Novel & Cerita Stay Off My Operating Table

As I lay on the operating table, the cold touch of the instruments made my entire body tremble. I’m sorry… my child, whom I never got to meet.

I tugged at my collar and stepped closer. "Do you have any idea how desperate it feels to lie on an operating table… waiting for your surgeon?" She took a step back, raising her voice to cover it. "I agreed to do the surgery. The surgery is done. Why can't I leave?" "There were other doctors to close!" A low sound escaped my throat–not quite a laugh. She lost her patience. She shoved me, straightening up. "Stop acting crazy!" "Your mother's post-op care still depends on me. If you piss me off–"

He warned, I couldn’t just sit here and wait while she was in pain. “I’ll sign them.” I confirmed and watched them push her stretcher out to the operating room. My eyes were blurry; was this the end? Was I going to lose her now? I ran after them, my hands now holding hers. “Be strong, love…” I said in a broken tone as tears stung the corners of my eyes. “Mr. Clinton, you can't come in here; this is an operation room.” The doctor warned, and I remained outside as they took her inside.

Making sure that every part of me is covered. The patient, whose name I refuse to look at, lies unconscious on the operating table, his vital signs being monitored closely by the anesthesiologist. William is assisting me today and I try by all means to make sure no emotions get in our way. "Good morning, Dr. Harper," he greets, his eyes focused on the array of instruments that are arranged on the sterile table. I’m glad he has a clear head too. Besides, he's being a doctor for a longer period than I have.

I was strapped to a cold operating table, my limbs restrained. I couldn't even cry out since my vocal cords had been removed in advance. I could hear the cheers from the crowd erupting on all sides. "That murderer is finally going to die!" "I wish I could rip this evil doctor to pieces!" There was an LED screen on the judgment platform that kept looping through my so-called crimes—deliberately altering surgical procedures, intentionally administering the wrong medication, causing five patients to die on the operating table, and destroying five families completely.

"We're starting." "I have to go," Noah said. "Don't tell her," Julian said urgently. "Not while she's on the table. Her blood pressure..." "I know," Noah said. He hung up. He turned off the phone. He walked into the Operating Room. The lights were blindingly bright—two massive discs of LEDs focused on the draped mound of his wife’s body. The air was frigid, smelling of antiseptic and ozone. The monitors beeped a steady, rhythmic cadence. Beep... beep... beep.

“Call surgery. Get blood—O negative, two units stat. Possible internal hemorrhage. Page neuro and trauma.” The air grew colder and sharper the deeper they wheeled him into the belly of the hospital. The smell of antiseptic burned stronger, mixed with the faint ozone tang of the machines. Fluorescent panels hummed overhead, casting everything in unforgiving light that left no shadows to hide in. “On three, transfer.” The stretcher jerked to a halt beside the operating table. Hands gripped the edges of the sheet beneath him—four, five, six pairs—steady, careful.

"If this is just to say thank you, there's no need. We don't accept gifts here." He paused, then added lightly, "But if it's because you want to give it, we can call it something else. A birthday present, maybe." She blinked, confused, but understood that he would not accept it today. … The final stage of treatment required surgery. Because of what had happened before, she felt nervous the night before. On the operating table, her face turned pale, her body trembling despite her efforts to stay calm. Henry wore a mask and leaned down until only his eyes were visible. They looked warm and steady.

I sigh at the mention of his name and remember his gorgeous face; I have to pull myself together in front of him. A couple of hours have passed, and I'm walking out of the operating room, and I'm playing this scene a hundred times in my head. Today is another day to tell the beloved owner of the dog who died on the operating table the bad news. I remove my surgical mask, the old lady standing in front of me waiting, her brown eyes full of hope, and I'm going to mash that hope right now. "Doctor?" Her voice was soothing; suddenly, I hated my job.

Understanding without censure. "Yes, I'm a pain seeker." She nodded, made a note on her tablet. "Thank you for trusting me. I'm making a note in your file about not having narcotics or any sedatives or anesthesia if possible." She looked up from her tablet. "If it happens, not that I think it will, but if you need surgery again, we'll make sure to give you the least effective dose during and to wean you as quickly as possible post-surgery. Do you know what I mean by that term?"