That Blue Gibson: Another Round

twenty-nine

"She's bleeding...," the doctor started and then realized how idiotic it sounded since the man hanging on his every word was literally dripping with the evidence. "She's bleeding and I can't tell from where. Either there's still a bit of tissue that we missed or the incision ruptured or..."

He droned on as they briskly walked through the internals of the hospital, something about tone, trauma, and tissue, and Dave tried to listen but every sentence was more horrifying than the next.

"... we tried to massage it back into size, but that was far too painful for her, so we'll give it another go once she's under. If that doesn't stop the bleeding, I'll go in."

"Go in?" Dave frowned when his voice cracked and knew the rest of him would crack soon as well.

"Yeah," he finally stopped walking just outside two large doors. "We'll open her back up and make sure it's not leftover tissue or an injury we missed."

Dave was suddenly wishing he would have thought to bring the trash can with him when the doctor stepped forward, setting his hands on his shoulders and looking pointedly into his eyes.

"Bottom line, Dave, she's going to be fine. She's relatively young and in excellent health."

"Yeah," he nodded and tucked his hair behind his ears, suddenly unable to look at the man about to slice open his wife for the second time in the span of just a few hours, "Yeah, okay."

"This is going to take a bit. Maybe a couple hours. Why don't you get cleaned up back in her room and I'll send someone to come get you once she's done."

As he moved to open the double doors, Dave remembered what he had said in the hallway outside the room. "Wait... you said... you said something about saving. What are you trying to save?"

Shaking hands paused over the door handle, making Dave wonder if it was okay for a surgeon to shake so badly.

"Sometimes," he sighed deeply, almost sadly, "... sometimes when this happens and we can't stop the bleeding, we have to do a hysterectomy."

Dave felt the blood leave his face and knew the doctor had noticed by the way he added, "But like I said, she's in good health and this is rare. Carrying multiples is tricky work, you know. Do you need someone to sit with you while-"

"No, I'm good," he muttered. The last thing he needed was some stranger giving him reassuring words. "That's worst case scenario, right? ... having to take it all out?"

"Of course. My job is to get her back to you with all the pieces she went in with, okay? Hang in there, Rock Star."

*

Taylor was waiting for him in the room, seemingly cavernous now that the large bed was gone, with an arm full of clean clothes pulled from Liz's overnight bag. A puddle of blood was smeared across the floor along with countless other drops and it was obvious Taylor was trying to distract him from it.

"They said you should take a shower," he said quietly. "Do you want me to stay and hang with you for a bit?"

Dave was on the verge of a breakdown, he knew it by the tightness in his chest and the way he pulled and picked incessantly at his beard. "Yeah," he managed, "... unless Al needs you next door."

The flash of a bright white smile relieved some of the fear in him. "She's got it, man. I'm staying with you."

And he wasn't lying. Taylor stood just on the other side of the shower curtain while Dave scrubbed off as much of the dried blood as he could, trying not to dwell on the red wisps circling the drain. Liz's things were mixed in with the arm-full Taylor had given him and Dave knew that he had tossed them in deliberately. Taylor knew that replacing her blood with the smell of her soap would make the process a bit more bearable.