mingling with the new doctors, inviting them to visit Pathology, and also with several of her staff colleagues, she decided to skip out, admittedly feeling disappointed. With no chance for witty conversation with her doctor of choice, that Southern charmer who appeared to be taken anyway, there was no point in sticking around another minute. Unfortunately, her path of exit brought her by Jackson and Yuri, who looked like they were edging their way out, too.
Yuri gazed at her, tension in her eyes. “Hi, Charlotte.”
“Hi, Yuri.” No hard feelings. Yuri was a nice woman. “See you Monday.” She scurried on by but not before someone tapped her on the shoulder. A third time! That Antwan didn’t know when to give up. She swung around, less-than-kind thoughts in her mind and probably flashing in her eyes, to see Jackson’s laid-back smile.
“You going already?”
Switching gears fast, she skidded into sociable. “Oh, uh, yes. Got a big day tomorrow, with Dr. Gordon’s surgery and all. Well, you obviously know that.”
“Yeah, I’ll be leaving shortly, too.”
Hmm, he’d said “I’ll,” not “we’ll.” Stop it. Don’t continue to be a fool. “Well, good-bye, then. I’ll be ready with the cryostat bright and early. I promise to get those frozen sections cut, stained and read in record time.”
“I’m sure you will. Well, listen, I just wanted to make sure you knew how stunning you look today. I could hardly take my eyes off you.”
Was he saying this right in front of Yuri? What was with men these days? But Yuri smiled up at him approvingly.
“Well, thank you.” Her head was officially spinning with confusion. “I guess.” She glanced at Yuri again, who continued to smile. “Good-bye now.”
Jackson grinned and nodded and let her leave with a wad of conflicting thoughts clumping up her brain. What was going on?
Once she hit the street and got some fresh air, she inhaled deeply to clear her head, then gave herself a stern talking-to. That’s what I get for letting a man get under my skin. I should know better!
* * *
On Monday morning Charlotte came into work early, hoping to see Dr. Gordon in the hospital before he’d been given his pre-op meds. Unfortunately, he already had, but he wasn’t yet so out of it that he couldn’t squeeze her hand and give her a smile and a thumbs-up as they rolled him from his hospital room toward surgery. His slightly intoxicated grin nearly broke her heart.
The vision of him stripped down to a bland hospital gown, with a little blue “shower cap” covering over his abundant white hair, lying on the narrow gurney as the transportation clerk pushed him toward the elevator, made her eyes blur and her chest squeeze. It also brought back sad memories of seeing her mother in the same position years ago, and reinforced why she’d chosen the safety of the isolated pathology department to the hospital wards after medical school.
To distract herself, she stopped at the cafeteria and bought a large coffee, then headed to the basement to her department, where she’d double-check the cryostat before Dr. Gordon’s first specimen arrived.
Jackson planned to send down from surgery a sentinel node for her initial study, and depending on her findings, they would proceed from there.
By eight-fifteen the OR runner appeared in her lab with the first node from Dr. Gordon. The specimen came with exact directions as to where it had been resected and she made a note of that with a grease pencil on the textured side of the first of several waiting glass slides. She carefully put the specimen in a gel-like medium and placed it in a mold for quick freezing in the cryostat. She helped the process along with special fast-freeze spray, then within less than half a minute mounted the fully frozen specimen on the chuck and set up the microtome to her exact specifications.
After dusting the initial cut away from the blade with a painter’s brush, she made the next cut and got the full surface of the node on the microtome then pressed her labeled glass slide to pick it up. She used H&E stain for immediate results since the hematoxylin and eosin stains worked best for her purposes, then placed a coverslip.
Whisking the now stained slide to the lab microscope, she began her study, and soon her hope for a benign node was dashed. Within five minutes of receiving the first specimen, she had to report the bad news over the intercom that connected surgery to her little corner of the world. The protocol was not to get into histologic details with frozen sections, instead sticking to a “just the facts, ma’am” approach.
“Dr. Hilstead, this is Dr. Johnson reporting that the first lymph node is positive for metastatic cancer.” The words tangled in her throat, and she had to force them out, refusing to let her voice waver in the process.
“I see,” Jackson replied. “I’ll proceed to the next lymph node. Stand by.”
“I’ll be here.”
* * *
Jackson continued with abdominal lymph node dissection, and she dutifully and quickly made her cryosurgical cuts and examined each and every specimen under the microscope, tension mounting with each specimen. The head of histology poked her head in the door, wearing a sad expression. Word soon spread in the small laboratory section about Dr. Gordon. Charlotte worked on in silence. After three positive-for-cancer lymph nodes, her voice broke as she reported, “This one is also positive.”
A lab tech standing silently behind her in the tiny cryostat room moaned and left, grabbing a tissue on the way out. Dr. Gordon was well liked by his staff because he treated everyone decently, and in Charlotte’s case, taking her under his wing and mentoring her when she’d been a green-behind-the-ears pathologist. She owed so much to him, yet all she could do today was be the bearer of bad news on his behalf.
There was no hiding the fact her findings were tearing her up, and her favorite surgeon must have felt compelled to console her. “We’re almost done here, Charlotte. Just a few more, I promise.”
“Of course.” She recovered her composure, knowing the entire surgical team could hear her over the intercom. “I’ll be here, Doctor.”
And so it went until they found a benign node after six specimens.
* * *
Early afternoon, stowed away in the comfort of her dark office, studying yesterday afternoon’s surgical slides, Charlotte sipped chamomile tea. With her heart loaded down with emotions, feeling like a brick around her neck, it would be a long day that she’d just have to force herself through. She’d had plenty of experience willing herself through days at a time, beginning as a teenager and more recently two years ago after her surgery had been done and she’d had to deal with the reality of her decision. She’d stripped herself of part of her female identity and hadn’t yet figured out how to move forward. Derek’s reaction the first time they’d made love after surgery, his expression when he’d seen her, would forever be tattooed in her mind.
A light double tap on her closed door drew her out of the doldrums she’d been intent on wallowing in. “If it isn’t important, I’d rather be left alone.” She went the honest route, hoping the staff would understand, especially since they all seemed to already know about Dr. Gordon’s diagnosis.
The door opened, and Jackson, ignoring her request to be left alone, stepped inside. He was still in OR scrubs, his wavy hair mostly covered with the OR cap as he closed the door
