I swallow hard.Holding him?
She rips open a pair of sterile gloves with her teeth and slips them on. “He’s septic. I’ll anesthetize him as best I can, but he’s still going to feel it.”
“You’re really cutting him open? Now?” My voice comes out higher than I anticipated.
“Yes,” she says flatly. “You might want to look away.”
But I don’t. I can’t. The boy’s trembling, half-conscious, and Katherine is leaning over him, channeling the kind of focus I’ve only ever seen on the pitch, last five seconds, penalty on the line.
She disinfects his stomach, injects the numbing stuff, and gets to work.
And yeah—I look away.
But I hear everything. The wet, squelchy sounds. The kid’s ragged gasp. The murmurs from the gathered villagers. My own heartbeat thrumming in my ears.
“I need to irrigate.” She looks up, meeting my eyes. “Saline. Clear vial, blue twist top. It’s in the pile you brought.”
I fumble, nearly dropping it when I pass it to her with shaking hands.
She keeps working, quiet and methodical, sweat running down her temples. Not once does she hesitate. Not once does she look scared.
Meanwhile, I fluctuate between mindblown that she’s doing actual surgery, right here in the middle of a Ugandan village, and scared out of my mind.
Everyone is holding their breath, the chief not leaving his son’s side. He strokes his head gently.
I don’t know how long it’s been, but we’ve been huddled here for a while, watching Katherine work, me handing her the equipment she needs. Her focus hasn’t faltered one bit. She’s precise, fast, determined.
Finally, she starts stitching him up. That must be a good sign, right?
She presses a bandage to his abdomen and lets out a sharp breath. “Okay. Okay. He’s stable—for now.”
The chief’s face crumples with emotion. “You saved him.”
Katherine nods, pressing a hand gently to the boy’s shoulder. “He’ll need antibiotics. And close monitoring. But he should be okay.”
“Thank you,” Chief Omondi says, taking Katherine into his arms as the crowd around us applauds warmly.
She smiles, a faint blush coating her face.
Once the chief releases her, returning to his son, I whisper, “You were amazing.”
“I’m a trauma surgeon. That’s what I do,” she says, blowing out a long breath.
Her hair is stuck to her temples, her clothes are wrinkled and stained, and she’s an absolute wreck—but I swear, I’ve never seen anyone look more incredible in my life.
Chapter 10
"This stew could win a war.”
Kat
“Your son will be fine,” I assure Chief Omondi as gently as I can. After handing over our entire supply of antibiotics, I left them clear instructions on how to care for Kato until he fully recovers.
The chief nods, his weathered eyes shining with unshed tears. “You saved my boy. You are welcome here, always.”
Because the surgery took nearly an hour, and the sun has already dipped low behind the trees, we decide it’s best to wait till morningto head back to Bukoma. We’re staying the night—Chief Omondi insisted.
“This is bath,” he says proudly, guiding us to a freestanding cubicle made of tin and woven reeds. “You pull,” he explains, pointing to a string attached to a small bucket hanging above.
