Doctor Love

Chapter 29

KATE’S POV

When I woke up, the first thing I registered as consciousness filters back, was the blinding, all-consuming brightness. I thought I was in heaven, because everything looked white, and I sighed, accepting my fate of being dead.

Then I saw a head popped above me. I furrowed my brows and wondered if he was an angel.

"Hi, beautiful, can you hear me?" The voice was gentle, unfamiliar.

Do angels call people beautiful in heaven? Is that standard procedure for welcoming the newly deceased?

Then another head popped up and it was my Dad. I gasped.

"Kate? Sweetheart?" His voice cracked, eyes red-rimmed and puffy.

Dad pulled me into a tight embrace and it suddenly dawned on me. I'm alive. The surgery was successful.

"My brave little girl," he whispered, his tears dampening my hospital gown. "I'm glad you're awake. Thank goodness. I was so scared. I thought I'd lost you."

The realization hit me like a wave—the ailment I have been battling with for four years, the risky surgery, the goodbye notes I'd written just in case. I'd been prepared to die, had made my peace with it. And now... now I have to figure out how to live again.

"How long?" My voice sounded strange, raspy from disuse.

"Just over fourteen hours since they wheeled you in," Dad said, pulling back to examine my face. "The doctor said it went as well as they could have hoped."

He helped me to a seated position, and I glanced around with curiosity. The doctor was very young and he was smiling down at me. Handsome, with kind eyes.

"You pulled through, congratulations dear." He checked something on my chart. "I'm Dr. Reynolds. I assisted Dr. Chen with your procedure."

"Thank you," I managed, then curiosity overtook me. "What exactly did you do? I’m a doctor too.”

He laughed, a warm sound that seemed to brighten the sterile room. "Eager for details, aren't you, Dr. Kate? That's a good sign."

"I like knowing things," I said, touching my head gingerly.

"I'll tell you everything if you'd take a walk with me," Dr. Reynolds offered. "Getting mobile early is good for recovery."

My legs were wobbly when I tried to stand, so they had to help me to a wheelchair. My Dad stayed behind as Dr. Reynolds wheeled me out of the hospital room and down the corridor.

"I need to make some calls," Dad said. "Let everyone know you're awake."

The doctor took me through the hospital and out to the gardens. The fresh air felt miraculous after the antiseptic smell of the recovery room.

"So, tell me everything," I demanded once we reached a quiet corner with blooming cherry trees. "Don't spare any details. I can handle it."

Dr. Reynolds settled on a bench beside my wheelchair. "The Huntington stone was located in your right temporal lobe. That's why you were experiencing those headaches and memory lapses."

"And the mood swings?" I asked, remembering how I'd snapped at David the last time I saw him. The thought of him sent an unexpected pang through my chest.

"Yes, those too." He nodded. "We used a new approach—minimally invasive but highly effective. Dr. Chen is pioneering the technique."

As he wheeled me around the garden path, he explained everything to me process by process, using his hands to illustrate the complicated procedure. I understood most of it, despite the technical language. I realized how risky of a process it was and still, I survived it.

"So am I cured?" I asked, cutting to the chase. "Am I fit in every part and will I live a normal life now?"

His expression grew more measured. "It's too soon to make absolute promises. We removed the stone completely, but there's always a recovery period where we monitor for complications." He smiled again. "But I'm hopeful. You're young, strong, and clearly determined. I was just glad you pulled through because you're too beautiful to die young."

The compliment made me smile despite myself. It felt good to be called beautiful when half my head was shaved and wrapped in bandages.

"When can I be discharged?"

"We have to watch you for at least a week or two," he replied. "Brain surgery isn't something we take chances with."

I nodded, understanding but already impatient. Then another thought occurred to me. "The bill, how much is this costing my father?"

"It's already sorted out," Dr. Reynolds said.

"By my dad?" I asked, doubtful. We weren't poor, but experimental brain surgery wasn't exactly in the family budget.

"No, actually. David Villa, the son of the sponsor of the project, sorted it out." He tilted his head. "Do you know them personally?"

My heartbeat suddenly picked up pace. David had paid for my surgery?

"David Villa's father is the primary investor in this surgical technique," Dr. Reynolds continued. "When he heard about your case, he fast-tracked you for the procedure. His son handled all the arrangements."

Just then, movement caught my eye. A tall figure at the far end of the garden, turning away quickly.

I thought it was one of the figments of my imagination. I was seeing him because we just mentioned him.

But our eyes met for a split second before he suddenly turned back. Even at this distance, I'd recognize that profile anywhere.

"David?" I called out, my voice stronger than I expected.

And he froze, his back to me, shoulders tense.

Then I knew it was indeed him. David was here. Not just in my thoughts or in my memories, but physically present, flesh and blood, standing twenty feet away in the hospital garden.