Right As Rain (Complete)

Chapter 26

Maelee 

I'm walking the intern through his final stitch when Dr. Holt enters the operating theatre. He points to the door, asking me to join him outside. I praise Dr. West for his well-done closure and instruct him on how to transfer the patient before leaving.

Dr. Holt is waiting for me in the scrub room. "Can I help you with something?" I ask.

He follows me to the sink and watches as I remove my scrub gown and mask and wash my hands. "I wanted to talk to you about something," he says. "Do you have a few minutes?"

I follow him to the small lounge on the opposite side of the OR hallway. It isn't as nice as our main lounge. The wooden furniture serves its purpose, but it isn't overly comfortable. We sit at one of the three round tables. Dr. Holt folds his hands in front of him, leading me to believe this is more of a business meeting than a friendly one.

"Heart transplants don't happen every day," he says, leaving the weight of his words to hang in the air. It's true. Though if you were looking at Dr. Holt's resume, you may think they do. He has done more transplants than any other surgeon in the country –ninety percent of them successful. "Since the start of your fellowship, how many have you done?"

I think. I don't keep count of every surgery I've done. Each one is so different; it's hard to say I've done more than one of anything. "Heart transplants... I've probably been on about a dozen," I answer.

He chuckles. "Maelee, you've done thirty-seven."

The number is surprising. But I don't argue it. I've watched, assisted, and scrubbed every heart transplant available. Especially since coming here; when a highly sought after cardiothoracic surgeon like Dr. Holt is available to teach you, you jump at the opportunity.

"We have a transplant scheduled for this evening," he says. "The donor is across town and the recipient is here at Oak Valley." He pauses and looks at me carefully. "I want you to take lead."

I don't know what to say. Dr. Holt has been in my corner since the day I started, wanting nothing more than for me to break through the preconception that blonde females don't belong in an OR –I've proved it repeatedly. I'm not a cardiac surgeon, but I'm a trauma surgeon. Trauma surgeons are active on all the country's top transplant teams. I've busted my ass for this kind of opportunity.

"Are... are you sure?" I ask.

Dr. Holt nods. "You've earned it." I'm not entirely convinced I'm ready for this big a surgery but it would be stupid for me to tell him no. Sensing my hesitation, he smiles. "You have the know-how, you have the experience," he says. "I want you to show me what you can do."

This is the exact reason I came to Oak Valley. They are pushers. This is where the best of the best practice and the only way to learn, is by doing.

Dr. Holt leaves and I go to the small bar top for a strong cup of coffee. I have a little over an hour before we take the chopper across town and I want to make the best of it. If I focus –and hurry– I can do a complete review before it's time to go.

A woman, a few inches shorter than me, brushes past my shoulder and reaches across me for a cup. "I guess sleeping with the right people really does get you ahead, doesn't it?" she asks. She doesn't look at me. She keeps her eyes focused on opening the alarmingly large number of sugar packets in front of her and pouring them into her cup one by one.

"Excuse me?" I ask, assuming I misheard her.

She laughs to herself. "Not all of us have looks to carry us through life, you know," she says, turning to leans her back against the counter. Her mouth is pressed downward into a firm grimace and her eyes are squinted. "Why are you even here?"