren for the three days I'd be gone. I had a conversation with the President's treating cardiologist and warned him that it didn't look good; I told him all about my calculations. He acknowledged that they all knew this, but I was his last, best hope.

We were in a private jet, having loaded it with all the surgical equipment and instruments that I would need which we would loan to the Paraguay hospital for the time I was there. When we flew into Asuncion, I looked down at an airport lined with banana trees and jungle-like shrubbery despite it being on the outskirts of a large city. After debarking, a man rushed up to us and pointed to a door that led to a private area for us to go through customs. We were in and out after a few minutes and whisked away to the hospital where journalists were waiting to take my photo as I got out of the Town Car.

The hospital seemed modern enough and when I got inside, it was a pleasant surprise to find that the hospital was clean and well equipped, although the equipment we brought was more modern and appropriate for what I needed to do and, well, frankly, I was used to it. I was introduced to the Paraguayan doctors who would assist me in the operation. I introduced my surgical nurse, Maria Lopez, a bilingual nurse that was frequently interpreted for me although my Spanish was adequate when I wanted to go to a Mexican bar in Ensenada.

I examined a very pale and waxy President Villarica and was quite alarmed. His condition had deteriorated and he needed emergency surgery. I had hoped I'd have time to get up to speed, rest a little and then operate, but he was failing fast. I notified the Vice President and some cabinet members that there was little chance of him making it through the surgery. They insisted that I try.

Within the hour, he was cleaned and prepped. As I was scrubbing up, I heard a commotion in the operating room and heard the sound of paddles energizing. I burst through the doors only to find one of the surgeons paddling the President, trying to get a sinus rhythm, but the monitor had flat lined. He tried again but there was no response. I pushed him to the side, grabbed a knife and opened the President, cracked his ribs and grabbed his heart, massaging it, but the color of the heart was gray and I could see the damage was irreparable. I decided to keep trying though, just because it was the President. I didn't want anyone to claim that I gave up prematurely.

After ten minutes I called it.

There was a skirmish outside the doors, some screaming and crying, probably from his family as they were told he had died. I started to sew him up out of respect, but one of the attending surgeons told me that he would take over. I later heard that they left him open for an autopsy. I must admit that I was relieved. It was better that he died before the operation than in the middle of it. I could easily say that I had nothing to do with his death.

Maria and I were eventually taken back to the hotel where I cleaned up and then called the hospital to talk to the Board who had been waiting for my call to let them know how the operations had gone. After telling them that he had died, they told me that Maria had already informed them and that the jet had was being loaded with the hospital's equipment as we spoke.

"We want you and Nurse Lopez to get to the tarmac as soon as possible. The pilots will be ready to leave once you get there."

My stomach turned. There was something wrong and I didn't like his sense of urgency. "What's going on?" I asked with the sternest voice I could muster.

"Nurse Lopez said she overheard some of the security personnel for the President. There were claims that you killed the President; that you took his heart out and crushed it."

"I massaged it! I tried to get it beating!"

"We know, but it made us a little paranoid. We want you out of there as soon as possible."

I hung up and packed, wondering how they could believe I would be so stupid as to kill the President in front of everyone. As soon as I could I rolled my luggage down to the curb and met up with Maria, whose dark eyes were filled with anxiety. I didn't bother to check out. I figured the Paraguayan government could check me out because they checked me in.

Maria and I said nothing in the Town Car as we made our way to the airport. Once we were there, I went through security and then a second station where I had to pay some kind of airport tax to get out of the country. I paid it for both myself and Maria. When we were through I looked around the airport for the private gate that we had come through. I saw it and could see the jet through the windows. Grabbing Maria and my bags, I made a dash across the tarmac to the stairs of the jet with Maria close behind. Just as I was about to climb the steps, a jeep pulled up and two men with guns and another man in camouflage jumped out yelling at me in Spanish.

I turned to Maria because I wasn't keeping up; their Spanish was too fast.

"They say you can't leave, that they need to conduct an autopsy to see who killed the President and until their investigation is done, you can't leave."

"No one killed the President. The President died of natural causes…his heart failed!" My voice was rising in decibels and octaves.

Maria kept calm and tried to translate, but the men weren't having it. I wasn't getting on that plane. I finally turned to Maria and swallowed hard.

"Maria, will they let you leave?"

She turned to me, her dark eyes filled with trepidation. "They said I was free to go, but I can't let you—"

I held up a hand. "No, don't say another word. I want you to get on the plane and go home. Get our equipment out while we can. And when you get home, I want you to call Dr. Susan Friday in Princeton at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Tell her that Brennon needs her. Explain where I am and what's going on, okay?"

Maria nodded.

"And give Brennon a kiss for me. Let him know his mother loves him."

Another nod.

I took a step back so that she could get on the stairs and watched as she slowly climbed to the door. She turned around with tears in her eyes.

"I shouldn't go. Your Spanish isn't that great."

I felt a laugh escape from my mouth. "Don't worry; I can take care of myself. I need someone to call Susan, now go."

The men pulled my arm to get me to back up further and then the one that was obviously in charge motioned for me to get into the jeep. I did and we took off towards the street while the jet's engines whined in preparation for takeoff. Five minutes later as I was riding back to the hotel, I saw the jet fly over my head and I felt both relief and fear as it disappeared out of sight.