When I step into the operating room, Jefferson has already been placed under by the anesthesiologist. I take my place beside Jefferson and call out to my surgical nurse, “Scalpel.” Within minutes, my pint-size patient’s sternum is opened.

As my assistant works to remove the thymus, I lose a little focus, remembering the day I spoke with Bethany on the phone about Jefferson.

My conversation was focused on trying to calm her down from her hysterical mood swing. She had taken Jefferson to another cardiologist over a year ago and was seeing no progress in reducing his symptoms. In fact, they appeared to be getting worse. She had researched online looking for the top doctors in the field of children's cardiology, which led her to me. My schedule had been packed, and the first appointment I had was months out. She begged and begged me to make an opening, claiming that money wasn’t an issue; she’d pay three times what I charged any other patient. Something about her pleading took hold of my heart, and I gave in, agreeing to stay late one night just so I could meet her and her son. After several tests, I knew there was no way Jefferson would be able to live a normal, healthy life with VSD, and was happy I had made the time to see her and Jefferson.

“The thymus has been removed,” my assisting surgeon says, pulling my attention back to the table.

“I’m opening the pericardium,” I advise and remove a portion to be used to fix the hole in the septum. Once I reach the tiny heart, my eyes glance across the table to the perfusion technologist working with me today, otherwise known as the blood flow specialist. “Prepare for bypass.” Once the tubes are properly in place, I give the go-ahead to initiate bypass. After the CPB has taken over, cardioplegia is administered to stop Jefferson's heart, so my team and I can work to repair the hole in the septum between the ventricles. I keep hearing Linc’s voice. Don’t make me a liar, Lillian. And for the first time in my career, I feel something I’ve never felt before. SCARED.

I don’t get close to my patients for a reason; I need to be able to do my job without emotions. But today, I’m struggling to do that. I knew that date with Lincoln was a bad Idea. Damn it, Lillian, get your head in the game, I reprimand myself internally.

“Four hours,” the attending anesthesiologist calls out. I’ve had a few challenges with Jefferson along the way, but we are at the point now that we can take him off bypass. “Switch off bypass,” I say to the attending blood flow specialist, and he does. Just as I’m ready to close Jefferson up, his heart rate starts to drop. Oh, God, no, I think to myself. “Defibrillators,” I call out, and I’m handed a set of paddles and quickly shock the tiny heart in front of me. “Please, please, little man, be strong.” Internally, I pray, but nothing happens. The nurse is quickly pumping air into his little lungs, and I send another jolt to his heart. It takes a moment, but I watch as the solid, straight line makes a little spike. Tension is high in the room as we all watch the monitor as it begins to confirm that once again, Jefferson’s little heart is beating on its own.

With a sigh of relief, I turn to my attending. “Close him up, please.” I don’t wait to hear his confirmation. I have a great team, one I’d stake my life on to do a good job. Today, I was the weak link.

Once I’m out of the operating room, I strip out of my blood-soaked scrubs and try to find some semblance of calmness before I go out to speak with the family. I run through the whole surgery in my mind, second-guessing if I did something that could have caused Jefferson’s heart to fail as it came off bypass. I should have been a machine in there, no emotions, but I wasn’t. I push all thoughts of negativity out of my mind as I head toward the waiting room.

As I step into the room, I immediately find Lincoln. He looks angry, as if he is about to burst, but when he sees me, a calmness seems to come over him. Bethany quickly stands beside her brother. “Jefferson is in recovery,” I tell them. “We were able to repair the hole, and he is resting fine. You should be able to see him shortly.” I leave out the part where I almost lost her son.

Bethany reaches out to me, taking my hand in hers, and squeezes tightly. “Thank you so much.”

I wish she wouldn’t thank me. Would she still be thanking me if I told her I almost lost her little boy? I wonder.

“So, how long before I can see him?” Bethany inquires

“As I said before, he is in recovery. Once Jefferson is set, I’ll send a nurse out to get you, Bethany. It shouldn’t be very long.” I turn and head toward the door, making a run for it before anyone asks anything else. I think I’m home free once I enter the hallway, but then I feel a hand tighten around my arm, spinning me around and tugging me into a wall of warmth and muscle. The smell of sandalwood and musk fills my nose. It’s a smell that is singular to him and him alone. One I’ve never smelled until Friday morning.

My body immediately goes rigid, worrying if anyone is watching this. “Thank you so much,” Lincoln’s voice whispers into my ear. His body is shaking as he continues to say it over and over again. I give in and let my arms wrap around him as well. I feel his heart rate decrease, and a calmness takes over. I am enjoying being in his arms way too much. So much that my own heartbeat begins to increase as his calms. His breath on my neck is sending shivers down my spine while my nipples begin to harden. His eyes meet mine as if trying to read my thoughts, but when he closes his briefly, it is all I need to come to my senses and break away from his embrace.

Like a frightened mouse, I scurry away, finding solace in an empty patient room when all I want to do is stay and be held by Linc.