“Please, Dr. Andrew Collins, I’m begging you! Help us, please! The woman fell to her knees before the tall man in a white coat, her voice trembling with tears.
Beyond the string of tired consulting rooms, in the medicine-scented waiting area of the village hospital, her child was slipping away.
You must understand, I can’t! I just cant! That’s why I came here, why I stopped! Andrew replied, shaken. I havent done surgery for two years. My hands the circumstances
Please, Im begging you! She clung to him, trying to drag the resistant doctor with her.
How could he say no? He had to tryotherwise…
A few more steps took them to the battered white door. And there he washer Michael. Her boy, her only one. Covered in tubes, his pale face barely visible under an oxygen mask. Hes breathing, at least. Still breathing. Blood, thick and dark as last years blackberry jam, seeped from the head bandage. The green line on the big monitor jerked in shaky rhythm with his struggling breaths.
Theyd never make it. The city hospital was sixty miles away. The helicopter couldve saved him, perhaps, but a blizzard outside had dashed that last hope. Michaels blood pressure fell. His heart barely beat now. The paramedics couldnt meet her gaze.
Collins! cried a grey-haired nurse, bustling at the stretcher. Dr. Andrew Collins! She pulled an old clipping from her pocket. In the photo, a tall man in a white coatAndrew himselfwas surrounded by smiling children. Tears blurred her eyes as she fumbled over headlines of a car crash and his damaged hand, a failed operation. Still, a renowned brain surgeon, a legend, standing here in their remote village! Lord, let him say yes!
I cant take that responsibility! Please, understand! He resisted, almost desperate. My last operation my wrist I couldnt do it. Ive stopped operating!
And all the while, the boy on the trolley looked paler, the blood kept seeping, and hospital staff hovered silently in the doorway, strangers after a year in exile. The mother sobbed. Time itself became the enemy. And thena dog…
A dog?
Where did the dog come from?
But all that answered was a whimper. A labrador fought to reach the trolley, its nails scraping the linoleum, someone gripping its collar to hold it back. Still it strained, never taking its eyes off young Michael. It no longer whimperedit wheezed, desperate.
Thats Bowie. Michaels dog, the woman choked out, barely able to breathe, when suddenly the silence was split by the doctors words, as heavy as a stone.
Prep the theatre.
He closed his eyes. Memories flashed upanother dog, Lassie. Hope. His father still alive. He was just Andy, probably in Year 7. It was a slippery New Years road, a car wreck in the snow like a broken glass bauble. His mum cried. The doctor avoided their gaze; the operation was complex and distance too great…
Lassie stopped eating, only staring, not making a sound at her masters grave. On the sixth day, she too was gone. Burned out.
Ill become a brain surgeon, Mum. I promised Lassie, he whispered to the earth mound, a scruffy boy clinging to a vow. The best there is. Promise you believe me?
How could he have forgotten? Why?
*****
The theatre lights blasted down like summer sun. Steel instruments gleamed. His wrist ached again. He pushed it asidewhat nonsense to wonder if he should get a dog at a moment like this. His fingers felt numb. No matter, he could do it. Bad injury. Tricky. Michaels blood pressure was dropping; the swelling worried him Soft tissue was damaged, the temple bone needed careful piecing together. Blood vessels
They wouldnt have made it by helicopter. The local assistants eyes shone; this was a miracle operation to them. But what about for him? How many had he done? Why had he given up after one disaster, run to the middle of nowhere, cut his old ties? His wrist throbbed. Was that Lassie in the corner, watching him sadly? Or maybe the labrador, Bowie, ready to go after his boy
It was hard to hold the clamphis fingers cramped. Not long left now. Keep breathing, Michael. Thats it. Dont give up. Were not letting go.
Now time was on Michaels side. Was that the helicopters distant thrum? Had it made it through the snow, after all?
*****
Dr. Collins, someones asking for you, said the nurse at the door, her broad smile barely contained.
Everyone was smilinghow could they not? The famous Collins had returned. Every department was abuzz; children were being driven in from all around. No one was afraid anymore; Dr. Collins had golden hands. The laughter of recovering children drifted again through the neurosurgery ward. Parents followed him everywhere like shadows.
Five minutes. Ill just check on Tom.
Young Toms room was just along the corridor. A cheeky, ginger-haired lad, six years old, who called him Uncle Andy. Hed come with his school last week on a trip to London and fallen from the second floor, distracted, just like Michael from the village. Dr. Collins had pieced his skull back together, an eight-hour surgery for a boisterous boy. Hed managed. His wrist barely ached anymoreperhaps the laughter of children truly healed.
It was good to be back. He should have done this sooner, but maybe hadnt had the right push. Hed forgotten so much. But life has a way of reminding you. Only, hed never got around to having a dog. Never had the time. He wondered how Michael and Bowie were getting onthought of them more often than hed admit.
Dr. Collins, dear!
Hed barely stepped outside whenthere they were!
Well, hello there, Michael, Natalie, he smiled. And hello, Bowie!
His hand reached out as if by instinct, the dogs soft fur pressing against his palm, a wet nose nestling comfortingly. Warm brown eyes watched him so attentively.
What brings you here? Is Michael alright? Came for a checkup?
Michaels just fine, Natalie said, her relief tumbling out. Thats not why weve come!
Only then did he notice the brightness of her smile, the odd way her coat bulged, the sparkle in her eyes. But he didnt like to ask. Bowie circled happily, distracting him.
Here!
It was Michael who broke the silence, reaching into his mums coat and producing a little black bundlewhimpering, ears as big as wings.
Um? Andrew stammered, surprised by the unexpected present.
Please dont be cross, Michael gushed. Bowie found him. Mum said we could keep him. And yesterdaywell, we saw your interview on the telly. And Bowie dragged him over to the screen when he heard your voice. So we thought
You thought right. Should have done it long ago. Andrew grinned at the beaming dog. Ill call him Motive. But for shortToby. Good lad.Bowie gave a sharp, approving bark, as if sealing the pact. Andrew knelt, letting both dogs nuzzle him, laughter bubbling up from a place hed thought was long closedsome old, locked surgery in his chest, finally reopened.
So, youll take care of him? Michael whispered, hope trembling in his voice.
Andrew winked. Take care of each other, right? Thats what friends are for.
Bowies tail thumped in agreement, and the little pupTobylicked Andrews healed hand as if blessing it for all the children it would save. Sun poured through the window, painting golden stripes on the clean floors. For the first time in years, Andrew felt whole, the ache in his wrist replaced by a deep, lingering gratitude.
Come visit, he called after them as they left. Bring Bowie. Bring the whole pack!
And as their laughter drifted down the hallmother, boy, dog, and pupAndrew stood surrounded by hope and second chances. He bent to scratch Toby one last time, and as the pup curled at his feet, Andrew realized: sometimes, a broken handlike a broken heartcomes back stronger when its needed most.
