With the patient’s consent in place, he was taken to radiology.
“Do you think he’ll need to have an angiogram?” Kiah asked as the three doctors followed the patient. “If so, I’ll have to call in the chief radiologist, who’s off today.”
Mina shook her head. “I’m reasonably sure any vascular damage will be slight, just from the position of the spear, and his ankle/brachial index is well above danger level. There’s also no signs the femur was damaged, but we’ll find out for sure after the X-rays.”
And to her satisfaction, she was correct, although there was no way to know absolutely what they’d find when the spear was removed. In cases like this one, the embedded projectile put pressure on the wound from the inside, often staunching bleeding from damaged veins and arteries. It was only when that pressure was released that they’d know for sure what needed to be repaired.
At the last minute, she balked at going into the operating room.
“The wound tract looks clear,” she whispered to Kiah. “Some moderate hematomas to be evacuated. There’s nothing special I can add to the surgery, and I’ll just be taking up space.”
“I’m letting John do the surgery,” he replied. “We’ll both supervise. But if anything unusual does come up, I want you there to make sure we do the best we can for the patient.”
When she started to object, Kiah held up his hand, stopping her midsentence.
“Donovan Exeter is twenty-five, Mina. Still a young man, hopefully with a lot of years ahead of him. The least we can do is ensure he has full use of his leg, not take the chance he’s maimed because of a silly accident like this one.”
Mina turned away so he couldn’t see the gleam of tears in her eyes. What he said was right, and hit home with a blow straight to her heart. No one should have their life, or livelihood, curtailed because of an accident.
“Okay,” she said, proud when her voice came out normal, not strained or trembling. “I’ll go scrub in. And I have to figure out what to do with this damn stump. I can’t wear a glove on it, and the sock isn’t sterile.”
The last part came out fierce and strong, annoyance sweeping the last of her uncertainty away, and giving her a new, albeit strange, problem to focus on.
“Hey,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll work it out, okay?”
“Sure. Sure,” she muttered, stalking off toward the surgical ward, feeling his hand fall away, although the sensation of the pressure and comfort it afforded lingered.
Kiah watched for Mina to come into the scrubbing area, and when she stepped through the doors, already capped, masked and wearing disposable booties, her body language spoke volumes. Here was a woman who wished herself anywhere but where she was.
He was about to go to offer her help with scrubbing in, when a nurse stepped to Mina’s side and said, “Can I assist you, Dr. Haraldson?”
“Please,” Mina replied, her tone cool and controlled. “And thank you.”
The nurse put on her nonsterile apron and then did a thorough job of scrubbing her hand and arm.
Kiah paused on his way into the gowning area and said, “I’ll gown up, then help you with yours.”
“Thank you.”
Anyone who didn’t know her would think her response merely polite, but Kiah wasn’t fooled. Mina was hating every moment of the situation. She was one of the most self-sufficient and capable people he knew, and having to let someone else help her do something that had become second nature for her must sting.
It was all he could do not to send her a sympathetic glance, but he restrained himself. One hint of kindly concern would just make her even more annoyed and self-conscious.
Yet, for all his worry, she handled the gowning and gloving better than he’d expected, telling the nurse to let her try opening the gown and putting it on herself.
“After all, I’m going to have to get used to doing this, aren’t I? In an emergency, no one has time to be fiddling around, helping me.”
With an expert flick of her hand, she got the gown partially open and stuck her left arm in. Then Kiah held his breath, watching from the corner of his eye as she used that arm to shake the fabric, trying to get the right armhole open.
“There,” she said as she pushed her right arm in, and she might as well have danced a jig, too, she sounded so elated. “That worked better than I expected.”
“Me, too,” he admitted, sending her a grin, which, although hidden behind his mask, was probably unmistakable. Once the nurse had tied the gown, he said, “Now for the gloves. Have you decided how to handle them?”
“As usual,” she said, the challenge in her voice unmistakable. “I’m not operating, so the floppy fingers won’t matter, and my forearm and gown should keep it on.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” he replied, and was rewarded with a distinct glare from her already flashing brown eyes.
Then they were joined by John Golding, and once he had scrubbed in, they entered the operating room.
Mina had been right about the extent of the injuries, and when the spear was removed, there was little work to be done, except for the evacuation of the clots.
“Watch his blood pressure,” Mina told the anesthesiologist. “That would be one of the first signs that we missed vascular damage.”
Kiah was enchanted, watching her in theater for the first time. As soon as she’d stepped through the door, all signs of self-consciousness or annoyance disappeared, and she was all business. Yet, in spite of being the specialist, she let John set the pace, only answering his questions, not telling him what to do unless he asked.
And despite Kiah’s best intentions, his determination not to cut her any slack because he felt sorry for her,
