Chapter 8: The Morning of the Surgery
The hospital smelled the way hospitals always smell — antiseptic and recycled air and something underneath both of those things that has no name but that every parent knows.
We arrived at five-thirty in the morning.
The girls were scheduled for back-to-back procedures — Ava first, then Mia, with a two-hour gap between them.
Dr.
Marsh had explained the sequencing carefully.
I had listened to every word and remembered almost none of it until I read my own notes back to myself the night before.
Sandra was already there when we arrived.
Standing near the check-in desk with two coffees she hadn't touched, wearing a grey coat, her hair pulled back.
She saw us come through the automatic doors and walked over without hesitating.
She handed me one of the coffees.
I took it.
"How are you doing?" she asked the girls.
"Terrified," Ava said.
"But ready."
"Same," said Mia.
"Good," Sandra said.
"Terrified and ready is exactly right."
The pre-surgical process moved quickly after that — paperwork, vitals, the nurses who were efficient and kind, the anesthesiologist who explained everything twice because I asked him to.
Ava was taken back first.
She squeezed my hand at the door to the surgical suite and then looked past me at Sandra.
"Thank you," she said to her mother.
"For the research.
For all of it.
Whatever happens today — thank you."
Sandra put her hand briefly on Ava's.
"Come back walking," she said.
"Or don't.
Either way, come back."
Ava smiled.
The doors closed.
The waiting was the hardest thing I have ever done, and I have done a great deal of hard things.
Sandra and I sat in the surgical waiting area with Mia between us, and we drank the cold coffee, and we talked — slowly, carefully, the way you talk when there is a great deal of history and a great deal of feeling and neither of you is sure yet which parts are safe to touch.
Mia fell asleep against my shoulder at around eight o'clock.
Sandra watched her sleep for a moment.
"She was always the one who could sleep anywhere," Sandra said quietly.
"Even as a baby."
"You remember that?" I asked.
"I remember everything," she said.
"Every single thing."
Dr.
Marsh came out at nine forty-seven.
He was still in his surgical cap.
His expression was the careful neutral of a man who has learned not to show outcomes before he is ready to explain them.
"Ava is out of surgery," he said.
"She's in recovery.
The procedure went well.
Nerve response was strong — better than our projected baseline."
I put my hand on Mia's shoulder and she woke immediately.
"Your sister is out," I said.
"She's okay."
Mia closed her eyes for a moment.
Then opened them.
"How strong?" she asked Dr.
Marsh.
"Strong enough that I'm cautiously optimistic about mobility outcomes above our initial projection," he said.
"We'll know more in the coming weeks as she begins rehabilitation.
But the response in the surgical suite was encouraging."
Mia's procedure began at eleven.
Sandra and I sat again.
This time the silence between us was different — easier, or at least less sharp.
"What happens after the surgery?" Sandra asked.
"For you, I mean.
Not medically."
"I don't know yet," I said honestly.
"The girls are deferring college for a year.
I've arranged remote work for the next few months.
We'll be in Baltimore for the inpatient recovery period."
"I have an apartment in Baltimore," she said.
"I keep it for foundation work.
You're welcome to use it.
All three of you."
I looked at her.
"I'm not asking for anything," she said again.
"I just — I have it.
And you'll need somewhere."
"Let me talk to the girls," I said.
She nodded.
"Of course."
Dr.
Marsh came back at two-fifteen.
"Mia's response was different from Ava's," he said.
"More complex, as we anticipated.
But the nerve tissue responded.
She's stable.
Recovery will be longer, and I want to be careful about mobility projections until we see how the first weeks go." He paused.
"But she came through well.
Both of them did."
I sat back in the chair.
My hands were shaking slightly.
I hadn't noticed until just then.
Sandra reached over and put her hand over mine.
She didn't say anything.
May you like
She just left it there.
I didn't move my hand away.
