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She wanted to be able to share her excitement with Adam. How crazy was that, given the way he’d acted the last time they’d seen each other?
“Liz?”
Liz did a double-take at the frail-looking woman in the wheelchair. If not for the familiar salt-and-pepper-browed man pushing her along the sidewalk she might not have recognized May at all. “May, it’s good to see you.”
“You, too.” Despite her obvious pain and illness, the woman smiled. “You’re in a hurry?”
Was she? A minute ago she’d had overwhelming claustrophobia, but seeing May so deteriorated in such a short time, Liz didn’t have the heart to rush on. “Not really. I stepped out for fresh air while taking my break.”
May glanced around at the well-tended hospital lawn and Liz followed her gaze, taking in their surroundings. Multicolored Binkas bloomed all along the mulched flower-beds. A few butterflies danced from bloom to bloom, seemingly without a care in the world.
How easy it was in life to forget to stop to enjoy the beauty of the moment, to smell the roses, so to speak. Not that Liz could smell the flowers over the stifling aroma of the nearby fast-food restaurants that were nestled into the lot next to the hospital.
“We passed by your house on our way to a prayer meeting last evening. Your grandfather’s rosebushes are as lovely as ever.”
Had May read her mind?
“Gramps loved those roses,” Liz said wistfully, recalling many a day when her grandfather had tended the demanding flowers. When he’d still been able to. Then he’d tediously instructed her on their care.
“I always was jealous of those gorgeous blooms. Never could get mine to look the way his did. Few can.” Her gaze softened. “You’re very much like him, you know.”
“Thank you.” Liz beamed. She couldn’t have been paid a nicer compliment.
Catching her breath in a sharp gasp, May’s face pinched in pain. Her hands gripped her wheelchair for a few moments before she returned her gaze to Liz.
“We should be going,” May’s husband reminded her from where he stood behind the wheelchair. “Your appointment is in fifteen minutes.”
Liz wanted to ask more, to discover who May was seeing, but her expression was so hollow that she didn’t want to delay her. She’d seen Dr Mills’s notes. He’d recommended May to see a pain specialist to ease her suffering and improve the quality of her remaining days. Perhaps that’s where she was headed.
Knowing what it was like to watch someone suffer as they waited to die, Liz’s heart went out to May and John.
She stooped, kissed May’s cheek. “Thank you for your kind words about Gramps. I always feel closer to him when I speak with you. Take care of yourself, and if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, let me know.”
The couple nodded, then John pushed his wife toward the hospital entrance.
Liz made a mental note to prepare a meal for the Probsts. She’d stop by, visit, offer to help with cleaning or shopping. Even the most mundane things could seem difficult when one was seriously ill.
Yes, she’d definitely stop by to visit with the Probsts and perhaps by then she’d be able to share her wonderful news with the couple.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SEVEN hours in the operating room and still going, Adam paused long enough for the nurse to swab his forehead. He was sweating like hell. Tired as hell. Numb as hell.
His fingertips had little feeling left in them, to the point he battled whether or not he should close May up and call it quits.
No, if he and the two other surgeons—one vascular and one nephrologist—didn’t finish the job, May had no hope.
Not to mention the hospital board would possibly suspend him since they’d barely given their approval for him to go ahead.
Never in his career at Robertsville had he had to ask permission to operate on a patient. The board had called him to task the moment he’d scheduled May’s surgery. Called a meeting that had been more about Dr Mills’s arrogance than real concern for the patient. Called a meeting that had delayed May’s surgery longer than Adam liked. With each day that had passed, she’d weakened.
So far she was holding her own. Only once had her blood pressure dropped. They’d administered a vasoconstrictor, increased her fluids, and she’d steadied out. They’d also given her several bags of packed red blood cells because of the amount of blood she’d lost. But she was doing better than anyone could have predicted. That could change in a heartbeat.
In the slip of a numb finger.
“You OK?” the nurse assisting him asked, causing the vascular surgeon to glance toward Adam.
He could do this. For May. If he stopped…
