Chapter Seventeen
Tabia Ibrahim, MD
The apartment is warm and clean, the way I like it. Rensis finished his shift before me, so it was his turn to do chores and run errands. I’m not surprised he’s out.
My bags plop onto the bed, slipping from their tug against my arm. Kicking off shoes, both ankles roll with a sleet-like crackle. I sit on the bed to stretch their sore tendons. Half my reflection peeps in the large bathroom vanity. Smudged eyeshadow accentuates the creases of my eyelids, outlined in thick liner and sprinkled with mascara. Sometimes I feel the thirties are fleeting me.
When I twist the shower handle, water falls from my ceiling. I click on a Bluetooth speaker and blast the last half of a Queen album. Steam rises, carrying with it a creamy lemongrass aroma. The hot water sizzles against my skin, flows with a comforting warmth. A temporary hug. I squirt shampoo into my hand, scent so sharp I almost taste the lemon, and rub the gooey liquid across my scalp.
I try not to think about Oliver. Yelling at them resurfaced a stifled arrogance. I didn’t want to stop. Watching their face fall with conviction was enough to fulfil my craving for justice. Rollo Brent was a prideful, ignorant man, but he was human. Oliver is not.
Tomorrow will be busy. Tomorrow I have an intestinal transplant scheduled for an infant. I’m supposed to use one of Bywyd’s newest chimeras, Ayla Farr, to complete the procedure. Overseeing Ayla’s first donation enlivens me.
The soap rinses off my hands so I can rub both eyes. Turning off the water, I stuff my face into a white towel and feel cold air prickle up legs. The album booms. I need to remember to request this one at Bywyd.
“Honey,” Rensis yells. I pause, wrap around the towel, and poke my head out of the bathroom.
“When did you get home?” I ask. He doesn’t acknowledge my words.
“Tabi, I got the rug you always ask for. I put it in the living room. Wanna see?”
I tilt my head to the side. “You said you were going to pick up groceries, not furniture.”
He laughs and takes my hand, kissing me on the cheek. “Sorry, I got carried away. But to celebrate my promotion I thought this would be a great idea. Look.”
A beige rug lays flat underneath the coffee table. It’s not the one I’ve asked for.
“So lovely, Ren,” I say in a breathy tone. “Thank you.”
“Of course. And I got us a cake, too.”
‘That’s lovely.”
“We can have it before dinner. Or after. Whichever you choose.”
I curl around his shoulders and massage his skin. For some reason, this always makes him quiet. I’m not sure if it’s because of my touch or because of relieved tension. “We have a whole night to ourselves,” I whisper slowly. “We are a lucky couple.”
“Yes…”
“Why don’t you get in the shower? The water feels amazing.”
He turns, face glowing. Without hesitation he puts down his phone and exits the living room.
I think about what his promotion truly means. Less hospital hours and more corporate hours. Still, now he’s a doctor; he’s achieved his dream.
When we sit for dinner, I am the first to speak. “So.” I take a gulp of water.
“So?”
“You have some decisions to make.”
He shovels the cooked lamb into his mouth. “How to oversee Bywyd, I know.”
“I’m talking about your other good news.” Smiling, I stab some salad with a fork. “Dr. Rensis.”
“Oh.” He plants a napkin on his face. I imagine he’s hiding red cheeks. “That too, I suppose. Guess we aren’t going to have many more nights together.”
“What are you going to choose? You don’t have to take the position at Bywyd.”
“Why not?”
“Because now you’ve finished your goal. And working for Bywyd Incorporated means less surgical work.”
Lifting his spoon, he scoops up potatoes. “I know.” He sighs, and a potato falls onto the plate with a thud. “I’m going to do my best to balance it. But hey, I have my degree.” He eats the vegetable and swallows quickly. “After all, you’re the real surgeon.”
I look to the lamb on my plate and slice precise, thin cuts. “I’m proud of you, and I don’t want them taking advantage of your talents.”
“Yes, but Tabi,” he groans, “think about their stress. They just lost a prestigious man. I want to help them.”
My fingers press harder against the knife. “Sometimes I feel like they aren’t on our side.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hiding their lab work from us. You know what happened to the chimeras is their fault.”
“I disagree.”
“Whatever.” I chew on a peppery slice of meat, “I don’t understand why they want to punish Oliver like this. What have you heard?”
He shrugs. He hides under the napkin again. “Nothing much.”
“I’m excited about the microchips, at least. Especially since we have that girl. She’s going to be more of an asset than she thinks.”
“Well,” Rensis shrugs, “trust me, Culpepper may help, but Oliver will help more. Anything to get themselves out of this mess. They think they’re innocent, can you believe it?”
“I do.”
He drops his silverware against the plate. “But…but Aoife said…”
“I was just separating emotion from business. Isn’t that what doctors have to do?”
“Good,” he says, chewing another potato. “Oliver will be happy to hear that.”
Wiping the sides of my mouth with a napkin, I smirk. Maybe his promotion is a good thing.
“So I have a transplant at the beginning of my shift tomorrow,” I say. “Feel free to join if you want.”
“Depends. What kind?”
“Infant lung. It’s on Ayla, actually. The one you named this week.”
“Count me in for sure.” Rising from the chair, he takes his dishes and grabs mine as well. We wipe down the table before returning to the bedroom.
I consider my bed an indulgence. Its thick memory foam, cool feather pillows, and chenille sheets cradle my body in ways that medical bunks are incapable. I pity my patients simply for their lack of comforting amenities.
Rensis unfolds the bedsheets and slips into the space beside me. He holds a heavy plate of chocolate cake in his right hand and offers a forkful.
“I’m alright,” I say, turning on the flat screen and lowering the volume. The voices on the news are merely background.
“I wonder if they realize what’s in store for them,” Rensis comments.
“Who?” I ask. He raises eyebrows. “Oh, you mean Oliver.”
He laughs. “Yes.”
“I still can’t get over the situation. Everything’s happened so quickly.”
He nods and edges himself deeper into the bed. “They deserve to be punished. More donations, maybe. Or serious meds.”
“As long as no one hurts them.”
He grunts. I tap a sensor on the wall and the lights flash off. Rensis eats his cake, the chocolaty powder scent overwhelming. We listen to the humming murmurs of news broadcasters. It’s intriguing to learn about the real world, one without medical terminology and test tubes and scrubs.
Sometimes I feel safer in my Bywyd bubble.
In the morning, I return to shift alert and jazzed with coffee. I try to remember the images that came to me during sleep. I scrub my hands under hot water and wait for attendants to dry the skin and slide on gloves. The rubber material smells sharply of its packaging.
More attendants wheel in the chimera. I approach Rensis, who hands me the tray of equipment. Until the anesthesiologist finishes his portion, I can do nothing. We wait for my team to complete the final stages of prep.
Doctor Hudson attends also. He gives me the scalpel and I steady a hand for incision. As the knife presses into the soft chest, I feel Rensis breathe warm air against my neck.
“Starting with the thoracotomy,” I say stiffly.
Doctor Hudson laughs. “Your husband seems mesmerized right now.”
I choke up a cough. “Back away, Dr. Ibrahim. I can feel you breathing on me.”
“Oh,” Rensis says. “Sorry.”
Satisfied with the incision, I fill myself with confidence. “Would you like to continue the deeper cut?” I ask him.
Without speaking, he takes the scalpel and creates a smoother, larger incision. Pride flows through my mind. He and Shedrick work together to split epidermal tissues.
“I wonder,” Rensis says, “what is the circumference of this baby’s trachea?”
“Hm, let’s see,” Shedrick mutters. “The circumference of Uranus…”
A cackle escapes my throat. I turn to Rensis, who grins and continues splitting. We both forget that Shedrick is older than us by scores.
“It’s quiet in here,” I say. “Someone plug up my playlist. Turn on music.”
A nurse proceeds to play the speakers, and the Queen album I heard last night continues to blast. The other doctors scoot away so I can begin the real work. Taking steady hands, I cut off the blood supply to the right lung. The step that ran through my mind last night.
“Dr. Ibrahim,” a rushed voice says, “Dr. Ibrahim, it’s me, I have some news.”
I cautiously lift my head and fix my attention on the double-doors of the operating room. Aoife stands at the entrance, drooping eyes and unmasked face the only signals I need to understand her message.
“When did you lose her?”
“As soon as we attempted to cauterize the arteries.”
“Okay.” Metal flashes underneath the lights as I drop the equipment into the tray. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lomax.”
“We did everything.”
“Of course.” I look to Rensis. “Not all of the blood supply has ended. After I sew the arteries I want you to stitch it back up.”
He nods and waits for me to finish. The worst outcome could be that the chimera’s lung stops functioning and a potential resource is wasted.
I know it’s not my fault, but I feel as though I failed. I keep failing. Maybe Rensis should be promoted; he can hold up my reputation in this place.
Maybe my place is with the microchips. I need to explore them regardless of corporate’s agenda.
