Impuls

Aster

A girl is already lying on the bed with a movable leg – still under anesthesia, and the anesthesiologist is chirping in his high chair with wheels (Riley whispers in Emily's ear that his name is Dylan). He has another pair of screens next to him, on a movable tripod; a large computer-like keyboard, and a whole bunch of wires.

Everything around Emily is wrapped in sterile film: the enormous microscope Clark is fiddling with; the surgical bench with the nurse standing by; and even the anesthesiologist's chair. The man sitting in it is talking so loudly that his voice echoes off the walls:

– Look at this! – he shouts in admiration, touching the stem of the microscope. – It's a Leica! You don't even have to do anything with it, just stare and enjoy it! My girl," Dylan adds fondly, patting the plastic.

Clark raises an eyebrow.

– That's what you said about the last one, Kemp," she says wryly.

– "Yuck," he says with a grudge. – That one wasn't as graceful and deep as…

– Don't go on. – Clark walks over to the tool table. – What have you laid out for me here? Why would I want this? I'm going to kill you!

– It's not me," Dylan waves his hands. – That's the new nurse Andrew brought in. The one with the big tits! – he whispers loudly, pointing to the girl standing in the distance.

– And a small brain. I don't need half of that. – Emily can almost feel Clark's lips pursing. – I'm not going to do an LP. And why couldn't we just split this up into two tables?

– Need I remind you to fire her? – Riley's voice booms.

– I'll think about it. – Clark's approaching the patient. – Are we ready? Then let's get started.

The shadowless lights flare and bright white light floods the operating room, making it look like Purgatory. A minute later, there is a click, and the film-wrapped docking station with an iPhone inserted into it begins to play unobtrusive music.

Emily is waved away, told not to disturb her and to stand in the corner, and she, huddled in a chair at the very end of the operating room, keeps her eyes on the surgeons and the screens: they now show the image of the shaved back of the patient's head.

Emily can hardly see what is happening, but she can clearly hear Dylan joyfully informing her that she can dissect.

– Beginning the trepanation," Riley informs her.

Clark, standing on the other side of the patient, yawns under his mask.

The screens show every movement: here the surgeon carefully cuts a small, horseshoe-like semicircle; puts staples on both sides of the skin, secures them; Clark runs a scalpel inside, carefully separating tissue from bone; the operating nurse instantly dries. Clark dissects the periosteum, waits for Gilmore to make a few holes, and then carefully peels away the unwanted part. There is a quiet whirring sound: the small saw gently passes between the holes, leaving only one untouched – at this point the bone flap they peeled off earlier will be connected to the skull through the periosteum that has not yet been removed.

Every movement, every millimeter, every next step is fine-tuned; the precision with which Gilmore performs the trepanation gives Emily's back goose bumps.

And the doctor is amused.

– I've reached…" Riley begins.

– …bottom," Dylan finishes for him.

– Fuck you. Cutting through the hard shell… Great. That's it, you're out.

What Clark does next remains a mystery to Emily: she sees two thin wires on large handles bouncing back and forth inside the patient's head; she hears unfamiliar words and Gilmore's approving exclamations:

– Oh, how glorious… I see you had a great morning!

– What makes you think that? – Clark throws a clip in the cuvette and immediately puts a new one in.

– So Moss is on the night shift today.

– Moss has been going to a lot of nights. Who lets him in there anyway?

– He's his own boss. – Riley shrugs. – Give us a zoom on square four…

– Well," Clark puts the instrument aside, "that's his choice. After all, you and I aren't in the waiting room to complain.

– Neither is he in the waiting room at night. – The surgeon pushes the tissue aside. – I don't see any tumors yet, which is what I needed to prove.

– Let him do what he wants. As long as he doesn't show up here," Clark grimaced.

– Exactly," Riley agreed. – Davis, by the way, asked for Saturday off. Daughter's ballet dancing.

– That's good, too. – Clark picks up the thin metal wires again. – Maybe I should take the day off, too, eh, Rye? – Sigh. – Go to the opera house, see the world around me… Oh, here's a cut-out," the neurosurgeon announces. – It's a shitty cut," she adds. – It needs to be cleaned.

– No necrosis? – Riley himself brings a small tube-extractor to the area.

– I can't see it yet. – Clark stares at the monitor while her hands move. – But I can see inflammation, third quadrant; it's spread to the fourth, going diagonal. We can treat it, or we can cut it out. What do you think?

– Cut it already," the surgeon waved his hand. – If it's gone.

– Well, wake up, then.

Dylan hums contentedly. Buttons click; numbers flicker on the screen, there is a beep; anesthesiologist begins counting: ten, nine …

Clark brings the microscope to her eyes – the same one she calibrated – and puts the optics back over her eyes.

– Four, three, two…

Emily jumps up from her chair; one of the nurses lifts the blue curtain covering the main part of the patient's body. Johnson sees the girl open her dry lips and let out a strange, thin, "Ahhhh" as she exhales.

– We're breathing, we're fine," says Dylan. – Now, miss, come on, your right arm up a little… Good! Now the left one… Now bend your leg, that's it, good girl…! Your nurse will speak to you now, so try to answer all her questions, okay? Good. – He's rubbing his hands together. – She's all yours! Keep your oxygen mask on.