Doctor at Risk

‘Well, not exactly. But I had a lot of input into its design and I cleared the site. A patient of mine was a builder in Greymouth and he helped me with the building in his spare time. It took five years to complete and I feel like I built it myself.’

‘Sounds special.’ Megan rested an elbow on the side of the bed and propped her chin on her hand. ‘My fiancé and I are saving for a section at the moment. I’ve got a few ideas for a house design I’d love to try out.’

‘I tried to make mine blend in with its setting. It’s made of logs with a cedar shingle roof. I use solar panels as the main form of heating and there’s slate floors and lots of internal brickwork to soak up the heat and then release it slowly.’ Ross was unaware of the note of longing in his voice as he described his home. ‘For winter, I’ve got an open fireplace you could roast an ox in.’

‘You must be missing it,’ Megan said gently. ‘I’ll bet you can’t wait for a visit home.’

‘Not much point visiting. It’s not as though I’ll be able to live there again.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s isolated,’ Ross said flatly. ‘And the grounds aren’t exactly manicured. I’ve put paths in to make sure I didn’t fall down any undiscovered gold-mining shafts but they wouldn’t be wheelchair-friendly. And the house is two-storeyed. The bedrooms and main bathroom are upstairs. There’s only a small shower and loo downstairs unless you count the outside bath, and that’s miles away on the edge of the bush.’

‘You’ve got a bath in the bush?’

‘Yeah.’ Ross smiled at Megan’s expression. ‘An old claw-foot, cast-iron model. It’s got a water supply from the creek and it gets heated by a gas burner. You can sit and have a soak under the stars with just a few ancient rimu trees and the occasional morepork for company.’

‘Sounds romantic.’

‘Yeah.’ Ross let his eyelids drift shut for a few seconds. It hadn’t been intended as a romantic setting but that had been before Wendy had been introduced to the property’s unusual outdoor feature. She had loved it as much as she had loved his house. She had also revelled in the exciting hint of danger from uncovered mining shafts and had been enchanted by the limestone cave in the base of the hill behind the house. It had been in that cave, sheltering from some of the rainfall that made the West Coast famous, that Ross had declared his love.

Wendy must have understood how difficult it had been to describe emotions he was experiencing for the first time in his life. She had listened, holding both his hands in her own, and she had looked more solemn than he would have believed she was capable of looking. Then she had simply nodded.

‘We’re soul mates, Ross. I love you, too. I always will.’

Megan misinterpreted the silence. ‘There’s lots of help available to get past things that can seem like big problems, you know. Even with a complete lesion around T10 people often only need a wheelchair for part of the day. Walking can be fully functional.’

‘Yeah.’ The agreement was bitter. ‘With callipers and crutches. And incomplete lesions like mine can leave people severely disabled, despite neurological recovery.’

‘Do you have any family in Hokitika?’

‘No.’ His response was curt.

The arrival of the extra staff on turning duties for the night seemed well timed. Megan was needed to do the rounds of the other patients due for a change of position and Ross was grateful that any further discussion had to be abandoned. He was in enough emotional turmoil without dredging up memories of his childhood and family. Maybe that was what was making the whole business with Wendy such agony. Nobody had ever offered him such unconditional love before. Or matched him so perfectly in his outlook on life. And now he had to take that precious gift and return it virtually unopened.

The grief of losing what he and Wendy had found together was going to be greater than losing the use of his legs, but he had no choice. His recovery, to whatever extent he could make it, was going to require total focus. It would be the biggest physical challenge Ross had ever faced. It would need all the strength he could muster and it was something he had to do alone.

Pride would not allow Ross to offer Wendy an empty shell of the man she had fallen in love with so convincingly. Their shared love of physical pursuits had brought them together and Ross could even pinpoint the moment he had known he was in love with her. Wendy had been below him on a rock-face, laughing at the sheer exhilaration of the difficulty and danger she had been faced with. He had been holding the rope, making sure that if she slipped she would still be safe. He would only hold her back now. His physical disability would be another rope—preventing her from doing what she loved to do so much. And Ross could understand better than anyone how essential doing such things could be for nurturing one’s soul.

He wouldn’t even be able to make love to her again, and the pain of losing something he’d never dreamed could be so fulfilling was unbearable. He hated Wendy touching him now because it was such an instant and searing reminder of that loss.

The timing was just so incredibly bad. If they’d already been together for years, maybe they could have faced and overcome this obstacle together. The emotional bank account of shared and equal support would have been healthy. The memories of countless nights of passion would be enough to draw on in the lean times. But it had been only weeks, not years, and their love was a fledgling that needed nurturing and time to test its wings and gather strength. It couldn’t survive the kind of stress the aftermath of this accident would present, and it would destroy Ross to watch it wither and die slowly.

The pain of that emotional destruction would remove any chance Ross had to fight and win the battle he was now facing. The temptation to draw on the strength Wendy was offering so willingly was overpowering, but the sheer force of that temptation was enough to sound an alarm he couldn’t ignore. He had wanted support like that in the past—had trusted that it would remain on offer, and he knew just how crushing it was to have it rescinded. Even if the support was unwavering, the thought that he could become a kind of emotional leech that drained even a part of the optimism and sheer joy of living from a spirit as vital as Wendy’s was simply unacceptable.

Perhaps—in a few months, or a year, or however long it took to recover—they could try again, but Ross wasn’t going to ask Wendy to wait for him. He had no right to do that when he was faced with the possibility that he might never recover. No. He had to set her completely free. He had to do it for himself as much as for her. Wendy might not understand or agree but she would thank him in the long run. And maybe...just maybe they could remain friends and Ross could keep just a little of what he’d found without feeling like a thief.

Telling her it was over would be the hardest thing he had ever faced in his life, and that was saying something. But he had to do it. And soon. Tomorrow, even, if they had any time alone together.

Yes. He would tell her tomorrow and get it over with. And then he would start coping alone.

Just as he always had.

CHAPTER TWO

‘IT’S not over.’

‘I never said it was.’

The surprised tone from her patient made Wendy blink in momentary confusion. She paused in her automatic task of cleaning around the pin piercing the skin of her patient’s forehead and anchored in the bone of his skull. The realisation that her thought had been spoken aloud was disconcerting. Wendy had been quite confident that her professionalism as a senior nurse would not be compromised by any personal problems, no matter how intensely upsetting they had the potential to be.

‘What’s not over, anyway? You’ve been fiddling with those screw things for ages.’

‘Sorry.’ Wendy dropped the cotton bud into a kidney dish. ‘I’m done now. How’s your head feeling?’

‘OK.’ Martin Gallagher’s eyes swivelled until he caught Wendy’s questioning gaze. ‘Surprisingly good, considering I must look like Frankenstein with bolts sticking out of my temples.’

‘You don’t look anything like Frankenstein.’ Wendy smiled, relieved that the subject of her audible mutter was not being pursued. The insurance of a further distraction might still be prudent, however. ‘Would you like to see? I can find a mirror.’

‘Sure. I’d better check what I look like before Gemma comes in again. Maybe she spent last night crying so much because I’m not as good-looking as I was.’

‘Be back in a tick, then.’

Wendy moved swiftly towards the storeroom to find the hand mirror. She wished she could distract herself so easily from the subject of that verbalised thought.

It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. Not something that strong. That...right. Wendy had never believed in love at first sight but, then, she’d never seen Ross Turnball, had she? The moment their eyes had met had been unforgettable. A defining moment that she might have expected to be wildly exciting—emotional shooting stars would have done the trick—but it hadn’t been like that at all. The feeling Wendy had been aware of had been far more peaceful. Almost one of relief. She’d known she had found something she had always been searching for but had never found because she had never been able to define it adequately. The only experience Wendy could relate it to had been the moment on that Pacific cruise she had taken years ago when the tantalising outline of land had appeared on the horizon of an empty sea. It had been there, waiting to be discovered. Explored...and claimed as part of her own life.

The excitement had come a little later but had made up for the time lag by being a revelation of unimagined heights, and the knowledge of the ‘rightness’ had escalated because Ross felt exactly the same way. He hadn’t meant what he’d said last night. Of course it wasn’t over. Ross probably realised that himself by now and he might well be regretting those words. A break in her eight-hour shift in the intensive care unit would be due before too long and Wendy planned to use the time to go and see Ross in the ward. Telling him about Martin might remind him of just how serious a spinal injury could be and might serve as subtle encouragement for Ross to be thankful for how well he was doing—and how possible a full recovery still was. And how detrimental it could be to even threaten to cast aside their relationship.

Right now, however, she had to concentrate on her job. The mirror was not in its usual place on the bottom shelf. Wendy glanced up as another staff member entered the small room.

‘Have you seen the hand mirror anywhere, Pete? Martin wants to see what the tongs look like.’

Peter shook his head. ‘No. Sorry.’ He deposited a carton of IV cannulae on a stainless-steel bench. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for it, though. I’ve got to do a tidy and restock while my patient’s in Theatre.’

‘Martin might be going in after your patient. They’re going to check whether the fracture has been reduced by traction soon. It should be—he was up to nearly twenty-five kilograms at one stage.’

‘He’s a C6-7 dislocation fracture, isn’t he?’

Wendy nodded as her gaze wandered over the next shelf of supplies. ‘He dived into the shallow end of a pool to retrieve some toy his daughter dropped. He got transferred by helicopter last night with incomplete tetraplegia. He was stabilised with Gardner Wells tongs but there’s been signs of neurological deterioration since then so they’ve had to reduce the traction weight.’

‘Surgery’s likely, then. How’s he coping?’

‘Too well right now. I think he’s in denial.’ Or maybe he was just euphoric that he was still alive. As Ross had been for a brief period after his accident, until the spinal cord oedema had made his condition worse and he’d become too sick to think about anything much. By the time he had been well enough to be aware of where he was again, Ross had also been only too aware of reality. Being a doctor had been an added disadvantage, allowing him to consider the bleakest prognosis, the rarest of potential complications, and to envisage the worst-case scenarios available. Wendy gave herself a mental shake. She was supposed to be thinking about her patient.

‘His wife’s a mess. She was totally grief-stricken when she arrived last night. Apparently Paddy spent ages calming her down before he took her in to visit Martin. Ah...’ The handle of the mirror could be seen poking out from beneath some dressing packages on a higher shelf. Wendy stood on tiptoe but still couldn’t quite reach it.

‘Allow me.’ Peter was grinning. ‘It’s tough being a midget, isn’t it?’