A Sea of Heartache

"Moment of truth, Adele," Peter said softly, a quake in his voice, as he released the clamps. He stood, not breathing, as he adjusted the surgical light to shine directly on her bruised and battered leg. Seconds ticked by. Adele joined Peter at the foot of the table. She, too, was holding her breath.

After a few breathless seconds that seemed like a lifetime, Peter spied a hint of color appear on her muscular thigh. He quickly began to feel along the object of his complete and thorough attention over the prior three hours. It was subtle at first, but he was sure he was beginning to feel heat returning to the leg. With shaking hands, he reached under her knee to check her popliteal pulse. It was weak, but it was definitely there. His other hand went to her ankle to feel her dorsalis pulse. It, too, was weak, but the color was slowly returning to the leg. He waited a few more minutes, then squeezed her toenails, checking cap refill. It was there! Blood was flowing throughout the leg!

"You're an asshole, Peter, but you're a fucking amazing surgeon," Adele chirped out, clapping her hands in joy, tears flowing from her eyes. They were both elated.

Peter let out a long, low breath, his heart returning to his pounding chest after its' meteoric rise to stroke range.

"Ok, Adele. Now all we can do is wait. Did you do a thorough assessment in triage?"

"I didn't have time, Peter. I just got to her when you came in. It was mayhem down there."

"Adele. Breathe. I'm not accusing you. I was just asking. Ok, go ahead and do your assessment now while I suture and staple here." Without a scrub nurse to hand him instruments, he scrambled to find some three-oh Vicryl.

Peter set to work closing the incisions internally while Adele gently lifted and felt the length of Karen's limp body.

"You should have just shaved her all the way, Peter," Adele laughed, blushing. "That just looks...strange," she giggled.

"I never claimed to be a barber, Adele." Peter laughed along, relief washing over him.

"Well when you're done there, it looks like she'd got a couple of broken ribs and a pretty deep laceration under her right breast. That truss must have cut across her from knee to shoulder. As if that leg wasn't enough, this lac under her breast looks like her underwire bra went rogue on her."

"Nothing else? What about her spine? I wish this place had a portable Xray machine."

"Thankfully, nothing else that I can see. And the spine feels intact. We'll have to wait for the Xrays to be sure," Adele said, going to Karen's foot, rechecking her pulses."

"I didn't think even you, The Great One, would be able to save that leg, Peter. Thank God you got here. What's her prognosis?"

"I'd say it's pretty rosy. She's going to be laid up for a long time, but unless there's something going on that we're not seeing, she should be a hundred percent in a couple of months. Everything inside is pink and dry. We just have to pray she doesn't develop a clot."

"Ok. I've got the inside closed. I'm going to staple the outside, we'll get her in a brace and get her down to Xray, then to ICU. Start bringing her about half way up, Adele, please. Just keep her under lightly and start some heparin." He made short work of the stapling.

"Let me just suture this lac under her breast." Does Doctor Frankenstein have any hip abduction orthoses in the supply room?"

"I'll check. What size?"

"Let's try a left leg small. And if she has them, bring a medium, too, please."

"Be right back."

As soon as Adele left the room, Peter leaned down close to the anesthetized Karen's ear and spoke softly to the sleeping beauty.

"Hey you? Yeah, you. The beautiful one laying there slacking off. You gave us quite a scare. I'm the pirate in this scenario. You haven't even begun to do anything bad enough in your life to earn a peg leg."

"Listen, Karen, you're a smart, beautiful, wonderful woman. I know you probably won't want to talk to me when you wake up. I don't blame you. I'm bad news on wheels. Damaged goods. But just so you know; if I were ever able to have feelings again, you'd definitely be that one special, wonderful person that could turn me into a one woman man. The way things are now, I'd just fuck up your life as bad, if not worse, than I've fucked up mine." Tears formed in his eyes as he ran his fingers through her beautiful hair, gently moving a stray strand of her blonde locks away from her angelic face.

He looked up at the monitors. Her stats were all steady and stable and her blood pressure was nearing normal. For the first time in four years, he said a silent prayer. Something he swore he'd never do again. He was certain God lost his number that horrifyingly tragic night; but in this case, it couldn't hurt to try once more.

Peter had to tape her ample, perky breast out of his way, but he finished suturing just as Adele returned. "Must be our lucky day. We had both."

"Great! We can control any swelling and keep a better eye on things this way than we can with a cast." He measured Karen and decided the small was the right choice.

"Start bringing her the rest of the way up slowly, Adele. I'm just going to fit this and we'll be done."

"Oops. Wait a minute before you bring her all the way up. She's peeing. Thank God. The plumbing appears to all be working, but we'd better put in a Foley. I'm sure she'd prefer that unpleasantry was done while she's out. Would you, please?"

"Certainly, Doctor," Adele smiled, going about the dastardly deed.

"Ok. Let's finish bringing her up, Adele. How are her stats?" He was almost afraid to stop feeling her leg pulses. He worried that if he turned his back, they'd go away. Every time he rechecked, they seemed to grow continually stronger and the leg steadily got pinker and warmer.

"Beautiful. BP is one fifteen over seventy six, resps are fourteen and she's hitting a hundred on the oximeter. Trace is steady and normal. No gremlins."

"Let's get that endo tube out and start her on a cannula."

"Done and done," Adele smiled through her mask. "What do you want her to have for pain in the recovery room?"

"Let's go with Vicodin. She's been through a lot. After she's had time to wake up and think clearly, ask her what her pain levels are and adjust accordingly. Get her off the opiates as soon as possible. And give her two grams of cefazolin and a DTaP just to be on the safe side."

"Will do," she said, placing a gown over Karen's severely battered, beautiful, nude body.

"Let's board her and get her gently back in the bed and down to Xray."

****

Peter did six more less serious surgeries that lasted through the night and well into the next. By the time he tied the last suture, he was exhausted. He walked out into the hall as one of the nurses pushed the last patient out of the OR and off to the recovery room, tossing his sweaty cap and mask in the bin. He looked around and saw Sandy looking totally exhausted, charting her successes. A long strand of greasy hair hung down over her washed out, tired face. She didn't even seem to notice. He plunked down beside her.

"Any more?"

"Nope. The NP's took care of the rest. Please, please tell me you didn't have to amputate Karen's leg?"

"Nope. Thankfully we got to her before any serious necrosis set in. She's going to be laid up for a couple of months, but I believe she'll make a full recovery?"

"Wonderful! Oh, thank God! The scuttlebutt I got was that it was too far gone."

"It was close. I had to do two bypasses and screw her femur back together, but the leg was warm, pink and rosy when we wheeled her out."

"Listen. Peter. I'm sorry about the other day."

"Forget about it. It's all small potatoes compared to what just happened here."

"Maybe you're not such a dickhead after all," she smiled, rubbing his back.

"How dare you attempt to besmirch my hard earned reputation?" he smiled.

"I'm going down to check on my patients."

"You do that. I've got a few things to finish up here, then I'll buy you a cup of nasty hospital coffee."

"Sounds like a plan."

Peter didn't know what was coming over him, and he wasn't at all sure he liked it. A week ago, after the way she'd treated him, he'd have just told her to go fuck herself and walked off. Maybe it was the devastation he saw as he approached the island, and over the last two days in the OR. Maybe it was because he realized finding Karen in that condition truly scared him. The thought of losing her was gnawing at a part of him he'd thought he'd buried forever. For now, he'd just chalk it off to his shock over the storm and the devastation and leave it at that.

When he got to recovery, Adele was looming over Karen.

"Any changes?" He was reviewing the Xrays. They looked better than he'd hoped.

"No. And she's finally starting to come around. I was really starting to be concerned. She's been out for two days, Peter."

"Karen," he called. "Can you hear me?" He watched her eye lids flutter, but she was still out. He reached his hand down and ran his knuckle back and forth over her sternum. "Karen." The pain response worked. Her lids fluttered again, then those beautiful blue eyes slowly opened.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Asshole," she mumbled, groggily. "Get the fuck away from me! I don't ever want to see your smug face again!"

"No problem," he replied. Wounded. His hands going up in surrender. "Just making sure you were ok. Rest and get well soon." It was obvious, just as he expected and deserved, that he was the last person in the world she wanted to see.

He strolled sadly back up to the OR and slipped into the shower room. A hot shower and he'd go back to Recluse, catch a few winks and pull out. He was concerned; anxious to see how his own patients fared the storm on the other islands.

The shower room, like the rest of the antiquated hospital, was drab and archaic. One big tile stall with six shower heads. It reminded him of the gym locker rooms from back in his high school days. Given the utter devastation on the rest of the island, he was fairly certain he'd be taking a cold shower. If the water even flowed.

He undressed and turned the taps. Surprisingly, after a few minutes, hot water began to sputter forth. He stepped under the stream and just stood there letting the water flow over him, his hands resting on the chipped tile walls. His mind was off in another world. A world he was trying so hard to forget. He reluctantly conjured up horrid images of the beautiful Karen without a leg. So young and smart and beautiful, with so much life ahead of her. Losing that leg would have destroyed her. He'd probably never know how she fared. When he left the next day, he had no intention of ever coming back. He suddenly felt the dark edges of his force field coming back up to shield him. Karen's comments hurt him deeply. He'd learned his lesson. He would never let feelings seep into his consciousness ever again.

"Don't get any ideas, Doctor. This is the only functioning shower on the island and I've got to get back to my patients." Her surprise arrival caught him by surprise. She'd obviously gotten a second wind. The witch was back on her designer broom.

"Don't flatter yourself,"

"Jesus Christ, Richardson! That's unnatural!"

"Don't get any ideas, Doctor Moore. You just keep that nose of yours waving in the air where it always is and my loathsome presence won't be an issue."

Out of nowhere, she grabbed his shoulder, violently spinning him around. "Is that what you think of me? That I'm some kind of an uppity snob? Why? Because I shot you down? Let me tell you something, Asshole. I shot you down because you're a drunken dickhead who has obviously crawled into a bottle to drown whatever petty sorrows you think you can forget from inside your constant, alcohol induced, haze! You may be a very handsome man, Peter, but you're dead inside. Not to mention that you're wasting that ungodly, God given talent, floating around out there in a drunken stupor, miles away from the world! You need to man up and start putting that talent to good use before you lose it!"

Try as he may, he couldn't help sneaking a peak at her awesome body. The old Peter was battling for the controls. Sandy was five eight or nine with a gymnast's body. While she was small breasted, they were perky and firm with perfect pink nipples. Her curves were flawless as her firm abs flowed down to her perfectly curved hips. Those sloped beautifully into a pair of long, muscular legs that met at a shaved, inviting pussy. Regardless of how beautiful she was, she still had all the classic symptoms of being a chronically uptight, frigid, prom queen. An entitled, holier than thou, bitch whose friend list, he was certain, was loaded with Muffy's, Buffy's and Chads.

"Don't make assumptions about something you know nothing about, Sandy," he said calmly, returning to his shower.

"What? You're not even going to defend yourself? You're not even going to try to make me understand why you're such a reclusive, cold, mean spirited asshole?"

"Defend myself against what? Your preconceived notions? I don't have to answer to you or anyone else. And I certainly don't need to justify myself, or my life, to the likes of you. You're insignificant, Sandy. A nobody in my book. And everything that just spewed from your smug, clueless mouth confirms my description of you."

"Oh yeah! Ok! Fine. Fair enough," she grumbled, silently returning to her shower. He'd hit a nerve and for once in her life, she couldn't come up with a snotty comeback. He almost felt remorse for the dressing down he gave her, but he got over that in a flash. She'd opened that can of worms and he securely put the lid back on it.

Peter finished quickly and moved to the locker room without saying a word. He finished dressing and skulked out of the hospital and back to the boat. He went for a beer out of habit, but changed his mind. He just undressed and crawled into bed exhausted.

****

He rose late the next morning. In the daylight, the island looked far worse than it had when he first arrived days before. It saddened him. Judging from the mess, he was sad but thankful that only three inhabitants of the over two hundred were killed. It could have been much worse.

Reluctantly, he dressed and rode the Zodiac back to the island. It was obvious to him that he was about as welcome as a dose of the clap, but he wanted to ensure Karen's leg was improving. Why; he wasn't sure. He'd done all he could. The rest was up to fate. It was out of his hands. As much as it hurt him, Karen made it quite clear that he wasn't welcome. Sandy or one of the NP's would see to her therapy and recovery, or they'd ship her to the mainland to recuperate.

"Cathy," he called to one of the passing nurses, waving her over.

"We're kind of busy in here, Doctor." Snubbed before he was barely through the door. He didn't know why it saddened him so; but it did.

"I see that. I was just wondering how Karen was doing?"

"She'd doing well. The leg appears to be steadily improving." Her impatient response and rolling eyes just saddened Peter further. It was if he'd suddenly been identified as the carrier of the bubonic plague. Patient zero.

"Great. That's great. Thanks. Sorry to bother you," he said, somberly, then made haste back to Recluse. Karen's chances of keeping the leg improved with every post-op hour.

The sad part was that regardless of how much he tried to be of help, they still treated him like a germ. As far as he knew, he hadn't said or done anything this visit to upset anyone or hurt any feelings. He didn't need the abuse. It wasn't as if he wasn't the same guy he'd always been with them. And he certainly had no desire to stay where he obviously wasn't wanted.

He was underway quickly, leaving the island in his wake. Almost as an afterthought, he flipped off the radio. He didn't want to talk to anyone, and he didn't want anyone taking to him. He felt used. He was greeted like visiting royalty during the height of the crisis. Once things were under control, he was cast aside like a beggar. He turned on the stereo, picking his favorite playlist and punched in his course for Cooper's Light. The music and his thoughts made the two hour trip appear to take only minutes.

Thankfully, Evan and Emma survived the storm without a scratch. Their home inside the aged stone lighthouse was unscathed. Nothing but a few uprooted trees as far as the eye could see. He visited for a little while, giving Evan a cursory exam, and bid them a cheerful goodbye.

The remainder of his rounds, to four other islands over the next couple of days, were equally uneventful. That ingrained island dwelling toughness was very evident in all his patients. They all shrugged it off like it was just a spring rain. According to the weather reports, Adamson Station and one other uninhabited island, also in the same storm path as Adamson, were the only two that truly bore the brunt of the storm.

Satisfied that all his patients were alive and well, he set his course for his secluded cove on Devil's Rock. He was ready for some serious R and R.

He spent the next two days performing some necessary maintenance on Recluse. In that aspect of his life, he was obsessive. When maintenance was due, it got done. He loved that boat more than anything else in the world. She was his one, true blue, companion. She sheltered him and protected him. He could trust her, depend on her, and he made sure she could depend on him.

When he finished, he showered and reached for a much deserved beer. He didn't bother to dress. There wasn't a living soul for miles and miles. Just the way he liked it. He cranked the stereo loudly, the music echoing off the surrounding rocks, and kicked back for a highly anticipated drunk. And he managed that in spades.

The old, familiar hangover was back with a fury when he woke. He'd truly tied one on the night before. His head was both pounding and spinning and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. The empty bottles from his single occupant pity party filling the trash can glared disgustedly at him, accusing him, reminding him of what he was becoming. He ignored the implications and rose gingerly and started his regular routine. Shower, ibuprofen and coffee. Only that morning he dressed after his shower. He needed to get to St. Margaret. He was sure the medications he'd ordered would be in. Due to the mail boat schedules, mail always got to St. Margaret sooner than it did Adamson. And he knew the routine. The post office would only keep the packages that needed to be kept cold in their refrigerated storage for a few days. The three days he'd spent taking abuse on Adamson threw his entire schedule out of whack. He started his island route three days later than planned, then spend two more days seeing his patients. He was three days behind.

He fired up the mains, weighed anchor and punched in his course for St. Margaret. For that trip, he turned the radio on in case there were any distress calls. It was probably one of the last semi-fair-weather days for the weekend sailors before the severe winter weather settled in and made the seas highly unpleasant for the smaller boats. Between their inexperience and the mass consumption of booze, holidays and calm sea weekends usually brought about a lot of slurred maydays.

The post-storm seas were alive with commercial fishing boats and tankers. The mainland to Yarmouth ferry blew by, breaking through the calmer waters just off on the horizon. He thought for a minute that a trip to Yarmouth might be a good idea. While he loved his secluded cove, even he had to admit that, occasionally, he needed a little time among the masses: not to mention some good food. His skills in the kitchen were passable, but they didn't compare to some of the awesome restaurants along Water Street on Yarmouth.