Chapter 4

The cop took his own sweet time, and he still hadn't come back when I heard my name called again. This time it was a very tired-looking guy in medical scrubs. I got up immediately but he waved me back and walked over.

"Sit back down, that way I can sit, too," he said wearily. He held out his hand. "I'm Nigel Stearns, one of the surgeons who just operated on your ... wife?"

"Not yet," I told him.

"Your fiancée then," he continued. I didn't bother to correct him. "The first thing to tell you is that she's stabilized. The surgery seemed to go well, and she's in recovery now."

"When will I be able to see her?" I asked.

"It's going to be a while, we have to find an ICU bed for her and get her situated. In addition, she won't be at all responsive, she'll be in an induced coma for at least the next few days."

"A coma?" I demanded, flustered.

"Induced coma, Mr. Costain," he said reassuringly. "We're keeping her asleep to promote healing. And to keep her still, which is going to be critical for a while."

"Oh." My alarm subsided, a little. "Well, what, uh..." I waved my arms helplessly.

"OK, the worst of her injuries was the fractured pelvis and associated internal damage to the soft tissue. We used an external fixator to stabilize the bone—"

"A what?"

"Well, to put it simply, we've attached a framework outside her body to hold the broken bone in place so it'll begin to heal."

"How?"

"It's connected to some screws we've drilled into her bone. In time it will be removed as the bones begin to knit. There was also internal damage to the intestines and the liver, with associated exsanguination—"

"Ex-what?"

"Bleeding," he explained. "That's not my department, I'm an orthopedic surgeon, but there were others on the team who were able to bring that under control and suture the injuries where needed. While we were at it, we also reduced and set a number of other fractures to her limbs—both legs and one arm. Those will be supported with casts."

I shook my head in confusion; this was a lot to digest at one sitting. "What's the prognosis?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "It's difficult to say at the moment, but I would hope for eventual full recovery. There appeared to be no major nerve damage that might impair full motion. The intestines are secure, to the point that it wasn't even necessary to perform a temporary colostomy. The liver is regenerative. The only long-term damage..." He trailed off.

"What?" My voice was sharp.

"Well ... I'm afraid she won't be able to bear children," he said in kind of a rush. "There was severe damage to the uterus, and it was necessary to, well, perform a partial hysterectomy. Her ovaries were unaffected, but her uterus, uh, had to be removed."

"Oh," I said, simply relieved that it was nothing worse. I had no idea how Susan would feel about it, but at the moment that was the least of my concerns.

Dr. Stearns dropped that topic, which was clearly uncomfortable to him; he dealt with bones, not female parts. "It's going to be several hours before Ms., uh, Malone will be able to receive visitors, and as I said, she won't be conscious. If you want to leave to get some rest, maybe something to eat ... The hospital has your phone number, I'm sure they'll call if there's any change in her condition."

I just nodded, feeling relieved but at the same time a little overwhelmed. That was a lot of damage he'd described so laconically. "Thank you, Doctor," I said.

He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Bear up," he told me. "It was really quite a favorable outcome. If you don't have any further questions, though, I'm afraid I've had a very long day—and night, now—and I need to get some rest myself."

I nodded again, and he got up and headed out, clearly happy that it had taken no longer. He left the room without looking back.

"Well, that puts the capper on it," I heard Susan's voice say bitterly.

"Huh?"

"Hysterectomy," she continued. "I've been spayed. Shit."

"We can adopt," I said reflexively. "Think of all those kids out there with nobody, even babies. We don't need to populate the Earth personally."

I heard something that sounded like a sob. "Goddammit, why did I know you'd say something like that to me? You have to be the sweetest guy in the world. If I ever come out of that damn coma, or even if I don't, I'm going to treasure that you said that, that it was your first reaction."

"Well, we can. Or just do by ourselves. Or there are even surrogates." I was actually encouraged a little by her response; after all, the last time we'd talked—at least talked with both of us physically in one place—she'd told me she was dumping me for good.

"You won't want to pretty soon," she said in a gloomy tone. "You're going to— Oh, hell. Just let me bask in your love for the little bit that's left. Come on, let's go, you heard him, I'm going to be out of it for days."

I wasn't about to try to dissect that one right now, and I was certainly ready to get out of there; hospitals aren't my favorite spots to while away my leisure hours. But there was still a problem.

"Dear, I'm kind of stuck here until that cop comes back. He's got my wallet, remember?"

"Damn right he does," agreed the cop as he walked back in. Oh, shit, I'd spoken the last thing out loud. "But who are you talking to, Mr. Costain?" he demanded.

The sneering emphasis on the "Mr." hit me wrong. "I'm talking to my girlfriend, Officer. The one who just had major surgery and is lying somewhere back there right now. I do that, OK with you?"