by Molly Evans
The boy glanced back and forth between Jeannine and Miklo without answering.
“Do you think he’s hearing impaired?” she asked with a frown. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Perhaps they had overlooked an injury to the middle ear, or maybe the boy was hearing impaired. Jeannine chewed on her lower lip, trying to think of all of the ways to communicate with him. “I didn’t see any ear injuries, but I suppose he could have sustained something in the wreck.”
“Let me try something first. Ola. ¿cuál es su nombre?” Miklo asked in Spanish.
Jeannine watched as the boy nodded and tried to speak. Her heart ached as he struggled to communicate, and remembered struggling with the same problem when she had woken up in a hospital bed unsure what had happened to her.
As she remembered her situation, an idea came to her. She rummaged around in a storage cabinet for a moment and returned with a paper printed with the alphabet. “Are you fluent in Spanish, Miklo?” she asked as sudden energy swirled within her.
“Yes.”
“Ask him if he can spell his name, and I’ll hold up the chart.”
Miklo relayed the information. The boy raised his hand and pointed to a series of letters on the communication board. “¿Roberto? Su nombre es Roberto?” Miklo asked, his voice soft as he spoke to the frightened child.
The boy gave a slight nod to verify his name. Jeannine grinned and was relieved to see the small smile Miklo gave her. “Brilliant. Now ask him if he can point out his phone number.” With the mother still unconscious, they needed to find another immediate family member right away.
As Roberto pointed to the numbers, Jeannine wrote them down. “Chances are, whoever answers that number isn’t going to speak English either. Do you want to make the call?” she asked Miklo.
“Sure. Why don’t you go ahead and give him a little more sedation? He’s probably wondering what’s going on and right now I don’t think we can tell him.” Miklo’s serious eyes continued to observe the boy.
Jeannine dialed the number and handed the phone to Miklo. While she listened to the rapid Spanish conversation, she added a few milligrams more medication. This sort of sedation ideally was figured in milligrams per kilogram of the child’s weight. Right now they were giving a low dose, enough to keep him quiet but not enough to put him under completely.
Miklo hung up the phone. “The father’s coming in.” He bent over Roberto and relayed the information in a calm voice.
Jeannine watched as the man made soft eye contact with the boy. This was a man who cared about people. When she’d been hospitalized so many doctors and nurses had taken care of her that she’d lost track of their names and faces over the months. The sense of caring was one she carried with her to this day and motivated her to get out of bed every morning, hoping that she could give that gift to someone else.
Jeannine spoke to Roberto. “I know you can’t understand me, but I’m going to take good care of you.”
Miklo turned and translated softly as she spoke.
“I’m going to stay with you the whole way, okay?” she said, and gave him a smile.
Miklo watched as Jeannine spoke to the boy. She connected with her patients, that was obvious. But there was something about the way she spoke, the way her long fingers stroked Roberto’s hair, and her gentle manner that spoke of compassion running deep in her veins. As if she understood what it meant to be on the other side of the gurney.
“I’m going to have to take him to surgery as soon as the dad signs the operative consent.”
“I thought you were the medical director,” she said.
“I am, but I’m also a maxo-facial surgeon.” Miklo hesitated until Jeannine looked up at him. “I’m wondering if you would be able to accompany Roberto to the OR.”
Jeannine blinked in surprise. “Me?” she squeaked. “I’m not an OR nurse.”
“I know this is out of the ordinary, but I’m not asking you to perform the operation.” Miklo gave a sideways smile. “He hasn’t let go of your hand even under the sedation. Having a friendly face in the OR will go a long way to keeping his stress level down and my repairs in place.”
Jeannine looked down at Roberto’s gauze-covered face and then at the intensity in Miklo’s. Could she refuse to help either one of them? “You’re right. I know that having staff who care about you helps you heal faster.” She was living testament to that. When her fiancé had fled in the face of her tragic illness, she had looked to her family, friends, and the nurses who had cared for her to get her through the worst of her crisis. She gripped the metal side rail with one hand. With her other hand, she touched the neck of her uniform.
“You sound like you have some personal experience in that arena,” Miklo said, watching her with those dark, dark eyes.
Before she could answer, she was interrupted by frantic, rapid Spanish being yelled down the hallway. “I think the father’s here,” Jeannine said with a cringe.
“I’ll get him.” Miklo left the room and returned shortly with a hysterical man who spoke non-stop between sobs.
Miklo explained the situation to him, pointing out the problems of the facial injuries, the IV, and what the plan was. Jeannine produced a clipboard with the Spanish consent form, and the father signed it with a trembling hand. After returning the clipboard, he took a handful of tissues that Jeannine offered him. “Estoy apesadumbrado,” she said, one of the few Spanish phrases she knew, and she was sorry for his pain.
Miklo squeezed the man’s shoulder in a gesture of support as he wiped his tears from his face. “Gracias,” he said, and shook Miklo’s hand as well as Jeannine’s. Tears gathered in her eyes as he struggled to control himself.
CHAPTER THREE
ROBERTO clung to her hand as Jeannine walked alongside the gurney to the OR. Images she tried to suppress of her own recent trips to the OR attempted to insinuate themselves into her mind, but she forced them back. Now was not the time for a trip down the memory lane from hell.
Miklo bent over the stretcher. He had quickly changed into OR scrubs and a bandanna-style head cover. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a toy race car and placed it in Roberto’s hand, curving the little boy’s fingers around it.
“What do you have there?” she asked.
“Just a little something for him to hold.” Miklo shrugged and offered a quick smile. “I’ve found that children do better with some little token that they hold through procedures. Officially, it’s called a transitional object, but I just like to call it a car.” He shrugged, seeming to dismiss the idea.
Jeannine smiled. “That’s a great bit of insight.” She leaned over and stroked Roberto’s hair back from the bandages on his face. “I should have thought of that.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said.
“Really, it is. Not everyone would go to such lengths to see to the comfort of their patients. Especially the little ones.”
“It’s just a toy car…”
“That will go a long way to keeping Roberto’s stress level down.” She looked at the little car clutched in the bruised fingers. “I could have used one myself not long ago.”
Miklo watched as her mind seemed to wander a bit. What could she have meant by that comment? Observing the slight tremor of her hand, he guessed that it had something to do with the recent change in status she had alluded to yesterday. But it was none of his business. Getting overly involved with staff members’ lives wasn’t part of his job.
He had enough on his plate trying to live with the guilt that still plagued him daily. Taking care of patients and running his practice was all he could handle. Every time he handed a car to a child he was reminded of how he had failed in his life, how he had neglected his pregnant wife when she had needed him most, and of the child that would never be.
Jeannine’s soft hand on his arm startled him from his haunted memory. Looking up, he met her concerned aqua gaze. “Sorry?”
“I said, ‘Are you okay?’” she said, and removed her hand.
Miklo rubbed a hand down over his face. “Lost myself there for a moment. Let’s get this boy inside, shall we?”
“Of course,” Jeannine said, and watched as the man strode to the scrub sink.
After he turned away, a woman dressed in green scrubs approached Jeannine. “I’m Dr. Harrison, anesthesia.”
“Hi. I’m a little lost as to what to do next,” Jeannine said.
Dr. Harrison picked up a syringe and administered medication of some sort into the IV tubing. In seconds, Roberto was completely under. “He’ll sleep now,” Dr. Harrison said, and started to push the gurney down the hall. “Are you coming inside with him?”
“Dr. Kyriakides asked me to come along for emotional support.” Jeannine didn’t know quite how much support she was really going to be able to give Roberto, but she would try her best. No one should go through this situation alone.
“Well, he knows what he’s doing, so if he’s asked you along, there’s good reason for it. Let’s go inside and get him hooked up to my monitors.”
They walked by as Miklo stood at the sink, performing his intensive hand and arm scrub. Even in simple green scrubs and a tied hair cover, Miklo would have commanded the attention of every woman in the area. The simplicity of his attire peeled away everything except the man. He didn’t draw attention to himself intentionally, but something about him drew her to him, and she shivered, trying to resist the whisper of attraction that swept over her. Attraction was what had gotten her into trouble in the first place. She didn’t need a repeat of that disaster.
As if sensing her gaze, or perhaps he had heard the gurney, Miklo turned toward her. His brown gaze met hers, and she held her breath for a second, startled at the intensity of his stare. He was serious, intense, and focused. Only a nod acknowledged her, but that simple gesture released her.
“Here. You can sit by me,” Dr. Harrison said, and pulled a low stool beside her at the head of the bed. OR techs worked on setting up the sterile environment and covered most of the bed with large blue drapes. “Miklo will be close to us, but you’ll be out of his way here.”
“Thank you,” Jeannine said, and sat, relieved to have something solid to hold her up.
Then Miklo entered, covered in sterile garb. He used his foot to scoot a low stool close beside Jeannine. Looking at her through the protective goggles, he gave her a wink of reassurance. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“Never further from it,” she said, admitting her insecurity aloud. She’d discovered recently that admitting fears aloud often took the power right out of them. “I’ve had a lot of new experiences lately. What’s one more?”
“Glad to hear it.” Miklo looked at the rest of the staff members. “Everyone else ready?”
Nods all around seemed to satisfy Miklo, and he pulled the gauze away from Roberto’s face.
Despite the gasp that wanted to escape her throat, she was fascinated by the whole operative process. “May I ask questions while you work or will it be too distracting?” she asked in a whisper.
“Ask away. This is a teaching hospital. If the doctors don’t teach something every day we’re not allowed to come back,” Miklo said without looking up.
This time she did gasp, and her eyes widened. “Are you serious?” she asked, then immediately bit her lip. She’d fallen for that one without even looking.
Miklo turned amused eyes on her for a second. “No. You seemed a bit tense. I just wanted to shake you up a little bit.”
“Well, you certainly did that.” She rubbed her nose and tried to calm the flutters in her stomach. “Just for that, you have to answer all my questions.”
“Fire away.”
Jeannine watched Miklo’s gentle hands work their magic over Roberto’s small broken face. Wires and pins were added to keep the fractures stable, but thankfully his little jaw didn’t have to be wired closed. She asked questions through the procedure, but mostly watched. “This is just fascinating,” she said.
“Make you want to be a surgeon now?”
“Hardly.” She almost snorted. “Just gives me a greater appreciation of what you do. And of how fragile we all are.”
After completing the last delicate suture, he snipped the end and turned to her. “Thank you, Jeannine.”
A blush flashed over her face and neck. “You’re welcome.”
After six hours of surgery, Miklo was glad to be rid of the stifling sterile garb, and he took a deep, cleansing breath. Jeannine walked beside Roberto to the PACU, the post-anesthesia care unit, just outside the OR. Despite not being her area of expertise, she had held up well under the pressure of surgery.
“Are you okay?” he asked Jeannine, and touched her arm. Her skin was soft and he pulled his hand back, resisting the urge to let his hand linger there. Touching a woman had once been something he had done often every day, but since his wife had died, the urge to reach out had faded away.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. That was just a marvelous experience. To see a case from start to finish is a fabulous opportunity. Thank you for including me.” She stood beside Roberto’s bed as the other nurses set up the monitoring equipment. “Should I return to the PICU or should I stay with Roberto?”
“I’ll call Arlene and see if I can keep you here. When Roberto’s recovered enough from the anesthesia, you can follow him back to the unit. It will be a well-rounded day for you then. He’ll need to remain intubated for a while so that the stitches can heal a bit. The sound of your voice will be a comfort for him.” The sound of her soothing voice was a small comfort to him, too, after such a long procedure. The rigors of surgery had always invigorated him until the last few years. Listening to Jeannine’s voice during the procedure had somehow prevented that fatigue from overcoming him. Perhaps her presence wasn’t a comfort to Roberto only.
“I never thought of my voice as a comfort, but I suppose it’s the familiarity of it more than anything, isn’t it?”
Jeannine touched her throat in a gesture of which she was completely unaware. Miklo followed the direction of her hand. He noticed a distinctive, tell-tale scar, and he frowned, his curiosity roused as he observed the pink tissue that hadn’t fully healed. “You are quite right. Your instincts are very good for this sort of work.”
“Will he continue to be sedated so he’s not feeling choked by the tube?”
She dropped her hand, and he examined the scar as unobtrusively as possible. It was definitely a tracheotomy scar that marred the beauty of her otherwise flawless skin. “Yes. He’ll have to stay in the PICU at least for tonight, possibly a few days, while he’s monitored.”
The look in her eyes seemed far off, as if she were looking elsewhere. Maybe she was. Who knew? And was it any of his business why she had a scar? Life was full of people who carried scars, inside and out. And he was one of them. With a mental sigh, he decided he needed something to distract himself from his thoughts. The direction they were headed wasn’t going to be helpful for anyone. Work was his life, his passion, and something he needed to keep his black emotions at bay. Indulging in self-defeating behavior wasn’t something he was going to do.
“Do you need a drink of water, or something to eat? For someone not used to surgery, it can be tough the first time.”
“A cup of coffee would be wonderful.” She flashed a smile. “And a bathroom break,” she whispered, and crossed her eyes briefly.
Miklo almost laughed at her antics. He could appreciate her position. She hadn’t had a break since she had walked in the PICU this morning. For that matter, neither had he.
“Come on. I need a cup of coffee, too.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “The canteen is open. Let’s get lunch and have a real break. Roberto will be fine for a little while.”
Since entering medicine as his father and three brothers had, he’d been focused on his career, with little time for anything else. Every beat of his heart revolved around the hospital. Time with family, stolen moments, and rare evenings off were cherished. Three years ago his family had pic
ked him up from the most painful experience in his life. Now they seemed to have moved on, leaving him to his own devices. He knew it was his fault, but he couldn’t seem to function outside his comfort zone of the medical world. This was his life and others depended on him. That’s what he kept telling himself, what he needed to believe, or he would be on his knees from unimaginable pain and guilt. He had to believe that his time here was not wasted. That he hadn’t sacrificed his family for nothing.
A group of four nervous-looking interns dashed past them on the way out of the canteen. One of them bumped Miklo’s shoulder and brought him back to the present.
“I’ll be right back. You go ahead,” Jeannine said, and ducked into the ladies’ room. In moments she returned with a smile lighting up her face. Finely arched brows over a pair of eyes the color of the sea, her smile seemed to shine just for him, and he took a quick breath.
“You were right, I needed this more than I realized.” She filled a large disposable cup with coffee, added a little sugar and milk, stirred, then placed a lid on it. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He fixed his own cup of coffee and followed her to the grill. After obtaining their orders, they sat at a small table and ate. Miklo took a few bites of his sandwich, then placed it on the plate.
“Not good?” she asked.
Uncomfortable with the question, Miklo shifted position. “I don’t know how to answer that without sounding completely biased.” He picked up the sandwich again, but didn’t eat.
“Oh, do try,” she said with narrowed eyes that sparkled with mischief.
He sighed and leaned forward. “Okay, so I’m half Greek, half Mexican. My uncle owns the best restaurant in town. After eating that kind of food all of my life, a simple sandwich from the hospital grill just doesn’t cut it sometimes. Know what I mean?”
“I can appreciate your position, but as I’ve never eaten Greek food, I can’t pass judgment on you.” She took a bite of her sandwich, seemingly not bothered.
Miklo shot forward in his seat, incredulous. “Are you kidding? You’ve never eaten Greek food?” He leaned back and placed a hand over his eyes. “Woman, you have no idea what you are missing.” He shook his head in amazement.