He wasn’t asking whether Sadie was breathing comfortably.

He was demanding to know who had allowed us to make decisions.

When the surgeon finally approached, I stood so quickly my knees nearly folded.

“She’s stable,” the surgeon began.

The air returned to my lungs.

The team had found that the right ovary had twisted around its supporting tissues, compromising blood flow.

They had untwisted it and removed a large mass while preserving tissue where possible.

They couldn’t yet give a definitive diagnosis; pathology would take time.