Page 47 of The Goalie in Room 1

“Patient is Caspian Benjamin. Date of birth confirmed. Right knee marked and verified.”

My eyes found my initials, and I said, “Confirmed.”

“Scheduled procedure is right knee osteochondral allograft transplantation to the medial femoral condyle.”

“Confirmed,” I replied.

“Consent matches. Donor graft is present and verified.”

“Verified,” Nina said from the graft table.

“Preoperative antibiotics administered,” Michael said.

Rochelle continued through the checklist we’d performed hundreds of times before. Sometimes multiple times a day.

No joking. No emotions. No shortcuts because I knew the patient. No shortcuts because I wanted him and he wanted me. I smiled behind my mask as the photo of a countdown widget I received from Cash a few days ago popped into my head.

Just reasons for me to be meticulous as always.

“Anesthesia concerns?” Rochelle asked.

“None,” Michael responded.

“Surgical concerns?”

My eyes were still glued to the black initials I’d put on Cash’s skin in pre-op. He bore my name on his knee.

TV

“None.”

Rochelle looked around the room one final time. “Everyone?”

A chorus of confirmations followed.

“Time-out complete.”

That was it.

Caspian Benjamin. Twenty-three years old. Professional goaltender. Fourth operation on his right knee in eleven months. Focal articular cartilage defect of the medial femoral condyle.

My patient.

Nothing more. Not until I finished. Not until he was healed.

I held out my hand.

“Scalpel.”

Davina startled me as I stepped out of the shower with a towel pressed to my stomach. “What the fuck, Davina?”

“Get dressed,” she said, tossing clothes at me that I only half caught to keep from flashing her. “His oxygen levels keep dropping.”

She stomped out of the ensuite in my office, the outer door slamming shut. I sighed, hastily dried off, and pulled on the scrubs she’d tossed at me.

Davina had developed an affinity for Cash since that first visit. And she hadn’t always been my business manager. She started with me as a nursing student, then stood at my elbow through years of surgeries and complications until injuries from a car accident kept her from standing for long periods and she moved to the front office. She knew her shit, and I trusted her.

I trusted Michael too. He was an excellent anesthesiologist, but Davina and her husband butted heads like two horny rams during mating season. Davina, overly cautious. Michael, not cautious enough sometimes.