Muscle Memory

🕺CHAPTER THREE💃

DAVE

It had to be a genius who was first to tell a patient, “you have a bad heart, let me go get a cow valve and put it in it,” and the patient replied “well, sure Doc.” But then, Science.

Doctor David Silva’s a hundred-hour week ended on a note of bliss. “that look like a splendid aortic valve replacement Doctor Silva.” Said the Consultant, Doctor Audu, also head of the cardiothoracic department leading the best programme in the country. Dave wasn’t really listening to him; he was perfectly still waiting for the heartbeat. This was the critical moment. He had ordered the patient to be taken off bypass, blood flow should have returned, the heart of the person on the table should… pump… any… minute… now! Dave sighed. “and we have strong heart beats.” He said, quite pleased with himself.

Doctor Audu, nudged him, despite the face mask on the older man’s face, Dave could see the smile on his eyes as crowfeet deepened on the corners of his eye. He then began to remove his gloves.

“thank you Sir.” He replied, with a nod, then said happily and proudly with gusto to the surgical team, “and we are ready to close. Great Job everyone.” Applause echoed on the adjoined gallery, that seemed to dampen the mood—he had almost forgotten the audience over there, house officers and first year residents.

This batch of surgeries was one of his many firsts, and the taste of victory gets tainted moments by moments by what Queen told him was ‘irrational family consciousness’, not in a mean way. She didn’t have parents on the board of the hospital, and as much as he was most likely to be wrong, kept to the notion that nothing he gets around here would be totally on merit. So, he worked hard, made sure he earned everything he got, and even then, he double checks every offer. Maybe Queen was right, maybe he was just paranoid.

Doctor Silva obtained his medical education at the Washington university school of medicine. He remembered waking up one winter morning when he was supposed to send his residency application to John Hopkins with the sudden resolve to return back to Nigeria and that was it. He earned his licence, did his youth service, and began residency.  He’ll give an arm to learn at a different hospital in the country—one that his very influential family couldn’t pulling strings in the background—but the programme here had ranked best for three years in a row, and if anyone deserve to learn here, he was more than qualified and had met every requirement to the letter. He wouldn’t deny himself the opportunity.

He’d flawlessly done his stitches, and packed the guy up for the CCU.

The rushing cold water from the faucet slapped on his wrist and jerked Dave back to reality. The downside of the rush a surgeon experience in an Operating Room—simply called OR for short—is that nature comes demanding. He was so tired he was practically dozing off. On top of his shifts, he’d been up all night the past five days rehearsing the procedures and following up on the patients’ chart. It didn’t help that all he could hear sometimes was Madam Silva, his mother, say over and over again in his mind—like she heard her say over a glass of Martini sometimes ago, “baby steps baby, every single surgery, every single patient is a stepping stone to putting you on the map. Don’t screw it up.” he wanted to ask what her if she had anything to do with the special privileges Doctor Audu had given him to do series of bovine valve replacements.“and I know you’re wondering if I had anything to do with this,” the woman laughed, “oh yes, you have a tell just like your father,” She scoffed, “whatever it is with you men. anyway, no. I wouldn’t compromise medicine for my Son, and you need to trust the fact that you deserved this.” Dave had learnt on more than one occasion to take his mother’s words with a pinch of salt. He couldn’t deny the fact that it made him feel better, for a while. “you really need to learn to relax those brows.”  Madame Silva said, patting his hand on the banister gently, then returned to the mileage at the fundraiser.