Someone To Save you by Paul Pilkington Page A

signed photograph of Imran Khan, the legendary Pakistani cricketer, no relation. Their conversations often turned to cricket, with Professor Khan knowing that Sam too had played the sport, for Lancashire schools.
    ‘Impressive. You got that last week?’
    Professor Khan nodded, looking back at the photo. ‘I was speaking at a charity dinner he arranged in Karachi. The photo was a thank you present.’
    He turned back to face Sam, examining him with those intense deep brown eyes, his hands steepled on the desk. It was down to business. ‘And how are you, Sam.’
    ‘Good, good,’ Sam replied. Professor Khan stared back. ‘Well, as good as can be expected.’
    ‘Are you enjoying your time off?’
    ‘Not really.’
    Adil Khan smiled. ‘I imagine you’re not.’
    ‘I understand though,’ Sam added. ‘I did need the break.’
    He nodded slowly, bringing his hands up so that the tips of his fingers touched his bottom lip. ‘I’ve been working in medicine for longer than I can remember. I love my profession, Sam. Maybe I love it too much. There are times when I’ve worked on when I should have rested. I realise that now.’
    Sam stayed quiet. The Professor was teeing him up for unwelcome news.
    ‘You’re a very talented surgeon Sam. Very talented – one of the best young surgeons that I have worked with. And I don’t say that lightly. You’re also very dedicated. You really care for your patients – don’t underestimate the importance of that. One can be technically brilliant with a scalpel, but if he doesn’t care for his patients, be cognisant of their human needs, he can never be a truly great surgeon.’
    Sam was pleasantly surprised about such open praise. Professor Khan was notoriously coy when it came to his opinion about those working under him. ‘Thanks. That means a lot.’
    ‘I’m not looking for thanks,’ he replied. ‘I’m seeking your co-operation.’
    ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
    Adil Khan sat back, his hands still joined. ‘I would like you to refrain from operating for the next seven days.’
    Sam had been right to suspect imminent bad news. He couldn’t hide his disappointment.
    ‘I know you wish to work,’ he said. ‘I understand totally. But this is for the best.’
    ‘But the interview, it’s less than two weeks away. If I’m…’
    Professor Khan held up a hand. ‘Trust in me, Sam. And more importantly, trust in yourself, in your own ability and what you have already demonstrated in the years that I have worked with you. You are young, but I believe more than ready to step up to consultant level, of that I am sure. One week without surgery will make no difference, believe me, but one week with surgery might.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    Adil Khan leaned in. ‘You have been through a great trauma, Sam. You are strong, but still, everyone needs time to recover mentally. Do you feel at one hundred per cent?’
    Sam fought the urge to lie. ‘No.’
    Professor Khan opened his palms. ‘Then there you are, Sam. You make a mistake in the operating theatre this coming week, because you are not one hundred per cent, and your career is jeopardised. You rest for a week, after a major trauma where you are a hero, and you ensure you are ready for the interview. Do you agree?’
    Sam nodded. There was nothing else he could do.
    ‘A very wise decision, Mr Becker. Enjoy your recuperation.’
    Sam emerged from the office, still smarting from the decision. Professor Khan was right of course, but it didn’t make the thought of seven days without surgery any more bearable. It would be hell. And Miles would be sure to gloat, seeing Sam’s absence as a sign of weakness that might sway the interview panel. It might not affect Professor Khan’s judgment of who was the best person for the job, but he was only one assessor out of seven.
    He made his way across the hospital to ICU. Sophie was still stable, and had improved slightly, but the situation remained grim. Sam was glad to see