As heads turned toward her, Heather put the magazine on the end table
beside her chair and got to her feet.
'I'm Dr. Procnow,' he said as he approached her. The surgeon who had
been working on Jack. He was in his forties, slender, with curly black
hair and dark yet limpid eyes that were--or that she imagined
were-compassionate and wise. 'Your husband's in the post-op recovery
room.
We'll be moving him into I.C.U shortly.'
Jack was alive.
'Is he going to be all right?'
'He's got a good chance,' Procnow said.
The support group reacted with enthusiasm, but Heather was more
cautious, not quick to embrace optimism. Nevertheless, relief made her
legs weak. She thought she might crumple to the floor.
As if reading her mind, Procnow guided her to a chair. He pulled
another chair up at a right angle to hers and sat facing her.
'Two of the wounds were especially serious,' he said. 'One in the leg
and one in the abdomen, lower right side. He lost a lot of blood and
was in deep shock by the time paramedics got to him.'
'But he'll be all right?' she asked again, sensing that Procnow had
news he was reluctant to deliver.
'Like I said, he's got a good chance. I really mean that. But he's
not out of the woods yet.'
Emil Procnow's deep concern was visible in his kind face and eyes, and
Heather couldn't tolerate being the object of such profound sympathy
because it meant that surviving surgery might have been the least of
the challenges facing Jack. She lowered her eyes, unable to meet the
surgeon's gaze.
'I had to remove his right kidney,' Procnow said, 'but otherwise there
was remarkably little internal damage. Some minor blood-vessel
problems, a nicked colon. But we've cleaned that up, done repairs, put
in temporary abdominal drains, and we'll keep him on antibiotics to
prevent infection. No trouble there.'
'A person can live ... can live on one kidney, right?'
'Yes, certainly. He won't notice any difference in his quality of life
from that.'
What will make a difference in the quality of his life, what other
wound, what damage? she wanted to ask, but she didn't have the
courage.
The surgeon had long, supple fingers. His hands looked lean but
strong, like those of a concert pianist. She told herself that Jack
could have received neither better care nor more tender mercy than
those skilled hands had provided.
'Two things concern us now,' Procnow continued.
. 'Severe shock combined with a heavy loss of blood can sometimes have
...
cerebral consequences.'
Oh, God, please. Not this.
He said, 'It depends on how long there was a decrease in the supply of
