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“It is. But it wasn’t your call. And you did what you were asked to do. She’s lucky she had you as a surgeon. You performed a difficult surgery successfully.”
I briskly run my hand over my face, then over my hair, then haul my ass up on my kitchen counter.
“How are things there?” I don’t want to talk about work anymore.
“We’re back at the ranch.”
That’s unexpected. This is prime beach weather. “Did you miss home?”
“No. Polly died. You remember Polly? Sandra’s horse?”Fuck. “Dad brought the backhoe over today to bury her. He’s going to build a nice marker for her. Poor Sandra. She’s taking it pretty hard.”
Damnit. Sunny and I have exchanged random texts over the last couple of months, but I’ve been working nearly seven days a week. I’ve thought about her. Hoped she’d plan to come back for another visit.
“You should call her. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”
I nod in agreement, not that Mom can see. “What happened to Polly?” Given the horse’s age, the question feels nonsensical.
“She found her in the woods. It’s fascinating, you know, how animals handle death. Sandra buried her near the back property line. It’s a peaceful area in the woods.” Sunny found her dad in the woods, too. But there’s no need to bring that up. Mom is fully aware.
“I’ll call her. How long are you staying out there?”
“Not too long. Your brother has a friend who is going through a rough patch, and we’ll probably be clearing out soon. Don’t want to be in their way.”
My pager beeps, and I groan. Motorcycle accident, en route.
“Mom, I gotta go. Motorcycle accident on the way in.”
“You’re on call? After an eight-hour surgery?”
“It’s a madhouse tonight, and the attendee went home sick. Covid. Gotta run. Love you.”
As it turned out, I scrubbed in but never operated. The patient never stabilized. The organ transplant team took over to recover the organs, and I joined the resident while she informed the waiting family.
After the resident let them know we did everything we could, I mention to the family they can request an autopsy. The man cocks his head at me and says, “I think we pretty much know what killed him. Unless you’re trying to say you guys fucked up?”
“I’m not saying that. This is a teaching hospital. This is how we learn. Examining what went wrong is how we become better doctors.”
The man accepts my answer. I leave before the family decides on the autopsy and without hearing which organs were harvested successfully. An SUV sideswiped the motorcyclist, and he sustained serious injuries. If the team had stabilized the internal hemorrhaging, he would have required significant surgery to piece together his shattered femur, at a minimum.
On my drive home, I call Sunny.
“Hey, you.” Her cheery voice throws me. It’s such a stark contrast to my mental state.
“I heard about Polly.”
“She’s in a better place. Running around like she used to without any arthritis.”
“Well, you sound better than I thought you would.” A car honks, and I raise my middle finger. “I didn’t realize Polly had been sick.”
“Well, I mean…” There’s a pause. If I actually picked up the phone and called, as opposed to sending short texts, maybe she would’ve mentioned it to me. “Your parents have been wonderful.”
Sam and Patty Duke are good people. There’s no doubt about it. “I’m sure they have. But I’m calling to find out how you’re doing. It’s gotta be hard losing a childhood friend. Polly has been with you almost your whole life.”
“She has.” I’m pretty sure she sniffles, but her tone remains bright. “But life was getting hard for her, ya know? The arthritis, she couldn’t see.”
“You gave her a wonderful life.”
There’s a weighted pause. Definitely a sniffle from the real person beneath the upbeat effervescence.
