Page 57 of Prognosis So Done

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - 0300 HOURS

‘No, I can’t take it, Kelly. My rotation here finishes in

three hours and I want to be there when Harriet wakes up. How

far is Ben off finishing?’

‘Approximately thirty minutes.’

‘How stable is the patient?’

‘OK, for now,’ she confirmed. ‘The X-ray shows the knife still in situ, but it appears to have missed anything major and it’s been well padded and supported so it can’t move around.’

‘Sedate him,’ suggested Gill. ‘He should be fine as long as the knife remains stabilised. What else is there?’

‘That’s it for now. We’ve had mainly medical and minor surgical cases from this skirmish. How’s Harry?’

‘Still sleeping.’

‘I’ll be over to see her when I can. Are you OK?’

‘No. Not really. It’s been a hell of a last day.’

And that, thought Gill, was an understatement. Divorce papers, his grandfather’s poor health, a helicopter shot out of the sky, Nimuk, seven hours of operating and Harriet.

‘New team is scheduled to land at 6 a.m.’ she said. ‘Not long now.’

Three hours away. It stretched ahead of Gill as he replaced the phone in Megan’s HDU/recovery area. He’d rather evacuate Harriet now, but he knew she was stable and their scheduled flight wasn’t really that far off. And he knew she wouldn’t want to take the place of a critical patient who needed it more.

He wandered back over to the bed where Harriet lay, sleeping off the effects of the anaesthetic. The background battle noises outside that had been going all night had ceased and it was very quiet in the darkened area. All he could hear was the sound of

monitors and the squeaking of shoes somewhere down the corridor.

She looked fragile, like she’d had the stuffing knocked out of her - still and pale despite the third bag of blood currently dripping into her IV. It was the sheets, he’d decided. The white, white sheets weren’t helping with her pallor.

He held her hand, careful not to bump the bed or her stomach, and thought back to their wedding day. She’d worn white that day and had glowed with vitality during the ceremony on that secluded Fijian beach in front of immediate family and a few close friends.

If he thought hard enough, he could almost hear the gentle

lap of the waves against the shore as she had walked the short frangipani-strewn distance between the guests. And he could almost smell the heady fragrance of the sweet flowers.

Harriet had worn an exquisite white sarong lightly embroidered with unusual milky pink and grey mother-of-pearl beads. She had been planning on wearing a bright sarong to match his bright hibiscus print silk shirt, but had seen the beautiful

garment in the resort shop and hadn’t been able to resist it.

And what a bride she had made.

She had been stunningly gorgeous. With white frangipani blossoms in her loose, long brown hair and a white frangipani bouquet, she had looked beyond beautiful. She had looked tanned and healthy and glowing and he hadn’t been able to wrap his head around the fact that she was actually marrying him.

Harriet stirred and mumbled a little, and Gill smoothed her

wedding band with his thumb as the memories faded. She’d woken only briefly after Joan had extubated her. She had asked for him then had mumbled and made no sense. She no doubt felt as wretched as she looked, and sleep was the best tonic immediately post-op so he didn’t disturb her.

He was overwhelmed though by the urge to crawl in beside her and cradle her against his body. She looked eerily lifeless, despite the steady blip, blip, blip of her heart rate on the monitor beside her, and he yearned for the reassurance that only feeling the thud of her heart against his would give him.

Gill’s ragged breath stuttered into the quiet air and he began to tremble as he set free the thoughts and feelings he hadn’t allowed himself during the operation. It was only now, after the surgery and being relieved from his duties and watching the even rise and fall of his wife’s chest, that the enormity of everything loomed.

Harriet had been pregnant. With his baby. At least, he

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