Page 27 of Healer
I gave him a grim smile as I took the needle in my hand. Honestly, I’d love to get my hands on a stainless-steel reverse-cutting needle with a triangular point or surgical staples, but like Claire Fraser, I’d have to make do.
I dropped the needle in the pot of boiling water suspended over the fire. At the same time, Hakkar began construction on the makeshift surgical theater—a curtain of furs suspended on poles that would allow the sunlight from overhead but prevent the breeze from blowing contaminants into the surgical field.
Ideally, I should operate inside to cut down on possible pollutants, but the light in the cave was dim at best. Despite once again possessing the twenty-twenty vision of my youth, I would need all the light I could get to find and repair a tear in a minuscule artery.
“Will this do?”
Vienda stood at least a foot taller than me, but at this moment, she seemed small with her worried eyes, trembling lips, and hands. In her palm lay a pile of thin gray strands, painstakingly made from the intestines of a freshly caught fish.
“This will work,” I assured her, praying I didn’t lie as she laid the slimy tendrils in my hand. These I dropped into the bowl of Talamus home brew.
“The shelter is done,” Hakkar announced from a few feet away. Vienda jerked at his words. I did too, only I hid it better.
I walked over to inspect the space, finding it plenty roomy with the ground covered by thick furs. A small table, draped by a fur that would serve as my operating table, stood in the center of the space.
“We need to get everything set up before we move, Irsay.” I glanced to where Talamus sat beside his daughter, applying pressure to the wound as I instructed.
Vienda provided a rough clay platter to hold the surgical tools. Dipping the plate in the boiling water, the female Kerzak extracted the knife and bone needle with her bare hands. I transferred the fish guts into a smaller bowl, covering them with the homebrew. Hopefully, the alcohol content in the drink would prove antiseptic.
We moved Irsay next. The blood flow from the wound had slowed, but one good jostle would undo any clotting. I don’t think Hakkar and Talamus drew breath as they carried the child onto a small fur and then into the theater, moving with a grace and precision that seemed strange on beings their size.
With Irsay and my meager surgical tools inside the fur shelter, the only thing left was to sterilize was myself. Without chlorhexidine or povidone-iodine-containing soaps and latex gloves, the best I managed was dousing my hands in the Talamus home brew and boiling water.
The alcohol content must be high. The liquid stung my skin. I drew a cup of boiling water, letting it set for a few seconds before pouring the scalding liquid over my hands, biting back a grunt of pain. Hakkar, Vienda, and Talamus still sported splashes of blood and gore on their skin and clothes—a testament to the battle fought to protect us. In a hospital setting, I always required every member of my surgical team to shower both before and after surgery, but this was the jungle. I’d have to make do.
Hakkar cleaned his hands, imitating my manner, and waited at my side, ready to do my biding. I wanted to ask him to hold me. I wanted to feel the strength of his arms and the comfort and promise his hold would convey. Instead, I allowedmyself a long gaze into his golden eyes, borrowing on the confidence he held for me.
Hakkar moved closer but kept his hands at his sides. Instead, he lowered his head until our foreheads rested together. So close, but too far away.
“I have faith in you, Aggie.”
There was faith but also a question in his eyes as he christened this new moniker between us. My father was the only person who ever called me Aggie and lived. I’d always insisted on Agnes. It was more formal and professional sounding. More appropriate for a surgeon. But I liked the nickname coming from Hakkar’s lips. It spoke of a closeness between us… a closeness I wanted to explore. I’d dreamed of kissing him and lying in his arms all last night. I wanted that reality, but I pushed the thought away for now. Time for that later, after I’d helped Irsay. I gave him a soft smile and nod before striding toward the furs.
Vienda stood at her daughter’s head, with Talamus kneeling at the girl’s feet. I considered asking them to step outside but thought better of it. I had nothing to anesthetize Irsay. If the little girl regained consciousness during surgery—please God, don’t let her regain consciousness—her parents would need to hold her.
The air felt sultry within the confines of the fur teepee, every breath stifling, but I put the discomfort out of my head.
I put everything out of my head except the wound before me.
The laser blast left a four-inch-wide crater in the girl’s shoulder. However, in order to get to the artery, I needed to cut away what, on a human, would be the sternocostal head of the pectoralis major muscle. I retrieved the knife from the clay tray. It was one of Hakkar’s small blades. Much bigger than a scalpel, it lay awkwardly in my fingers, but proved lightweight. After afew practice moves, I felt confident enough to make the first incision.
While the muscle lay further south than it would in a human body, it didn’t take me long to locate the artery. The tear was readily visible, thanks to the onset of clotting, plus Kerzak veins were bright yellow, which made the hole pumping thick black blood easier to find. Nearby, embedded in the muscle, lay a bone chip no bigger than my nail. I removed it with the tip of my knife.
Like the spin that turned Diana Prince into Wonder Woman, I transformed. Training and instinct took over, and a sensation of pins and needles swept over my skin. Every sense I possessed focused on my task. Every nerve and muscle honed to make the stitches through the thin walls of the artery perfection itself. The fish gut felt like spider silk and slid easily through the tiny holes created by my bone needle. Stitch after stitch. Clamping the vein might prove to make the task easier. But I didn’t want to constrict blood flow without telemetry to monitor Irsay’s condition.
Thirty-seven stitches.
Thirty-seven stitches and black blood pumped through the small yellow artery without a single leak.
Vienda gave a relieved sigh while Talamus grunted his approval. I didn’t let myself relax—the task was only half done.
“We must ensure the vein holds for at least five minutes.” I cautioned.
It was the longest five minutes of my life. I counted it off in my head, one number for every one of Irsay’s heartbeats.
Once satisfied the repair would hold, I began working my way out, suturing muscle and the strange honeycomb-looking fascia, debriding burnt tissue so the joining of flesh would heal. Stitch after painstaking stitch until finally, nothing remained buta small suture scar around five inches long, which I covered with a clean cloth before pulling the blanket up under Irsay’s chin.
It was over.
