Felix:
The light above the operating table is too bright and unkind to the headache I'm nursing, courtesy of last night's whiskey.
There is a man in front of me with his chest open and that is all that matters at this moment. He came in with a gunshot wound and at the brink of death and now the weight of responsibility falls on me and my team's hands to save his life.
I'd met his family briefly before we came in. He's got a wife and a son waiting for him to survive this.
I feel a pang behind my own chest at the memory of my own father. His loss is a wound that refuses to heal. He was my guiding star. And he left me and my mom so quietly one morning that I still have difficulty accepting it despite it being 2 years since his death.
I force my attention to the person losing his life in my hands and everything else fades away. My pain, my loss, my grief.
All that remains is the responsibility and the skill in my hand that took years to hone to perfection.
The bullet had just grazed his heart and his chest cavity was full of blood. I had already removed the bullet and all that remains is the final steps to close the bleeder. My first assistant, Jonathan, a junior fellow, is sweating. I can feel it even without looking up.
He is always a nervous wreck whenever there's a major surgery, but that never hinders his ability to perform under intense pressure, no matter how sweaty he gets. That's why he's been my first assistant for 3 years.
My focus shifts to the vitals of the patient, stable. The bleeding has stopped and all that is left is the closure part and I know Jonathan is capable of doing so, but I just stay long enough, moving away from the table, giving him the chance to close up, to go see the patient's family.
Telling them the good news that he'll live and the expression of gratitude on their faces like I'm some God send, is almost too heavy for me.
I tell them he will be shifted to CCU for the next 24 hours, but he will be alright and go to my office on the 15th floor where the executive offices are.
Before I can step in, my assistant, Ana stops me, "Dr. Ashbourne"
"Ana," I greet her, "and how many times do I have to tell you, I'm Felix to you, Dr. Ashbourne was my father."
She doesn't respond to that, reminding me about the orientation meeting going on this second. "Your mother asked me to remind you that you have to attend the meeting" I'm about to refuse when she adds, "She also said you might try to get out of it but as the future heir and director of the hospital you have to and your dad would have wanted you to, and I quote" she ends with a sympathetic look in her eyes.
She knows I can't refuse when she uses my dad's name like that. "Mother is not coming slow, is she?"
I reluctantly turn around. I hadn't changed out of my scrubs, hoping to get a shower in my officer suite.
"At least change out of those scrubs first. She'll be angry." She calls after me.
"Well, it was her idea to use the big guns, so she'll have to be okay with the dress code," I say over my shoulder and go towards the elevator.
The last thing I want to do right now is sit through a whole session of baby residents staring at everything in awe like a child visiting the zoo for the first time. The exhaustion from a hangover and long surgery this morning has definitely dampened the mood.
But my mom would be disappointed if I didn't go and that is the last thing I want.
After dad, she's the only family I have, and I don't want to put too much on her plate when she's already been doing so much. Since dad died, she took over as the hospital director, and she has managed it as well as my dad did despite grieving herself from losing the love of her life.
The elevator door opens to the 12th floor where the ceremony is happening. It's the academic block. I cross the library and a small cafeteria for doctors and medical students on this floor, along with several classrooms to enter the hall.
It's already packed to the brim, with faculty and senior fellows in the front row along with several department heads. My mom gives me the look and I shrug unbothered due to exhaustion and the weight of everyone's expectation and envy heavy on my shoulders.
I walk towards my seat when I feel like someone is staring, but that is nothing new. I have been gawked at, especially by newly inducted residents for as long as I have been a doctor, some with admiration, others with envy.
This feels different. I look up, scanning the faces and that's when i see her.
Soft features: dark brown hair tied neatly, face free of any makeup and eyes the color of forest after rain.
I stop breathing for a second. She is beautiful, not the most beautiful woman I have seen, but the kind that doesn't need any layers to shine. Her beauty has this pull to her.
And her eyes, they could take you hostage and I forget for a second I'm surrounded by so many people.
Taking back control over my thoughts, I take the seat.
It takes immense restraint for me to not turn back and steal another glance.
This has never happened to me. I have always been surrounded by beautiful women. Some were attracted to my name and status, others to my looks. There was never a shortage. But something about her pulled at me in a single glance.
I've spent years mastering control. But under the light, with her eyes on me, I felt it slipping…