My Kind of Christmas

tissue.
    “Now the flaps are raised and you can see this allows closure without tension. The key to a good scar is minimizing tension. If it’s tight, the scar will widen.”
    He talked a little about what he was doing, but to no one in particular, not in a tone that lectured. She leaned close, wanting to absorb it, wanting to get her hands in there. “5-0 Monocryl, please. Next I’ll close the deep dermis, which will provide strength to the repair. I’ll close the skin with interrupted 6-0 Prolene. I like to take sutures on the face out early. With a good, deep closure we can take the sutures out in five days and Steri-Strip.” Angie was leaning so far over the tape on the floor that a couple of times Denise grabbed the back of her gown and pulled her.
    The stitching fascinated her—fast, small loops that he slid under and over the excised scar.
    “My aunt Mel suggested you might have to do something to the other side of her face to keep her features proportional....”
    “Not on a patient this young with such healthy skin. Perhaps on an older patient with redundant skin, but Megan will be fine with this repair.”
    By the time the doctor was finishing, an hour and twenty minutes had passed. Before a bandage could cover it, she dared a closer look at the wound. “Wonderful!” she said under her breath. Megan already looked a world better than she had.
    “Flirt,” the doctor said. “Let’s get her to recovery. And, Angie, follow me.”
    She wasn’t sure why he wanted her, but she already knew she’d follow him anywhere.
    He stripped off the gown, cap and mask and she mimicked. Then he went back to that computer. He indicated a stool beside him and she sat.
    “We’ll let her wake up, get a little oriented, then you can go get her mother. Now, what did you think?”
    “Denise was right—like magic. Just watching those stitches—how long did it take you to be so fast, so perfect?”
    “Years and years of stitching pigskin and other practice fields. All that during residency—med students just float around, studying different medical services—three months here, three months there. But while magic is flattering, did you see what was happening? The separation of the skin from the deep dermis? The lifting of the lid?”
    She nodded. It was fabulous.
    “I do face lifts, scar repair, reconstruction, a number of things. The most satisfying to me is when I can take a patient from the fear and loneliness of disfigurement to a more normal appearance. Have you ever seen the face of a child who’s had a run-in with a vicious dog?” He shook his head sadly. “To be able to use my skills to help an impoverished child is gratifying. I was glad of the outcome today and hope she is, as well.”
    She nodded, mesmerized.
    “Dr. Temple tells me you have plans to take a break from med school to do some time in the peace corps,” he said. “Do you mind if I ask why?”
    It took her a moment to find her voice. “I want to make a difference. Like Dr. Temple does,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper.
    “Dr. Temple is able to give time to movable hospital organizations that travel places where locals would otherwise not be able to have the life-saving surgery they require. Near and far—from rural U.S. towns without neurosurgeons or facilities to international sites. There’s a community of doctors who like to balance their practices with some pro bono work.”
    “How does someone like me volunteer?” she asked.
    “One goes through a rather lengthy application process. Many doctors give a year or two to humanitarian efforts ranging from Doctors Without Borders to UNICEF. Some of us have a week here and there to give and are more inclined to privatized efforts. There is a senator’s wife, an R.N., who puts together three or four projects a year and she recruits a number of specialists. We’ve gone as far as India and Africa with her nonprofit traveling hospital. I like to go to my home country—a poor village south of Mexico City.”
    “Do these groups need someone like me?” she asked earnestly.
    He looked at her levelly, his black eyes intense but his smile gentle. “These groups need doctors, Angelica,” he said very softly, using the Mexican derivative of her name. “If you want to make a difference…”
    “You’ve been talking to my mother,” she said, but she smiled.
    “Has your mother been harping on you to go back to school?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “Think about that option. Dr.