Page 5 of Still The One

‘FMX rider. We were on-scene medics; he seemed distracted before his second run and he didn’t land it, a forty- to fifty-foot fall, easily. The bike landed on top of him.’

With those words, my heart starts to slow, and panic builds in me at the sight of our patient’s dark hair and green riding gear. I’m positioned near his feet, but as I begin cutting up the leg of his pants, my gaze hesitantly moves across to his one tattooed arm, black and gray ink from elbow to wrist – and to the one in color. A hot pink tiny heart just under his right thumb. I have the exact same one; we did it when I went to Florida to stay with him. My fingers have traced the outlines of those tattoos many times. Almost shyly I force my eyes to his face and recognize him immediately – yep – Foster. Crap. Crap. Crap. This is bad. He’s hardly aged at all, and is just as handsome as I remember, only now he’s pale and lifeless, framed by an endotracheal tube and an oxygen mask.

Time seems to slow down as a wave of emotions crashes over me – shock, fear, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Luckily, my training kicks in, forcing me to focus on the immediate tasks but beneath the professional facade, my mind is racing, my heart is pounding. I used to love this man.

‘Vitals are unstable – BP 90/60 and dropping, pulse erratic between 100 and 150. Board and collar in case of C-spine injury, suspected internal bleeding,’ another medic continues, their voice tight with urgency.

Every detail feels like a knife twisting deeper, yet I have to listen to every word because that may help us save him, but all I can think about is how I once knew the warmth of this man’s smile and the comfort of his presence.

Dr Bradly is issuing orders, but his voice sounds muffled like I’m underwater. ‘Get him on the monitor, full vitals. I need an ABG stat. Let’s prep for central line.’

With his clothes now cut off to his boxers, I move mechanically, helping to transfer him to the trauma bed, attaching leads and checking the ventilator. My hands are steady, but inside I’m trembling. I’m torn between the need to be professional and the overwhelming urge to break down, to hold his hand, to tell him to fight, to stay with me. But there’s no time for personal grief. My colleagues are relying on me – and most importantly, Foster is relying on me.

‘Who is he?’ Troy asks, moving like he’s doing a ballet. He’s got every motion memorized and it comes to him like second nature.

My lips press together in a determined line, my eyebrows furrowed in concentration as I try to force the words out. ‘His name is Guy Foster, thirty-five years old, date of birth is…’ I give the information I know which the doctor and the terrified-looking registrar hanging at the door are looking for – without even looking at the medic’s paperwork that I’ve yet to lay eyes on.

Genevieve side-eyes me. She knows his name, his face, and all the details of our past relationship but she’s never met him in person. I’m thankful she’s keeping her cool right now as the realization hits us both simultaneously.

‘Mr Foster!’ Troy says loudly, shining his pen light into each eye. ‘Welcome to OHSU Emergency Department. I’m sorry to meet you in this condition, but we’re doing everything we can to get you home and healthy.’ Dr Bradly has always been the most empathetic doctor here and despite the situation, is very aware that even the unconscious can likely hear what’s going on, so he attempts to keep everyone calm, including the patient.

Monitors beep incessantly, their digital read-outs displaying a cascade of vital signs – each beep a marker of Foster’s precarious state. My heart can barely take it.

‘Please – stay, Fost,’ I say in what I thought was a whisper, my hands moving automatically as muscle memory guides me through procedures and my mind stays acutely aware of every change in his condition.

‘Fost?’ Dr Bradly asks, his gaze jetting to me only for a second. ‘Do you know him?’

I nod, glancing at Gen who doesn’t say a word, just continues with her duties. ‘He’s my ex-husband.’

‘Shit!’ Troy says.

Shit feels like an understatement.

I think back to just an hour ago, getting the notification that he’d commented on our anniversary reminder post, and what that did to me compared to what’s going on inside me right now. Chaos. Pandemonium. I feel like I’m in a trauma room full of people while our relationship plays for all to watch on a screen big enough to block out practically all else. What the hell happened?

Dr Sully enters the room and I realize my comment during my coffee run may have jinxed us earlier – like a bad curse laid on us by someone practicing voodoo. Our eyes meet and he lifts his chin as a hello.

‘Sorry to ruin your day, Nurse Eve.’

Usually, I’d chirp back a response casually, lifting the mood slightly – at least for us employees. But seeing him means this is as bad as I’d worried it was.

‘Truthfully,’ I say, ‘I’ve never been happier to see you.’

‘He’s the husband,’ Troy announces, stepping away from the bed Foster is on as transport take over and wheel him away.

‘Whose husband?’

‘Eve’s,’ Troy answers.

‘You’re married?’

I shake my head, following Foster out and into the hall and avoiding the question Dr Sully just asked. ‘My God, Fost, thiswas always my fear,’ I say, holding his uninjured hand and speed walking with his bed. ‘You’ll be OK, though,’ I add. ‘This is a great hospital. And uh… I’ll be waiting for you when you go to a room. Alright?’ The two young men wheeling the cart toward surgery stop as they wait for the secured door to open. I can’t walk with them any more but I stay for what feels like hours watching them disappear into the halls of the surgical unit until the doors click closed, separating us.

‘Oh, my God,’ I breathe out in a shaky sigh. It’s finally over. At least my part is. I was beginning to think the moment would never end. I know he’s in good hands but I’m not sure I can handle this. I’ve never worked on someone I know intimately.

I march down the hall, tearing off my gown and peeling off my gloves, tossing them into a garbage can and beelining to Dale’s desk. ‘I need to take a break,’ I inform him, giving him zero other explanation. ‘And no is not an option.’

His gaze meets mine, then the clock. ‘Little late for a break, but since I can’t say no, I guess go ahead?’

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