Creating a sterilized environment for surgery is quite impossible, especially in a bay house with broken windows exposed to the ocean air. But Travis had a resourcefulness that was independent of the need for internet information. He suggested we find three sterile rooms. The first was a bathroom. To make the bathroom sterile, the boys found a way to create a 500-ppm sodium hypochlorite solution in bulk to wipe the floor, walls, ceiling and shower stall. The disinfecting solution was composed of cleaning disinfectants downstairs as well as large chlorine tablets for the backyard pool, which was now completely submersed under the ocean. They dragged me over onto a couch in the living room beside the bathroom so I could watch and no longer suffer through the pouring rain. The wind was howling through the broken windows now, and Travis told George and Craig to grab curtains from the lower level bedrooms to try to mask the rain from coming in. Craig ended up finding a Japanese style privacy fold-out wall that was taller than the balcony doorways and was able to duct tape it so tight that the wind hardly made it shake.
He wiped his forehead and gave me a wink. Then a thumbs-up. "Don't worry, Zara. Everything's gonna be alright."
That type of encouragement was surprising coming from a guy like Craig Ferguson. He was normally the rebel-without-a-cause, Debbie-downer type, and maybe it was the fact that the whole town was submersed under water and that made him feel like he was starting his life again with a fresh start, but I certainly found his smile charming.
Over in the bathroom, the smell of Clorox disinfectant bleach was being used and I could hear Jack, Travis and Brett run out with kitchen gloves coughing hysterically from the potent air. "Close the door," ordered Travis Gibbs. "We'll keep the bathroom sealed and just let it marinate in the poison for a while until all the germs are dead. Now we have to find fans to create an airflow that pushes any possible germs out of where we'll operate, to the bathroom where we'll get dressed and cleaned to out into the living room. The airflow is key to keeping everything sterile once we're in there, because once we are inside, the majority of germs will be coming from our own bodies. And if we are going to be exposing Zara's abdomen to the environment, we have to one-hundred percent certain not a single organism from our flesh makes its way inside her wound."
Jesus, this was turning out to be worse of a nightmare than I had imagined. First the flood, now an operation on my body by a bunch of lunatic school goers.
The master bedroom connected to the bathroom was the room of choice for my operation. They stepped through an alternate door to go inside, closed the door, and I could hear a bucket splash the hard wood flooring, then a row of mops they grabbed from downstairs. I heard Jack tell Brett, "Pass me the bucket, I'll get the ceiling, stud man." Stud man was a new installment in the quiet camaraderie between Jack and Brett ever since we had the thanksgiving dinner, where my uncle and cousins played football with Brett, and my aunt Cecile had come out last minute and mentioned to our group that, That young Stevens boy sure is a studly man, isn't he? We all laughed about it when Brett returned indoors to eat a fifth course of turkey and stuffing.
An even worse intensity of bleach aura seeped out of the master bedroom, and I could see the boys shove a towel under the door so air would not come out. I heard them cough and walk through the bathroom, then out the bathroom into the living room, their faces pale and their eyes wandering in a dizzy state. The cleaning materials must have made them woozy.
But Travis spotted my stomach again and his eyes flared as though he thought it was getting worse. I looked down at myself, and I wasn't sure if my stomach was just painted in dark blood or if I had already suffered an infection.
Travis clapped his hands, "Okay, we're going to wait ten minutes for the disinfectants to kill all the germs in there. We've got the fans going so the airflow points down at the floor and away from the center of the room where we will position Zara for the procedure. I found tweezers and scissors and other miscellaneous silver utensils from the lady's bathrooms around the bay house, and they are soaking in sodium hydroxide, 14 pH, very basic solution as we speak. Now all that's left to do is pick out what anesthesia we'll administer on Zara," he pointed and stared straight at me, "in order to knock you out so you will sleep through the whole thing."
"Not too much," I insisted. Although I would hate to be slightly conscious during the endeavor. (I wouldn't want to experience the nightmare of feeling pain and being unable to move my mouth and tell them to stop.) "I want enough in order to be knocked out but I don't want you to give me too much anesthesia that you'll stop my lungs from breathing."
"Fair point," said Travis. (However, it was obvious he had already thought of that as he brushed his hand and beckoned the four other boys to follow him to the third-floor bathroom where I heard the medicine cabinets slamming and pill containers rattling.) "These should work," I heard Travis say in a jolly tone before the rattling of pill jars and the stomping of feet raced up the stairs and reached me at the couch again.
I was surprised that along with pill jars, Jack was holding a pot of lavender--(I breathed in the scent and instantly felt a bit more relaxed), George was holding a bottle of Clove oil, which Travis told him to start administering topically to the surface of my wound-- (I immediately started to feel a numbing sensation where I was feeling the most pain), and Craig and Brett were carrying an old iPod and music speakers--
"Is the music to calm me down?" I asked, looking up at them, feeling touched.
But Travis shook his head. "No way, the music is to keep us relaxed as we do the procedure on you."
I shot him a blank look. Gee, thanks.
Craig picked some high-energy music to get the mood bumping and I no longer felt relaxed as the speakers mixed the beat.
Travis looked around and checked the clock on the wall. "Okay guys, once I give her these pills, we're going to escort her into the bathroom, and all take showers one-by-one. The towels are inside there and should be steamed up, so just change into a towel, and walk into the master bedroom/operation room when you're all cleaned up. There are clean robes in there as well for us to put on. But be sure you walk out bare foot."
Jack butted in. "Excuse me, but the only person who is going to be giving my girlfriend a shower is me."
Travis snapped his fingers as though he was just remembering that such an idea would make the most sense. "Right, I forgot about that. Okay then, I give her the pills, you take her to get a shower, you both leave to the operation room and get set up, and the rest of us will follow one after the other into the shower and then operation room, to start the procedure, and Zara should be sleeping by then."
I gulped. Sleeping during a procedure made me feel uncomfortable because then I would have zero control over what happens to me. "How long do you think the procedure will take, and how do you plan to sow me back up?"
Travis scratched the back of his neck. He tried to answer under his breath. "WE found some thread and sowing needles in the bathroom cabinets besides the spare shirt buttons, and I also found a staple gun."
I said nothing, but stared at him for some awkward ten seconds, trying to register if he was joking. Eventually I realized he wasn't, then I figured there could be worse ideas, like duct taping my belly instead.
Travis tried to assure me everything would be alright, but he wasn't too convincing. "We cleaned the staples and needles and thread as well."
I breathed a worried sigh, and felt Jack hold my hand again. I looked over, saw his beautiful face, and shook out of terrible fear again. I turned to Travis, "Am I going to be okay?"
Travis looked at me and then all of the other boys, evidently becoming self-conscious. But realizing he was the leader of this operation, he knew he needed to set an example so everyone would be confident and be on their best performance, so he stood taller and nodded to me. "You'll wake up from this, I promise. And if this doesn't save you, it will keep you alive long enough before the flood response teams arrive."
That last bit killed the moment. This better save me, Travis. But I couldn't say anything, for my mouth was suddenly dry, and I laid my head back on the pillow on the couch. Travis pulled out a row of six pills and passed them one by one to me with a giant glass of Britta filtered water. I don't know what he gave me, but before I knew it, my eyes were closed.
I could still feel the pain burning in my stomach.