CHAPTER 3: Neela

"How's he doing?"
I glanced over my right shoulder and saw a very worried Morris entering the observation room. I could tell that after all that had happened today, he was desperate to hear some good news. Unfortunately, I had none for him.
"A bullet nicked the right ventricle," I answered grimly.
"Shit!" Morris groaned through clenched teeth. "I was hoping it missed the heart."
"You and me both," I agreed as I looked down in the OR. I felt so useless, just standing about and watching what was going on down below. Poor Jerry looked so frail and vulnerable, lying there and hooked up to practically every machine in the room as Dr. Dubenko and the other surgeons fought to save his life. When Greg told me what had happened, I was hoping that Jerry had been hit somewhere that wasn't potentially fatal, like an arm or leg. But to my dismay, he'd gotten it in the chest. I'd heard of Murphy's law, but this was ridiculous.
"Another 3.0 Prolene on a pledget," I heard Dr. Dubenko order.
"Eighth unit going up."
"Systolic's 85."
"Well, a cardiac defect isn't so bad," Morris tried to reassure me—and, in retrospect, himself as well. "I mean, it's fixable, right? It's not like he needs a pneumonectomy."
Just before I could respond, I heard the beeping. Right then and there, we both knew that Jerry was going into v-tach. "Oh, God, no," I murmured. This couldn't be happening! He couldn't die now, he just couldn't!
"C'mon, Jerry," Morris prayed as they charged the internal paddles to 50 and Dubenko shocked him. No change. "Goddamn it, don't you leave us."
Then it dawned on us: Jerry was having a heart attack. Automatically, my hand hit the intercom switch. "Dr. Dubenko?"
"Not now, Neela. Epi's on board."
"Sorry to interrupt, but it's possible that the suture is tying off a coronary artery."
"Say what?"
Are you fucking serious?! I thought in disbelief. I don't believe in ESP, but I was willing to bet my bottom dollar that Morris was thinking the exact same thing I was.
"If you occluded the coronary artery with the stitch, you'd have an MI!"
"Good call," Dr. Dubenko said after a split-second pause, then continued the compressions. "I'm near the RCA. 11 blade."
"Charged to 20."
Morris looked at me in shock. "You could see inside the field?" he exclaimed.
"Just a hunch."
"Sutures cut. And clear!"
Dr. Dubenko shocked Jerry's heart once again. This time, the beeping steadied. "Sinus rhythm," one of the other surgeons reported.
"Way to go!" Morris whispered ecstatically. I don't about him, but to say that I was floored that my hunch was correct is a huge understatement.
"Okay, we'll go on bypass for a coronary graft. Call the perfusionist, and we'll reposition for a clamshell. Neela, scrub in. I need another set of hands down here."
For a second, I just froze. Did I hear Dr. Dubenko right? After everything I'd been through with burying my husband, not to mention hearing that bullshit from his father after the service, did he really expect me to assist him when we both knew that I was in no condition to work? One little mistake on my part, and Jery was a goner.
That's when I heard the voice in my head. And no, it wasn't Morris: "You can do it, Neela. I'll be right there with you."
I blinked, and very quickly shook my head. Who said that? And if wasn't Morris, where the bloody hell did it come from? Then I figured it out: it was Michael. He was still here with me.
"Neela?"
"Right away," I responded. In record time, I changed out of my dress and very quickly started scrubbing. As I did so, I noticed that another doctor or nurse—Dr. Coburn, as I later found out—was doing the same in the next room. I knew what that meant: Abby was in there. There was a complication, and they were racing against time to save both her and the baby. But I couldn't think about that now. I had much bigger fish to fry. Jerry needed me, and I was going to get him through this, come hell or high water.
In less than two minutes or so, I was in the OR, standing across the table from Dr. Dubenko. "Straight across the sternum?" I inquired. He nodded, and I broke through with the hammer and chisel to see what I could find. After cross-clamping the aorta, he started the cardioplegia, and I poured some ice into the field. "Greater sapheonous is isolated."
"Excellent. Cannulate, check for leaks, then pass it up."
Almost instinctively, I did as directed. Dr. Dubenko handed me the paddles and said, "Charged to 20."
Michael, if you really are here, I could sure use your help, I thought to myself as I put them in position. "Clear!"
It was now or never. My thumbs punched the paddles' buttons in perfect synchronization, and miraculously, the beeping on the monitor steadied. "Sinus rhythm!" the nurse announced in a somewhat audible voice.
"We have a pulse."
"All right, Neela!"
I didn't know if that was Morris congratulating me, or Michael's voice in my head again. All I knew is that we'd gotten Jerry back. He was going to be fine. If it wasn't for the fact that we still had to finish our jobs and close up, I would've started jumping up and down and cheering.
"Hole punch for the proximal, 5.0 Prolene," Dr. Dubenko's voice cut into my thoughts.
"Right," I answered.
"Good work, Neela. Now just follow my lead, and let's put this big guy back together."
"Sounds good to me."
As we continued, I felt a huge weight being lifted off my shoulders. Just a few days ago, when those guys from the Army told me what had happened to Michael, I thought it was the end of the world. I thought I'd never be able to go through day-to-day life again. But now, as I stood there and helped Dr. Dubenko and the others, I knew that even though I missed Michael and always would, he was watching over me. And when it was my time, I knew I would see him again someday.
In that moment, I wasn't afraid anymore.