Perfect Match (38 page)

Finally she slumped and drifted off, as the plane found a
cruising altitude. Her breathing was deep, her flashing dreams unsettling. The
plane jostled slightly, and Madison’s body and head leaned against Zhong’s
muscular shoulder. The scent of her perfume played havoc with his
steeled-discipline.

Since he’d sloshed through the rain, one of the nurses had
Roscoe take a preoperative shower with chlorohexidine, before donning a fresh
gown, and they covered him with a sheet on the gurney that would transport him
to the operating room.

As he was resting, the anesthesiologist, Dr. Joe Billings,
approached him. Billings was partially suited up for the operation. “I wanted
to go over a few things with you before we roll you into the operating room.
I’ve looked over your medical records and studied the numerous reports. Looks
like you’re a pretty healthy specimen. And congratulations on being a living
kidney donor.”

“We’re wasting time here, doc.”

He chuckled a bit. “Okay, any last minute questions?”

Roscoe shook his head. “Let this be a success for the
recipient.”

Billings nodded. “You got it. We’ll be giving you general
anesthesia. You’ll be comfortable during surgery and your recovery should be
fine. I’ll be monitoring you throughout the entire process.” Billings checked
Roscoe’s arm to see that the nurses had already prepared sites for IV.

He said, “Once in the OR, I’ll help position you on the
operating table for your comfort and the best angle for your surgeon, Dr.
Frenchwater. He’s a hoot. You’ll like him.” Footsteps sounded. “Speak of the
devil, here he is.”

“I’m Dr. Frenchwater. Usually doctors and patients have a
little more face time before surgery, but I understand you’re in a hurry to be
very generous with one of your kidneys. I’ve studied your medical records, and
consulted with other doctors. Both your kidneys are in great shape. Do you have
a preference which one you want to donate to the recipient?”

“I’d like to give the best one to Selena. You decide.”

Frenchwater thought a split-second. “I’ll take the left one,
since both are in excellent shape. Dr. Nancy Smoot will be the assisting
physician this evening. We estimate the time of the procedure to be about two
and a half hours.” As Frenchwater continued with his explanation, he pulled a
surgical pen from his pocket. He lowered the sheet and pulled back Roscoe’s
gown.

“We’re going to remove your kidney laparoscopically, called
a LAP for short. I’ll make four small incisions, about the width of your index
finger, on your left side.” He marked the areas with his pen. “This will allow
us to insert four temporary ports so we can see with a camera as we use special
instruments to carefully prepare your left kidney for removal.

“Once ready, we’ll make one other incision horizontally
through the lower abdomen through which the kidney will be removed.” He made
another marking with his pen. “Afterwards we’ll tidy you up with some special
stitches and attention, and let you recover comfortably. We’ll even have you
walking within the next eighteen to twenty-four hours.” He chuckled.

Roscoe gave a nod. “Sounds good to me.”

“As soon as we remove the kidney it will be checked again,
rinsed with a special preservation solution, and then handed off to Dr.
Hertford for the transplant into Selena.”

Roscoe said, “Let’s do this. I’m ready.”

Frenchwater chuckled. “See you in a few minutes.” He headed
for the door.

Roscoe gave thumbs up, and two nurses rolled the gurney for
the operating room, one wheel wobbling noisily.

Once in OR 12 Roscoe noticed a much lower temperature. The
ORs were usually kept around 65 degrees, varying only slightly with the
preferences of the operating surgeon. The air seemed cleaner and the lighting
brighter. He glanced around the room, impressed with the array of monitors,
blinking with colorful graphs and beeping at an idle speed, as if waiting for
the start of an event.

A member of the surgical team, the circulating nurse,
already dressed in her green scrubs, faced him as the gurney was turned. “I’m
Barbara. I’ll be assisting with your surgery today. I’m going to take a few
minutes to ask you some additional questions.” She checked his hospital ID
bracelet again, and proceeded down her checklist of questions and checkpoints
that he was already familiar with. The surgical team was well-schooled in
verifying everything.

A little later Frenchwater breezed through the door with
fresh scrubs, cap, mask, and footies. Another nurse assisted him in putting on
the sterile surgical gown and gloves.

He held his gloved hands in the sterile position, out in
front of his surgical gown, as he quickly glanced at all the blinking monitors,
looked over the tables covered with various surgical items, made eye contact
with the anesthesiologist, the assistant surgeon, the surgical nurse, and the
two circulating nurses.

He said, “Our surgical team understands your desire for
anonymity and we are sworn to secrecy, so I’ll only use your name this one
time. I want you to know that the kidney you’re donating to Selena will
probably extend her life another twenty years or so, especially since you’re a
perfect match. Because of your giving spirit, your name goes to the top of my
honor roll of patients. Your gift of life is a good deed, Roscoe.” Frenchwater
nodded, genuinely.

There was a moment of silence.

Roscoe kept his composure, as he blinked the watering of his
eyes, thinking, first time I could link any of my actions with the word good.

Frenchwater gave a quick nod, “Let’s make our unknown donor
comfortable while we do some serious work for him.”

Synchronized movements came from the green-uniformed
surgical team. Roscoe was eased from the gurney over on the operating table.
Along with the anesthesiologist, two nurses positioned him comfortably. Several
clicks and snaps indicated important connections of tubing and wiring were being
made to administer medicines to him during surgery, and to receive feedback
from his body that translated into readouts on the various monitors.

Frenchwater turned slightly to the circulating nurse. He
lowered his voice. “Is my playlist ready?”

She nodded, as she rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dr. Frenchwater.
We’re fully loaded.”

Hands moving with practiced precision began creating a
sterile field, as Roscoe’s abdominal area was exposed, swabbed thoroughly with
a providone-iodine antiseptic. A series of green sterile cloths were draped
around the marked surgical area, leaving only the necessary skin exposed where
the incisions would be made.

A green curtain-like fabric had been positioned vertically
across his upper chest. The drape formed the anesthesia shield behind which the
anesthesiologist sat, ready to monitor the measured anesthesia, as he observed
Roscoe during the procedure.

Frenchwater gave a slight nod to Billings and the medical
equipment began to purr, hum, and whoosh. The general anesthesia was on its way
to Roscoe. He let himself relax as he thought, my homework is now out of my
hands.

Outside, the storm swirled with a fury. The rumbling thunder
could be felt through the OR floor. Loose wiring, tubing or fabric draped
across surgical tables wavered.

The room exploded with Frenchwater’s lead song coming from
the sound system perched on a wall shelf. Katy Perry belted out Part Of Me, to
be followed by three solid hours of club dance music, featuring Frenchwater’s
favorites, LMFAO, Lady Gaga, Pitbull, Rhiana, and just about anything else
quirky with a beat.

And the operation was underway.

2:20 a.m., Wednesday,
Asheville

Frenchwater’s surgical team had worked skillfully, and in
barely an hour had removed Roscoe’s left kidney. It was carefully washed, checked,
and transported in a special cool saline solution to OR number 13, next door.

The circulating nurse had called Hertford’s team letting
them know they could proceed. Roscoe’s kidney was ready for transplant.

Frenchwater continued stitching and finishing up with Roscoe
for the next hour and a half. The operation had been trouble free. His team had
worked like a well-oiled machine.

Roscoe’s vitals had remained stable throughout.

Only one glitch. The stereo had goofed and skipped one of
Frenchwater’s favorite songs in his playlist. But he’d get over it.

2:25 a.m., Wednesday,
Asheville

As soon as Hertford got the go ahead that Roscoe’s kidney
had passed all the checks and was ready for transplantation, he went to the
pre-operative holding area to see Selena. She’d been hovering at the edge of
twilight with the pre-sedation she’d received.

Hertford spoke clearly. “Selena, I’m Dr. Sam Hertford. Good
news for you. I’ve got a new kidney for you.”

Selena turned her head slightly and slowly opened her eyes.
“Might be too late.”

“No, this is going to work for you, but I’ll need your help.
I want you to stay strong for me. My team is going to work hard for you, so you
have to hang on.”

No response.

Hertford tried another approach, as he cast an eye toward
her monitoring devices. “I talked with your friend, Roscoe, a couple hours
ago.”

Her eyes opened. “Where?”

Hertford chuckled. “He told me he’s having his foot fixed,
and he’d see you after recovery. Said you were a writer of romance novels.”

“You can’t believe everything he says.” She had a partial
smile.

“Well, he told me you were a special young woman. Very
talented.”

Her smile broadened.

Selena didn’t realize, but Hertford’s questions were to help
him assess her, and it also gave him the opportunity to be encouraging before
her operation. “What can you tell me about Roscoe’s foot?”

“Hurt it in a wreck, but mainly hurts it by putting his foot
in his mouth.” There was an attempt to giggle.

Hertford nodded his head, as he stood by her bed. “Yes, he’s
quite a character.”

There was a slight pause.

“Wish my mom could meet…” her voice faded.

Hertford looked around as his assistant surgeon walked up.
“Good to see you Norma.”

Selena had tired. Her eyes fluttered a little.

Hertford said, “Selena, my assisting surgeon, Dr. Norma
Shulberger, is going to mark a couple of places on your skin, where we’ll be
working on you. She’s a real expert.”

Shulberger pulled Selena’s sheet and gown back, and marked
with her surgical pen the incision site on the lower abdomen. Selena stirred
slightly. Shulberger’s soft voice said, “Selena, we’re going to outfit you with
a new kidney. We’re going to take good care of you.”

As the two surgeons left her, they stopped by one of the
nurses. Hertford said, “Has Selena’s pastor arrived yet?”

“No, but she called. She had to make a major detour around
the city. Some bridges and streets flooded. Trees and power lines down all over
the place.”

He nodded. “Roll Selena to OR 13. We’ll be there shortly.”
They hurried to scrub up.

When Selena was rolled into the operating room, Dr. Jennifer
Blake, the anesthesiologist and two nurses eased her over on the operating
table. They positioned her gently and quickly scrubbed her abdominal area with
antiseptic. They followed with draping her, creating the traditional sterile
field where the surgical procedures would take place.

The anesthesiologist readied the necessary connections with
Selena’s IV and monitoring sites. The anesthesia screen was in place. She
adjusted the anesthesia console waiting for the word from the surgeon.

As Hertford and Shulberger were completing their gowning and
gloving routine with the help of the circulating nurse, Hertford was performing
a last minute scan of the OR. His eyes stopped on three partially opened
packets of surgical instruments. He tilted his head. “What’s the deal with
that?”

The circulating nurse said. “The sterilization indicators
inside the packets were negative. The sterilizer’s been on the blink again.
Fourth time this week.”

Hertford noticed the door to the operating room was still
open about an inch. “Would someone please close the door properly?” There was a
bite to his voice.

“Won’t stay shut. The catch is out of alignment.”

Hertford’s mask huffed outward. “Slide one of the steel
tables against it.” He shook his head. “We’ve got a perfect donor-recipient
pairing and we’ve got the makings of a perfect infection storm brewing around
here.”

As the other circulating nurse rammed the steel table
against the door, lightning split a large oak tree near the main entrance to
Cobalt. Thunder roared instantly. Lights flickered throughout the hospital.
Vibrations were felt through OR 13. The masked surgical team cut their eyes
back and forth at each other.

Hertford and Shulberg had approached the operating table.
Hertford stood motionless for a moment feeling vulnerable and unsure. His
earlier comment to Roscoe that he was a “hardened piece of surgical steel”
melted in the moment.

Somehow he didn’t feel up to this surgical case. His
thoughts flashed warnings that the entire night’s events were clearly outside
hospital and ethical protocol. He almost clinched his hands. How could he have
been duped into this?

And yet he knew Roscoe’s kidney was the perfect match. He
looked down at Selena’s draped form, the rising and falling of her chest. His
eyes studied her youthful abdominal skin, his surgical thoughts taking him
through the layers of tissue, the arteries and veins, the surrounding organs
and structures that he’d find, once he’d made the incision.

Each surgical step played through his thoughts, waiting to
be activated by his final decision. He knew that everything that went right in
the operating room, he, as the surgeon, could claim the glory, but everything
that went wrong he would ultimately be held accountable, along with the anesthesiologist.
Life surfed upon their synchronized decisions. Hertford was deep in thought.