Chapter Ten
Patricia twisted and turned on her side of the bed. Not even the Tempur-Pedic mattress would help her sleep tonight because Ryan filled her mind.
She had hoped that his conversation with Pastor Ward would have made him open up. When Ryan had texted her to go home because he had to talk with Pastor Ward, she had uttered a quick praise. But Ryan hadn’t enlightened her about his strange behavior.
Tears again flowed. Maybe her hormones were out of whack, and she was overreacting, but Patricia could not help it. Never in their relationship had she felt herself questioning her desirability. But it had been a couple of weeks since her husband had touched her.
Now, for some people, that may be nothing, but not for them. Ever. Something was bothering him. Or, rather, someone if Brian were to be believed.
Though Ryan denied it, there could be no other explanation for his sudden withdrawal. Withdrawal was a classic sign of cheating. Patricia thought of Karlie. She was a beautiful, miniature replica of her mother, who had been a pop icon in her day. Was Ryan attracted to the daughter as he had been to the mother? She wondered for the umpteenth time. After all, he had slept with Karlie’s mother.
Patricia sighed. She did not know what to think. In one rapid motion, she flung the blanket off and trudged out of bed. She went into Brian’s bedroom and slid under his sheets not caring when last he had washed his linens. She gazed up at the ceiling.
Maybe Ryan was experiencing a midlife crisis.
A part of her found it improbable that he would have feelings for Karlie, but stranger things had happened. Articles in the Huffington Post or NewsOne proved that. But then another part of her felt fear gripping her heart. Why else would her husband react so strongly against Karlie and Brian traveling together?
She pinched her hip. Maybe she wasn’t thin enough. Then she snorted. She was smaller than when she had had Brian, and Ryan had never complained about her weight. Patricia knew she was obsessing, but she sniffed anyway.
She really should just ask him, but Ryan might give her an answer she didn’t want to hear. She wasn’t prepared for that.
Patricia closed her eyes and prayed. Her recent problems had drawn her even closer to God. He was the only one she could talk to about her concern. He was the only one she needed to talk to besides her husband.
She had accepted Christ a month after Ryan had. They had gotten baptized together and often studied the Word in bed. However, when Ryan became buried with Spababies business, Patricia had taken to reading during work breaks and on her own at work. She tried to memorize her Bible scriptures, but she couldn’t recall the last time they had prayed as a couple.
Patricia poured her heart out. Pain added to her eloquence. “Lord, I just need your comforting presence to surround me at this moment. I need you to bind my marriage closer than before. Keep us from the plan of the adversary who only wants to steal, kill, and destroy. I pray for my husband, Lord, and ask you to help him face whatever is bothering him and to make the right decision. Amen.”
She meditated in silence, allowing God’s Spirit to soothe her frayed nerves, and soon she drifted to sleep.
It seemed as if she had barely closed her eyes when her cell vibrated with a text from the hospital. After reading the message, Patricia dressed with speed. Stuffing her feet into her sneakers, she scribbled Ryan a note and sped out of her driveway. Patricia called Timothy as she navigated her way through the empty streets. It was 5:30 a.m. and most people were still in bed.
However, death didn’t have a bedtime. It came knocking any hour of the day. She pulled her black Mercedes next to Tim’s gold Camry and swiped her fob through the back entrance. Her sneakers made squishy noises in the quiet hallway until she opened the door to Trauma Room 2.
All sorts of beeps and noises greeted her. Patricia took in the bustle of the emergency staff. It was obvious they were in over their heads. She stuffed her hair under the cap, scrubbed her hands, and donned a protective mask and her lab coat before heading into the fray.
“What do we have here?” she asked.
“Four-year-old craniopagus twins, Anna and Alyssa Velasquez. Anna’s the one on the left. She had the seizure. Lucky for her, Dr. Newhouse was here.”
More like God was here. She studied the charts before walking over to where the twins lay. Her eyes traveled from their skinny little legs and up their small frames. By the time she reached their faces, Patricia’s heart tripped. Anna was asleep, but Alyssa observed her with curious eyes.
“Anna’s sick,” she breathed, her huge brown eyes filled with fright.
“Your sister’s okay,” Patricia said, patting her on the leg.
When a single tear rolled down Alyssa’s face, Patricia had to turn away. She had never had such an emotional reaction to a potential patient. She cleared her throat and addressed Jaclyn Desmoines, the nurse on duty.
“Where are the parents?” she asked.
“They’re in the waiting area. Dr. Newhouse went to speak with them.” Jaclyn lifted Anna’s limp hand. Then she whispered, “Can you separate them?”
“I’d have to look at their charts and order several scans to see what I’m dealing with. To separate craniopagus twins is usually a four-stage operation. It’s an extreme high-risk case because of the blood flow between the brains.” Patricia was one of the best, but she was not a miracle worker. She would need a strong team to complete the surgery.
Jaclyn continued, “They’ve traveled a long way—from Venezuela—to see you. Everything was fine until Anna had a seizure.”
“I want my mommy,” Alyssa yawned.
Promising the youngster to return with her mother, Patricia walked the short distance to the ER waiting area. Timothy stood talking with a couple she knew must be the Velasquezes.
With confident steps, she introduced herself.
“Can you help my babies?” Mrs. Velasquez begged. “Alyssa is stronger, but my Anna is a fighter.”
From years of experience, she knew better than to make empty promises. First, she would have to use tissue expanders to stretch the skin over their heads. Then after a month or so, she would do a final separation. The survival rate was rare, and neurological damage was a possibility. Knowing all this, Patricia said, “I’ll do the best I can. We’ll have to wait for Anna to become stable before even attempting the surgery.”
Later that morning, Timothy entered her office with two cups of coffee. “Dr. Oakes—I mean Patricia—I’d like to consult on the Velasquez case.”
She rubbed her eyes, accepting the steaming cup. She took a sip. “Just the way I like it.”
“Two sugars, no milk.” Timothy smiled.
How did he know? Her face must have asked the question.
“I make it my business to know everything about you,” he said.
Patricia was not sure how to take that so she opted to go the professional route. “You and I will work closely on this case. We’ll admit the twins and run some tests.”
“I’ve looked at the x-rays. I understand why the Velasquezes didn’t separate them. One or both could die.”
“Or neither.” Patricia injected a note of hope. She had not achieved her status as a neurosurgeon without taking risks.
Timothy acquiesced. “You’re right, of course. So, how many sleepless nights have you been having?”
Patricia straightened her spine, upset at what she viewed as his invasion into her personal life. “What do you mean by how many sleepless nights I’m having? Where do you get off asking me a question like that?”
Timothy lifted a hand. “Easy now. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. Your eyes look puffy, like you haven’t been sleeping well. I’m concerned. That’s all.”
Hating the compassion in his eyes, she got frosty. “I don’t need your concern. I wouldn’t be chief of neurosurgery if I couldn’t go days without sleep.”
Timothy wasn’t intimidated by her feisty bravado. He tilted her chin with a finger and said, “Get some rest, Patricia. You need it.”
Oh, now he wants to call me Patricia. She rolled her eyes but held her tongue. She was too tired to argue with him.
Tim gathered their coffee cups and deposited them in the trash. Then with a wink, he left the room. When the door closed, Patricia released a huge yawn and bent to touch her toes. She remained in that position until her muscles eased.
Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was fourteen minutes to ten. She picked up her phone and called Ryan. She needed her husband. She needed to hear his voice.
He didn’t answer.
She threw the phone across the room. Calm down, she told herself, but her mind didn’t heed. “I’m losing him. I’m losing my husband.” With a heavy heart, Patricia accepted the truth.