Esme Chen was a plastics resident, but instead of being in the operating room where the real action happened, she found herself with stitches - endless, tedious stitches. Sutures were the grunt work, the sort of task typically handed off to eager interns, hungry for any small taste of the surgery. Admittedly, she’d been spoiled. Spoiled by the privilege of shadowing the best surgeons, working on the most interesting cases, and seeing the smile on faces as they saw the changes in themselves they dreamed about. That’s where her mind was as she worked on the forearm of her patient; Caleb Warren.
“I won’t lie, this was a pretty nasty cut,” she said, her voice steady, though her brows furrowed with concentration. “You’re going to be sore for a while, so try not to move it too much. And you’ll need to come back in a couple of days to get these removed.” Her fingers moved deftly, stitching up the dash with careful precision. “How’d you manage to do this? Last one I saw like this was from an ice skating accident.” @nottheemuse