Page 36 of Halo

“That still doesn't make it okay. We do not use that word at school, and we definitely do not push people.” I put my hand on his back before turning to Tucker and the other boys. “Y’all, we can joke and play with our friends, but if they say no or if they tell you that you are hurting their feelings, you need to stop. It’s no longer fun for everyone. And we definitely do not put our hands on anyone and hold them down. Ever.” I sigh. “Do y'all understand me?”

They bob their heads, staring quietly at the ground.

I sigh, motioning them to follow me. “Let’s go line up—”

“Nick said I should.” I pause, allowing him to continue. “He told me to stand my ground and let people who make fun of me know that I don’t like it.”

“You boys go on ahead.” I turn my attention to Grady, furrowing my eyebrows. “Who’s Nick?”

Adjusting his glasses, his eyes light up and meet mine. “Nick is my new friend. We got to play at Mommy’s work, and-and we might get to play again soon if Mommy says it’s okay. He’s so cool.”

New friend. My heart softens despite the circumstances. I slowly inhale. “I’m glad you have a new friend, Grady. But it’s never cool to hurt other people, okay? Now, let’s get inside, and talk about all of this with Mr. Torres.”

We walk silently back toward the building where the other kindergarten classes are slowly heading back inside one homeroom at a time. I watch Grady for a moment as he takes his spot at the end of the line before turning my attention back to my restless children. “Okay, class, hands behind your back—” they promptly obey—“and swallow a bubble.” Puffing out their cheeks like little chipmunks, they quiet down, waiting for my directions.

After a trip to the bathroom—or what I have dubbed, the school’s waterpark—the kids settle down into their seats. I ask my teaching partner from across the hall if she can keep an eye on my class for a few minutes before escorting Grady to the front office.

By the time we arrive, Tucker and the other boys are already sitting outside the vice principal's office with their teacher, each of them suddenly looking much less confident than they had on the playground.

I place a hand on Grady's shoulder as I quietly lean in over the secretary's desk. “I need to call his mom.”

Chapter 10

Nick

“You hanging in there, Siobhan?”

“I-I think so,” her voice trembles. Despite her excruciating headache that reduced her to tears less than an hour ago, she’s holding remarkably still, curled on her side. “Are you getting close?”

“Yes, ma’am. Almost there.” I carefully advance the Tuohy needle through the tough fibers and ligature of her back. “Lots and lots of pressure.”

“I just had a baby, Dr. Crawford. This is not lots and lots of pressure.”

I chuckle. “I guess I wouldn’t exactly know, huh?”

Millimeter by millimeter, I maneuver the sharp instrument, my fingertips hyperfocused for a subtle change in pressure. Unlike many areas of medicine, anesthesiology demands a level of trust in what isn’t visible. We have to navigate through anatomy—sometimes with imperfections—and make crucial decisions based solely on our instincts and experience.

The change is almost imperceptible, but after thousands of procedures, I recognize the loss of resistance immediately, indicating I’m in the right spot. “Perfect.” I hold the needle steady while Siobhan's delivery nurse, Larissa, draws a vial of blood from her arm. A few moments later, I slowly inject it into the epidural space, careful not to rush the process.

“And this patches the leak?” the new mom asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” Larissa answers. “The clotting abilities in your blood will create a scab over wherever the leak is.”

“Wow,” Siobhan hums.

“Pretty neat, huh?” I remove the needle and control her bleeding. “Your body is doing all the hard work. I’m simply giving it a nudge in the right direction.”

Dimming the lights, Larissa and I ease Siobhan onto her back, adjusting her blankets and fluffing her pillows. She settles into the mattress, her eyes closed. The tension that had been etched across her face earlier has finally begun to fade.

“How’s that headache now?” I ask, signing into the computer to make some notes.

“You're a miracle worker, Dr. Crawford.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Larissa jokes. “He has a big enough head as is.”

“What can I say?” I shrug. “My God-complex doesn’t fuel itself.”

I spend the next several minutes discussing activity restrictions and pain management with Siobhan. Before I can finish, a call light connected to Larissa's pager chirps. She glances down at it and sighs. “It’s my other patient. I'll be right back.”