The Doctor's Recovery. Cari Lynn Webb
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to translate Dr. Hensen’s medical textbook speech. “After the hyperbaric chamber this morning, I moved my entire right side.” She skipped over the nerve pain and continued numbness that absorbed most of her skin, restricting a full range of movement. But she was better than yesterday. Certainly, that counted for something. “If you won’t close my cuts, then can we add more sessions in the chamber?”
Dr. Hensen patted her shoulder, the motion awkward as if he’d closed the textbook, yet she found no comfort in the fit of his bedside manner. “The body heals at its own pace, Mia. We must respect that.”
“But the chamber helped me move today.” She swallowed, pushing the panic down her throat. Her cuts needed to be stitched because normal patients suffered through sutures, then got discharged. Routine patients received discharge papers. There was nothing routine about another night in the hospital. Unease skimmed over her, leaving a sticky chill across her skin.
“You’ll continue daily sessions in the hyperbaric chamber and physical therapy. We’ll need to keep monitoring you for infection.”
“But you won’t stitch it all up?”
“Lacerations sustained in a marine environment are susceptible to uncommon pathogens. There is a serious risk for infection in extremity trauma such as yours.” Dr. Hensen added another stiff pat on her shoulder, once again stepping out of his textbook. Compassion softened his voice. “Sutures won’t get you discharged.”
Her skin absorbed that unease, kicking her pulse into overdrive. How would she convince her Bay Water Medical team she was ready to leave?
The information dry-erase board across from her bed listed today’s wound care nurse: Kellie K. Her hyperbaric physician: Dr. West. Her physical therapist: Robyn. Her team’s lead: Dr. Hensen along with a handful more support staff. The hospital employees overseeing her care outnumbered her documentary film crew by three to one. As if she was a critical patient.
If she was critical, she’d have to admit the severity of her injuries, and that meant admitting she’d made several crucial dive mistakes. Those phantom pins and needles pierced through her stomach, letting the dread and distress leak in. Her father had died from his mistakes.
But she’d promised her dad she’d honor each of his final wishes. She’d always coveted her father’s love, and that meant she’d take over the Fiore Films business, continue his life’s work and not fail him. You always lacked discipline and focus, Mia. But now you can make me proud. She didn’t have time to debate her character with her father’s ghost. She had one too many open wounds to contend with now.
“So I’m supposed to just lie here and do nothing? Then lie in the chamber and do nothing again?” She’d only ever been a visitor at the hospital. She’d never been the patient waiting on her own visitors. “And just keep on doing nothing.”
“Your body needs rest to facilitate healing. It may seem like nothing, but restoration of injured tissue is a complex process.” Dr. Hensen looked at her, his smile a small twitch. “Healing is quite an exhaustive process for the body.”
“But I have an actual job.” She clutched Dr. Hensen’s arm, holding him in place. The startled look behind his round glasses hinted at his retreat back inside his mental textbook. Mia continued, “And an important deadline to meet.”
A brisk knock and sure footsteps preceded the order from a familiar voice. “Right now, your only job is to heal.”
Dr. Hensen tugged his arm free and darted toward Wyatt Reid. Relief coated Dr. Hensen’s voice and slid into his extended handshake with Wyatt. “Nice to see that they let you out of the ER, Dr. Reid. We could certainly benefit from your skills up here.” He pushed on his glasses and glanced at Mia. “I agree with my colleague, Mia. You need to concentrate on your recovery. Don’t fight the process. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mia nodded. This was so not how she’d envisioned her first meeting with Wyatt. She excluded their ER encounter, as her hallucinations and her reality had collided and become indecipherable throughout the night.
But there was nothing imaginary about Wyatt now from his navy scrubs to slate eyes to his hair still long enough to run her fingers through and rearrange. That was all wrong. Confusion must be a side effect of her pain meds. The only running she intended to do was out of the hospital and away from Wyatt. The blood pressure cuff squeezed her arm as if on cue to censure any thoughts about leaving.
An IV line and monitors tethered her to a hospital bed. That she couldn’t tether the giant moths that escaped her stomach and fluttered through her chest annoyed her. Why hadn’t she prepared for this better? Of course, seeing Dr. Wyatt Reid again had never been on her schedule. Neither had an extended stay in the hospital.
She held on to her smile until Dr. Hensen closed her door before glaring at Wyatt. “You didn’t have to admit me. You could’ve treated my wounds and sent me home with Eddy.”
“Should I have sent you home when you passed out in the ER? Or after the hyperbaric chamber when you passed out again?” He moved to the foot of her bed and stared at her. “And the blood loss? Was I supposed to give two CCs of blood to Eddy to pump into you that evening?”
The logic in his questions and composure in his tone grated on her. That something inside her sighed at his presence shoved her into the irrational. “I have a job.”
“So do I.” He gripped the bed frame and leaned forward, fully prepared to take her on. “I took a Hippocratic oath to save lives, including yours.”
An oath that he lived and breathed. Always. Just like she lived for her job. She tipped her chin up and held his gaze. “I cannot miss my deadline.”
“It can wait.”
“Easy for you to say,” she said. “You’re walking around, doing your job just fine like always.”
“You’ll be back doing your job soon enough.”
“Not if I miss this deadline.”
“They’ll understand.”
He didn’t understand. She wasn’t supposed to be the patient. She didn’t make mistakes that could cost her her life or those of her best friends. Those pinpricks turned her stomach inside out, stealing her breath. If they’d just let her leave, then perhaps it wasn’t such a big mistake. And her life could return to normal like she wanted. Why did her old life make her hyperventilate now? She loved the life she’d built with her father.
Wyatt tilted his head and studied her. “Are you afraid to be here?”
“Of course I don’t want to be here.” Not with Wyatt close enough to touch, but so far out of her reach. But that was all wrong. She wanted discharge papers, her old life back more than she’d ever wanted Wyatt. She pressed her fist into the bed. “You do know what happens in places like this.”
“Yes, I know what happens in hospitals.” The softness in his voice slid into his gaze, tempering the cool sleet color. “We save lives.”
“Or not.” She scowled at the fragile crack in her voice and blamed Wyatt for making her weak.
Wyatt walked around to her side and lifted his arm toward her.
Everything in Mia stilled. The air in her lungs, her pulse, all of her waited and wished.
He made a midcourse correction to adjust her IV line, denying her his touch. “I’m really sorry about your dad.”
Mia buried her arm under the covers. She didn’t need his support. She’d never needed that. She’d handle her grief like she handled everything else: on her own terms. Besides, it was his fault she was there. Not entirely, she admitted, but she needed someone to blame to keep her sanity. Otherwise she might crumble beneath the ramifications of her accident. “Why are you here?”
“I work downstairs in the ER.”
“I know that.” She tugged on the blankets, refusing to look