Page 33 of Rescuing Dr. Marian
“You have climbing experience,” he said, remembering the stories we’d shared in Hawaii.
“Yes. I’ve climbed this route before.”
He must have caught the hesitation in my voice because he glanced up from where he was crouched at my feet, and his eyes met mine. “But?”
The harness felt strange after months in emergency rooms and hospital corridors. My hands shook slightly as I clipped in, muscle memory from my climbing days rusty from disuse.
“It’s been a while,” I admitted.
“Like riding a bike,” Foster said, his voice softer than it had been all morning. “You’ll be fine. I’ve got you.”
I met his eyes and saw kind reassurance instead of judgment, the first crack in his professional facade. “Okay.”
He nodded and began talking me through the route, his voice calm and reassuring. As I climbed, I could feel the tensionin the rope, the steady presence of Foster belaying me from below. It was trust in its purest form—my life literally in his hands.
There wasn’t a single doubt among anyone present as to who was in charge of this rescue. Foster commanded the scene from his position on belay, never once taking his eyes off me.
As soon as I found the fallen climber on a rocky landing partway up Spiny Tooth, I dropped into assessment mode, running through ABCs while calling down vital signs to Foster and the rest of the team.
“Pulse is thready, possible internal bleeding,” I shouted. “I need him immobilized before we move him.”
“Copy that,” Foster called back. “Coming with the spine board. I need you to find an anchor up there and clip in.”
The young man and woman who’d been climbing with the injured patient showed me where the anchor was and then explained what had happened while I transferred from the belay line to the anchor point. Tears ran down the woman’s face while the man gripped her hand tightly.
“How the hell did you get here so fast?” the guy asked, almost hyperventilating.
“We were already nearby, running a drill. There are at least twenty first responders at the base of the climb ready to help,” I told him.
“He… he slipped and swung on his rope, but like… Jesus. I don’t even know what really happened. He hit his head, and… then he was gone.” The man ran a hand over his head and pointed upward. “Over that outcrop.”
“He’s going to kick himself when he wakes up.” The woman’s face crumpled. “He… heisgonna wake up, right?”
I set a hand on her arm. “My name is Dr. Marian, and I’m a trauma doctor. I promise we’ll do everything we can to help your friend. Right now, I need you to give us room and keep yourselves safe, okay? Stay hydrated and reapply sunscreen if you have it.”
Foster’s helmet appeared over the edge of the rock ledge. He met my eyes and nodded slightly, recognizing I’d given them a simple task to help keep them distracted.
The next hour was a carefully choreographed dance between medical treatment and technical rescue. I had to treat and package the patient while Foster coordinated the lowering system, both of us calling out constant updates. As the sun beat down on my head and shoulders, my heart pounded with adrenaline.
This was what I’d missed in the sterile environment of the ER—medicine that required improvisation, that forced you to adapt and overcome. Medicine that felt like an adventure. But also seemed like the difference between life and death in the field.
When we finally got the patient down the mountain and into the care of the EMT team waiting for him, Trace came over to shake our hands.
“Clean execution,” he said loudly enough for all the gathered students to hear. “Medical assessment was thorough, rescue techniques were textbook. Great example of flawless teamwork.”
As I opened my mouth to thank him, I heard the barest scoffof disagreement from Foster. I turned to stare at him in disbelief, though no one else seemed to notice his reaction.
What the hell?
After the successful rescue, after what felt like perfect coordination between us, he was still finding fault? Professional distance was one thing, but undermining me in front of the students crossed a line.
Trace continued to review the situation with the gathered students and announced we would move our original missing kayaker drill to the afternoon. “Let’s take our lunch break, and then we’ll make another attempt at the drill, alright? Robyn brought sandwiches and fruit for everyone.”
After stripping off my harness and stowing the remaining medical equipment with my team, I dragged myself toward a nearby bench. I was sweaty, filthy, and definitely dehydrated. Thankfully, Sierra and Kofi were both looking out for me, handing me ice-cold water bottles from the coolers.
“That was amazing,” Sierra said.
I took a huge swig of water and enjoyed the cool slide down my dusty throat. “Thanks. If we get another injured climber this afternoon, I’m sending you up instead,” I teased.
