Out of Breath

A strange surgeon with a strange name...

Norbert Gander was not your ordinary surgeon. Sure, he was skilled in his profession, handling the worst of cases ever revealed to man, but he was strange in his own way. He was too nice. He had handled liver transplants, kidney transplants, brain tumor removals... You name it. Not only was Dr. Norbert skilled, but he was also quick in his work. With a flick of his wrist, the job would be done. Some may say that quick work equals sloppy work. But not for Norbert. Norbert was precise and methodical. He'd trace the scalpel along the right lines, impede too much blood loss, and soothe the patient once awake and well. Norbert was everything you want in a surgeon. 

Tonight was another big night for Dr. Gander. He was in charge of handling a patient who was in desperate need of a new lung. Norbert strolled the empty halls of the hospital, scanning the numbered plaques bolted into the walls. Room number 5983 was where the patient was to have their surgery. In Norbert's hand was the lung in a sealed box. This hospital was very different, for the lung was not waiting for the surgeon in the surgery room. The surgeon had to get the organ in the Organ Room. God, was that place cold. They had special boxes to slowly and cautiously thaw out the organs though. 

"5982... Ah, 5983!" Dr. Gander exclaimed aloud. His voice was raspy yet warm and inviting to the ear. He was a tall, 39-year-old surgeon with a great, big heart and cared a lot for his patients. Norbert swung open the door with his left hand, for in his right was the lung. Four other doctors surrounded the awaiting patient. Norbert proceeded to put the box containing the lung near the patients head and picked up a clip pad with some information printed boldly onto sheets of paper.

"Mr. Patrick Churchill," Said Norbert, staring down at a pale face. The patient's weary face shifted to look up at Norbert's angular face, covered in dark bristles and glasses that hung on the bridge of his pointy nose. 

"I better get this lung in right away." Norbert chuckled, patting the box with the lung inside. The patient relaxed but his brows remained slightly furrowed. He knew Dr. Gander was excellent. He just wasn't sure if he could afford such a surgery. 

"Time to go night-night." One of the other doctors said as if Patrick were a child when in fact, Patrick was an ordinary 26-year-old man. Standing near a machine, the doctor flicked a switch and looked at the patient, Patrick. Patrick's eyes grew heavy and eventually shut. His breathing was steady. Norbert set the box with the lung on a stand and grabbed a scalpel. Patrick's chest had already been cleaned with an antiseptic solution and a nurse had just positioned Patrick on the side opposite to where the transplant would be made, which was on the right side. 

"I will commence the incision." Norbert announced. His hand gripped the scalpel and pressed into the side of where the lung would go. Blood slowly oozed from the cut but it wasn't crucial. After making the necessary incision, Norbert prepped himself to remove the lung. A flap of skin had been raised to reveal two dark pink lungs and a beating heart in between. One lung was darker than the other, which was the one that needed to be taken out. Dr. Gander always felt awkward when he did this, in fear that something could go utterly wrong instead of right. Then he picked a larger scalpel. In fact, he picked up a large knife. This was when Norbert snapped. He couldn't take the awkwardness. His eyes blazed and he just lost control. The knife plunged through Patrick Churchill's lung tissue. The lung that needed to be taken out. Right in the center. Norbert shifted his grip and slowly tore through, making a massive cut in the middle of Patrick's lung. Blood and air came gushing out in one glorious, bubbling, crimson flood that spewed onto the operation table and onto Norbert's surgeon gown. Curt, obnoxious beeping rang from the machines followed by a quick long beep. By now, the doctors surrounding Dr. Gander were too much in shock that they could not move an inch. What happened to the perfect surgeon Norbert Gander? That's right, he didn't really exist. He was part of a whole. The supposed "surgeon" who beholds such a name is, in reality, a patient in the same hospital. Reginald White. He suffers from Multiple Personality Disorder and sometimes, he enrolls the job of a surgeon. But before the real Reginald White could say that he didn't mean to disturb the peace, he was whisked away by the assistants in the Psycho Ward...

Author's Note

I have MPD and I'm always afraid of being taken away D:

[I want to thank the stranger on Omegle for helping me come up with a name for this story. Kudos to you where ever you are!]

Reviews

[Nusquam Esse]

This was an interesting read, I particularly liked the way it flowed at the beginning. Unfortunately, I think you could have done the 'twist' better, it just seems awkwardly worded. Otherwise, this is a fun read.

[Mother_Yolk]

I appreciate the commentary! I couldn't quite find a way to get the 'twist' in there so that it wouldn't come out as awkwardly worded, but I suppose it wouldn't be as good as I would want it to be either way. Thank you!

[Chadvonswan]

Ha! This story was Out There...I enjoyed it though, I notice that your writing is getting more elaborate. Keep writing! And keep that blood and gore flowing!

[Mother_Yolk]

Lol... You don't even know how happy that makes me! Thank you so much.