Helen nodded and went over to the cabinet. Carefully she selected an injection syringe with her tongs and dropped it into the sterilizer. Dr. Henry checked his supply of anesthetic, nodded, and rubbed his gloved hands together briskly.
Jean frowned. “Why can’t you use ether, Dr. Henry?” she asked.
The portly, middle-aged anesthetician turned around to face her. “Some people get very sick when we put them out. Particles of food or liquid are apt to catch in their lungs. They haven’t the control of their reflexes that people who are awake do. There’s always the danger of a patient choking to death.”
“Then the child will be conscious?” Jean asked. “He’ll know what’s going on? I know we’ve used that frequently for adults, but won’t it be difficult with a child?”
Ted laughed. “He won’t know much. We already have him so groggy with sedatives that he doesn’t know what’s going on.”
Dr. Barsch frowned impatiently. “What’s keeping them? Every minute we lose gives us less of a chance.”
As he spoke, the small patient was wheeled into the operating room. Jean’s heart went out to the tiny, white figure lying on the table. His eyes were dulled, and his body was partially relaxed. But his face was a study in fear.
Dr. Barsch stepped over to the table. “All right, son,” he said gently. “I’m going to put a curtain right over your middle. You know what you’re going to feel?”
Gene DuPrez shook his head, and he gazed pleadingly at Dr. Barsch.
“Ever been to the dentist?”