Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1942-10-02
CHAPTER p

He would have stopped them, but
the case was prepared, the woman al
ready anesthetized He went to a
window, took a few long breaths,
went back to the table. Apparently
noobdy had noticed any change in
him. He picked up the knife and
drew the first red line.
1t was a simple case, an ovarian
cyst. Ordinarily it would have been
over and Chris shouting for sutures
in a short time. But somewhere in
that dissection his knife slipped, and
he knew he had cut the uterine artery.
Instantly the place was flooded with
a hemorrhage. There was no chance
to stop it. The field was obscured;
there was nothing to see, nothing to
catch hold of and when the sucker
was brought, the tube promptly jam
med. The operating room ceased
then to be static and became bedlam.
But it was too late.
Chris, gray-faced and tight-lipped,
looked up at the anesthetist. How is
she?"
"Im afraid she's going, Doctor"
But she was not going. She was
gone. Chris said nothing whatever.
He stood for a second or two looking
down at the dead woman. Then he
turned heavily and went out of the
room.
He did not 90 home that day at all.
He walked the streets-how many
miles he never knew After dark he
stopped at a coffee stall and got a
cup of coffee; it warmed him, for the
evening was cold, but he could not
touch food. And late in the night he
found himself outside Grants impos
ing home and was admitted by
Grants imposing butler.
Even Grant, who already knew the
story, was startled at his face and
even more startled by his first words.
''I'm quitting, Grant. I'm through.
Pm resigning."
Don't be a fool, Chris. We all
lose cases."
"Not like this"
"How do you know" Grant de-
manded. eve don't all go around
shouting our mistakes to heaven, as
YOU'RE doing. She was a ward case
wasn't she?"
whats that got to do with it?
She had right to live, whoever she
was"
And Grant, seeing that strong
measures were required, leaned for
ward across his imposing desk and
said, It's up to this, Aren. If you've
lost your nerve"
Chris jerked up as though he had
been slapped. Lost my nerve! 1
haven't lost my nerve. I've lost a
woman, confound it, not a case. I've
killed somebody! 1 knew 1 oughtn't
to operate. l went ahead anyhow"
1--WE can't be gods" Grant said.
eve are only men, so we have to
draw a balance You've the making
of a fine surgeon, Chris, and to throw
that away is to lose the balance.
You'll always save more than you
lose; but you will always have loss
es. Better think Of them as cases,
not as men and women. Then you
can carry on. You'll do that even
tually anyhow, or you'll break And
what good will it do to anybody if
you break 2"
Late that night Chris unlocked his
front door and entered his house. He
was tired to the point of exhaustion,
but the hall was cold, and he went
down and put coal on the furnace.
The cellar was dirty and cluttered
with the odds and ends Lily OBJ
stinately refuse to throw away; old
crates, empty paint cans, broken
chairs and tables. The light was
burning, too, and he swore angrily
when he saw it. But sitting under
it was some of Henry Walters futile
paraphemalia, and with the coal
shovel in his hand he stood staring
at it. No, by God, he would not be
defeated like that. He would go on.
Fight his battle, carry his own load.
Henry had quit, but he would not.
He operated the next day as usual
his hand steady, his technique GER
tain, his face impressive. Toward the
end Grant came in and stood by
watching. The eyes OF the two men
met for a moment, then Chris bent
over his work again. When he had
finished, he looked up but Grant was
gone