16
I watch them work their magic.
I’ve always been squeamish. When I’d see surgery on TV, I’d look away, cringing. That’s not how this goes. I watch every bloody detail, unable to look away. I’m afraid that if I look away, or even so much as blink, something irreversible will happen. Irrationally, I feel as if my gaze alone is keeping Lucy alive.
The clock tells me the whole thing takes twenty minutes, but I feel as though I’ve been watching this macabre dance for days.
“She’ll be fine,” Dr. Jaint tells me when he’s done. “She just needs to rest. Let’s take her to Room 3 in Intensive Care. We need this room for other patients.” He sounds apologetic.
“No problem,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Take her there, and I’ll follow.”
On our way, I make the first phone call. “Mom, drop whatever yo
