Tag Archives: doctor

UNDER THE SKIN, a political novel by Nick Hahn, due 2013

They wheeled him into an elevator, the cardiac operating unit was three floors up. I sat outside, numb from the 24fb76e6-5d62-44ec-96bb-b351047b8df2intensity of the last 24 hours. I’m not religious, but when the chaplain approached me, I broke down. It all started to register. My husband of thirty-three years was dying in a room just steps away, and this man would hold my hands and do what he could to comfort me. How absurd. I didn’t need a priest, I needed a miracle.

The surgeon pushed through the swinging doors, still wearing his cotton scrubs. They were printed in pink and blue flowers. How silly, I thought, what ever happened to pure white? He had magnifying glasses perched on his head over one of those funny  caps. He wore glasses of his own. I guessed him to be about forty five. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He walked up to me, pulling off his cap with one hand and holding the magnifying glasses in the other. He was perspiring. Simon had been in the operating room with him for over three hours and those lights are hot.

He stared at me. He was so young and sincere. “Are you Mrs. Kincaid?” he asked. He knew exactly who I was, but he still had to ask. I didn’t answer him, just nodded as the priest moved his chair closer. The flat screen TV was on. Some kid was watching cartoons with her mother. Why was a girl so young on the heart surgery floor? Must be her father, I decided.

Before he said a word, I knew what was coming. “We did all we could for your husband,” Mrs. Kincaid. “He had a massive myocardial infarction. The damage was extensive. We couldn’t save him. I’m sorry.”

Christ, why the fuck couldn’t he just say he was dead? Why did they have to use such professional sounding medical terms? I know you’re a doctor, you don’t need to impress me. A simple, “He had a heart attack. We lost him on the operating table. You have our deepest sympathy,” would have sufficed. I was feeling more angry than sad. I had lost my husband. In spite of his faults, and there were many, I loved him. I would miss him terribly. He was only 62; we still had so much to live for. I sucked in a deep breath, looked at this pathetic young doctor, and broke down uncontrollably.