Chapter 15—I CAN DO IT!

BREA

Doctor Jason did not waste another second after I agreed to help.

The moment I finished speaking, he studied me for a brief moment, as though making one final assessment of the woman sitting before him in a hospital gown with a recently removed IV line and a bandage hidden beneath her hair. Then he gave a short nod and turned toward the door.

“Come with me,” he said. “The patient has already been prepared for surgery, and every minute we spend standing here discussing what might happen is another minute we cannot give back.”

I stared at him.

For some reason, his response surprised me enough that I remained seated for a moment longer.

“You're just going to take me to the operating theatre?”

Doctor Jason paused at the door and looked back at me.

“Is there a reason I shouldn't?”

I narrowed my eyes slightly.

“Doctor, you have known me for less than ten minutes. You walked into this room, heard that I was a neurosurgeon, and suddenly you're willing to place a patient in my care. Aren't you going to ask me more questions? Aren't you going to verify who I am properly before allowing me anywhere near an operating theatre?”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“I did verify who you are.”

My brows drew together.

“You did?”

“Yes,” he answered, reaching into the pocket of his coat and pulling out his phone. “While the nurse was explaining the situation to me, I had one of our administrative staff look you up. I wasn't going to hand a critically ill patient over to a complete stranger simply because she told me she was qualified.”

Despite the tension twisting inside me, I felt the corner of my mouth lift.

“Well, that is reassuring.”

“I thought you might appreciate that,” he said with amusement. “Doctor Brea Anderson, consultant neurosurgeon at Beacon Crest Hospital. Your name is attached to several successful and highly complex procedures, and according to everything I have been able to find, you are considered one of the best neurosurgeons at Beacon Crest.”

For a moment, I did not know what to say.

Praise had never been something I knew how to accept comfortably. Medicine was not a competition to me, and I had never gone into an operating theatre hoping to prove that I was better than someone else. Every patient was simply another person whose life had been placed, however briefly, in my hands.

Still, hearing those words at that moment felt strange.

Only a few minutes earlier, I had woken up terrified that my son might have been injured.

Now, another person's life depended on me.

“You found all of that in a few minutes?”

Doctor Jason slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Your reputation made it relatively easy. I also called Beacon Crest to confirm that you work there, and I spoke to someone in administration who verified your position. Believe me, Doctor Anderson, I have done enough checking to know that allowing you into my operating theatre is not a reckless decision.”

I slowly nodded.

“And now you trust me?”

The amusement disappeared from his face, replaced by something more serious.

“Doctor Anderson, I have a patient with a potentially fatal intracranial hemorrhage, and the only neurosurgeon currently available in this hospital is standing in front of me. You have the qualifications, the experience, and the ability to help this patient, so yes, I trust you. I would rather give you the opportunity to save that person's life than stand around waiting for another surgeon who may arrive too late.”

His words settled heavily inside me.

“I understand.”

“Good,” he said. “Then I'm leaving the patient in your care.”

I pushed the blanket away and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

The moment my feet touched the floor, a wave of dizziness moved through my head.

My hand immediately reached for the edge of the mattress.

Doctor Jason noticed.

“Are you all right?”

I closed my eyes briefly and waited for the room to steady.

“Yes. I stood up too quickly.”

“Brea,” he said, and there was more concern in his voice now, “if you are not physically capable of performing this surgery, you need to tell me immediately. I understand that you want to help, but I will not allow you to force yourself into an operating theatre if your injuries will endanger you or the patient.”

I looked directly at him.

“I'm not going to lie to you and pretend I feel perfectly fine. I was involved in an accident, my head hurts, and I woke up in a hospital bed less than an hour ago. However, I am conscious, oriented, and thinking clearly. If you want to examine me again before we proceed, then do that, but if you are asking whether I am capable of performing surgery, the answer is yes.”

His eyes searched mine.

“Are you certain?”

“I have never been more aware of what is at stake,” I told him. “If I enter that operating theatre, I will not do so because I am trying to be brave or because I want to prove something. I will do it because there is a patient who needs a neurosurgeon, and I am one.”

For several seconds, he remained silent.

Then he nodded.

“Get dressed. We have work to do.”

A nurse brought me a fresh set of clothes while Doctor Jason stepped outside to give me privacy.

My hands moved quickly as I changed.

There was no time to think about the accident.

No time to think about my destroyed phone.

No time to wonder who had been calling me so persistently before everything went wrong.

The moment I entered an operating theatre, nothing outside it could matter.

That was how I had trained myself for years.

Patients did not care about your broken heart.

Tumors did not disappear because you were tired.

Bleeding did not stop simply because you were afraid.

Inside the theatre, there was only one thing that mattered.

The patient.

When I stepped into the corridor, Doctor Jason was waiting for me.

He looked at me carefully.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded.

“Take me to the patient.”

We began walking.

The hospital corridor seemed different now that I had shifted into work mode. Nurses hurried past us with patient charts, the wheels of hospital beds moved softly across the polished floor, and overhead announcements echoed faintly through the building.

As we approached the surgical wing, I turned toward Doctor Jason.

“Before we go any farther, I need to know exactly who is available.”

He glanced at me.

“Of course.”

“I need an experienced scrub nurse, a circulating nurse, an anesthesiologist, and a surgical team that can follow instructions quickly. I also need someone capable of assisting with positioning and monitoring, because once we begin, I don't want anyone running around trying to find equipment or personnel.”

“We have the nurses and the anesthesiologist,” Doctor Jason replied. “We also have two theatre technicians and an experienced surgical assistant.”

“And what don't you have?”

He hesitated.

I stopped walking.

“Doctor Jason, please don't tell me you have everything when you clearly paused. What is missing?”

“We don't currently have another surgical assistant available.”

I stared at him.

“That is the problem?”

“Yes. The assistant assigned to this case was called away to another emergency.”

I continued walking.

“That isn't a problem.”

Doctor Jason looked surprised.

“It's not?”

“No. If you're not occupied with another patient, you can stand in.”

He stopped.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

A brief smile appeared on my face.

“You're a doctor, aren't you?”

“Of course I am.”

“Then you understand sterile technique, surgical procedure, and how to follow instructions.”

“I do.”

“Good,” I said. “Then congratulations, Doctor Jason. You have just become my surgical assistant.”

He stared at me for a second before laughing.

“You know, most visiting surgeons would probably ask me politely.”

“Most visiting surgeons weren't involved in a car accident an hour ago and asked to operate on a critically ill patient they accidentally injured.”

That immediately wiped the amusement from his face.

My own expression changed as well.

The reality of those words settled between us.

I might have caused this.

The patient lying behind those operating room doors might be fighting for their life because of me.