Maggie put her hand on his arm. “Wright, what is it?”
He put the phone in his lap and said softly, “One of our planes headed to Borneo has gone down. Dr. Amy was on board.”
CHAPTER 34
THE SAVIOR
The research center was all but abandoned except for skeletal housekeeping and cooking crews. Nick could have been fed royally and tucked between fresh, sweet-smelling sheets, but food and sleep were the last things on his mind. He needed first-class medical care. Dr. Amy was supposed to be here to meet him. Where is she? She’d promised they would drop the family off in Singapore and get the plane right back to the center. Nick cursed loudly. He hadn’t signed up for any of this. He’d made the trek downriver, and now it was Amy and Wright’s responsibility to do their part.
Three men from the longhouse carried Robert into the clinic area. It was dark until Nick found a light switch that flooded the space with fluorescent lights. They laid Robert on an exam table.
“You okay, my friend?” Nick asked. Robert nodded, but Nick could see the pain radiating from Robert’s eyes and across his brow. The horrendous gash through his face screamed silently of Robert’s repressed agony.
During the boat ride, Nick had comforted Robert, coaching him through episodes of panic as the old man sucked life in and out through his straw. Terror struck when a sticky fly, balancing precariously on the edge of the breathing tube, thought he’d found a new home in the warm, moist environment. It could have had an unimpeded entry into Robert’s lungs, but, to everyone’s relief, it decided to fly away instead.
While they waited in the clinic, Nick rummaged through the drawers and cabinets looking for supplies. Robert had lost a lot of blood. Exactly how much was hard to tell, but Nick estimated at least a third of his tank. He was tachycardic both from the pain and the blood loss, and his near-eighty-year-old heart could not be happy from the taxing. Nick refocused on the ABCs.
He found a gauze bandage in the drawer and taped a piece of it over the tube to filter out any undesirable elements. He made a mental note to check it soon, as the moisture of Robert’s breath could create a waterboarding effect.
Oxygen. Robert needed some Os to help his breathing, but there were no oxygen connectors extending from the wall. Nick walked across the hall to the MRI scanner room, where he found a portable bottle of oxygen, tubing and a mask. Nick knew that with the claustrophobic effects of the MRI, patients often took comfort in extra air flowing across their face.
Nick brought the supplies back to Robert’s side, turned the bottle to three liters of flow and placed the mask over the tube and gauze. Robert coughed but settled, drawing in the oxygen.
The clock on the wall read six thirty. Where the hell is Amy?
Wright and Maggie should be here soon. Nick was glad when Wright finally called him shortly after three, but it would take them some time to get there. Wright had said he was headed to wake Maggie and they would leave promptly. At least he didn’t say that he’d roll over and let Maggie know what was happening. It would take them two hours to get to Singapore on the jet and an hour from Singapore to Borneo in the helicopter, plus transition time between. The chopper would be fueled and running when they got to the airport in Singapore. Best-case scenario, they would arrive at seven thirty. It was the best they could do. “Dr. Amy should be there before that,” he’d told Nick.
Yeah, right.
Nick held Robert’s arm. Shock made the texture of his skin cool and clammy. Robert’s face wound had coagulated miles upriver. He’d lost no more blood but he needed an IV to help his circulation and antibiotics to stave off infection. Pulling the rags out of the wound and putting on a clean dressing might be more sterile but also ran the risk of dislodging the clots and stirring more bleeding. He also needed some pain medicine.
Nick’s adrenaline still surged, putting his knees in danger of buckling at any moment. He wished Dr. Amy were here. She didn’t have much experience in surgical matters but at least would know where all the supplies were. Where would she keep medications? Probably under lock and key—her office. He didn’t recall seeing it during the tour but assumed it would be in this part of the building.
Robert’s eyes drifted closed from exhaustion. Nick let go of his arm, signaled to one of the men to watch over him, and walked into the deserted hallway, glancing up and down in each direction. Walking toward the back of the clinic, he found her name on the last door—AMY ANDERSON, MD—and it was locked.
Nick thrust his shoulder hard against the door, and the trim gave way. Apparently security was not a major concern. As he pushed the door open and flicked on the light, he saw why her office was not part of the tour. Every bit of the floor and desk space was full of stacked textbooks, files, or other clutter.
Behind the untidy desk was a beautiful sight—a large glass-and-steel medicine cabinet full of supplies. Nick found a narrow pathway through the mess and twisted the cabinet’s handles. Damn. It was locked as well. He peered through the glass and saw what he was looking for, vials of morphine on the top shelf and a selection of antibiotics on another.
She wasn’t going to like his intrusion, but at least his status as an orthopedic surgeon and the specialists’ reputation as bulls in a china shop would remain intact.
He grabbed a textbook off the nearest stack and crashed it through the cabinet windows. He took multiple vials of the needed medications and put them in his pocket.
* * *
There was still no sign of Amy when a staff member came into the exam room and told them Wright had landed. Nick had marked time with the dripping of the IV fluid from the bag into Robert’s arm: 8:06 a.m. He hoped Wright’s connections could get Robert to care in the Singapore hospital quickly.
Nick wrapped his fingers around Robert’s wrist to palpate his pulse. It bound under his fingertips and had slowed, indicating both an adequate restoration of his fluid status and titration of morphine to keep him comfortable. Robert weighed no more than a hundred and twenty pounds, and Nick hoped his kidneys could handle the slug of antibiotics. Sending Robert into kidney failure from too high of a dose would make matters worse.
Wright popped his head around the corner, startling Nick. “You guys ready to roll?”
Nick frowned. He’d said it like they’d been sitting around doing nothing. Wright didn’t even ask how Robert was doing. Heat raced up Nick’s neck. He looked at the three Iban men that had been his guides and companions during this night of horror. They smiled back, knowing Wright, the great white savior, had come. Nick shrugged and nodded to them. “Okay, let’s go.”
The men picked up Robert from the table. Nick put the IV in Robert’s lap and positioned himself as guardian of the breathing tube. Holding the bottle of oxygen under his arm, he left the room in procession. When he saw Dr. Amy again, Nick would suggest that she get a stretcher or two for the facility or at the very least, a wheelchair.
Wright reached between Nick and one of the other men and patted Robert’s arm. “We’re getting you to care, old man. Hang in there.”
Maggie stood outside the room with her hands over her mouth. She looked as exhausted as Nick felt. He tried to smile at her, but he flushed with anger instead and covered his feelings by looking at Robert and his tube. Nick would have to deal with those emotions another time. Maybe Maggie sensed his frustration, because she didn’t seem to want to look at him either.
“I’ve already contacted the hospital, and the staff is awaiting our arrival,” Wright said as he walked alongside Nick. “He’ll be in very capable hands.”
Thanks, great savior.
Nick was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and decided he’d better keep his mouth shut. He looked back down the hallway and saw he’d left the light on in Dr. Amy’s office. “You’ll have to give my apologies to Dr. Amy for my intrusion,” he said, looking at Wright.
Wright looked away. He glanced at Maggie, whose face lost all color.
“What?” Nick asked.
“
Dr. Amy is missing,” Wright said. “That’s why she’s not here. Our plane carrying her and the pilot went down over the South China Sea.”
CHAPTER 35
DAISY
Yes, you can certainly do a lot more with money than without, Nick decided. A team of maxillofacial and plastic surgeons waited for them at the medical center’s heliport. Granted, they were all residents, but the lead attendings for both services met them promptly in the emergency department. The entire staff was both efficient and competent. With a complete work-up, including three-dimensional CT reconstructions of Robert’s face, they wheeled him to surgery an hour after his arrival. That sort of efficiency was unheard of in the US, unless you were the president. Even the CEO of the medical complex came down to check on them and to thank Wright once again for his generous donation of the Wright Wing. Yes, money opened doors.
Both attendings graciously invited Nick to scrub in. After all, they might need to harvest bone from Robert’s pelvis to help in the reconstruction. Nick declined. He was beyond exhausted and afraid they’d ask him to do something he was not yet ready to attempt. Even though bone was involved, orthopedics never ventured above the neck. Besides, that was then, this was now, and Nick didn’t want to make a fool of himself with his hands and mind trembling. He had lost his surgical mojo.
They were all too kind in praising him for saving Robert and for his resourcefulness in performing a cric in the dark in the middle of the jungle. They showered him with more honors than he thought he deserved, but he had been sanctioned by their benefactor, Wright Paul, and if Nick was good enough for Mr. Paul, he was good enough for them.
While the residents prepped Robert in the operating room, the plastic’s attending invited Nick, Wright and Maggie to visit the young Iban girl with the deformed face. The plastic surgeon had time, as the first chore of the operating room team would be to decide what to do with Robert’s airway. The anesthesiologist would make the call, likely by inserting a regular endotracheal tube down his throat and having the surgeons close the hole in the throat. No use inviting pathogens to gain easy access to the lungs. This step was one of the most important and would take some time.
Chief of Plastic Surgery, Dr. Fang seemed young for the title, but Nick was feeling old and tired and noncompetitive in every way, especially since the Chinese surgeon didn’t have a gray hair on his head. Dr. Fang and the CEO led them through the new third-floor pediatric wing. As they entered, Nick recognized the Wright’s Kids Foundation logo—the handprint over the blue and aqua earth. He couldn’t miss it; the logo had been reproduced everywhere.
“She is in here.” Dr. Fang pointed to the fourth door on the right. He extended his hand to allow Wright, Nick, and Maggie to enter the room first.
The modern room smelled of fresh paint and had a spectacular view of the Singapore harbor. But sitting in the middle of the bed was the young girl, looking pitifully out of place. Her horrendous facial deformity couldn’t mask her embarrassment at being seen, and Nick thought if she still had her scarf she would have covered her face. Her mother sat in the corner, willfully unattached to the child but carrying a similar woeful affect.
“She is quite the interesting case,” Dr. Fang said. “Awfully tragic and preventable. We will be discussing the case this afternoon and hope to correct the deformity later in the week.” His tone was nonchalant as though such cases were commonplace.
Wright, Nick, Dr. Fang, and the CEO stood before the child with their arms folded as though they were examining a turnip. Maggie pushed through them to the girl, and Nick recognized her exasperation.
“Oh my, dear child. Don’t let these men frighten you,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed and pulling the girl’s oversized hospital gown up to cover her shoulders. Then she stroked the girl’s black hair and smiled with compassion and love. Nick realized what she was doing and felt guilty for assuming his doctor stance and forgetting the human being.
Maggie’s actions may have been the first expressions of love the girl had ever experienced. Her scarred face could barely express emotion, but a tear rolled down her cheek, and she seemed entranced by this strange woman who gently wiped it with her fingertip.
“What is her name?” Maggie asked. But the girl’s mother sat unresponsive, and the plastic surgeon snapped his fingers at a nurse to fetch her chart. Wright started to translate Maggie’s question, but Nick interrupted.
“She’s called menawa,” Nick said. “But don’t call her that. It means ‘deformed.’ She has no other name.”
It was Maggie’s turn to wipe a tear from her own cheek as she nodded. “It is the same everywhere in the world—deformed children are treated like second-class citizens.” Maggie cleared her throat and glanced around the room. Colorful wildflowers had been painted all over the walls. “Daisy. I am going to call you Daisy,” she told the girl.
Wright interpreted for the girl. She appeared overwhelmed by the attention. She looked at the flowers on the walls and nodded at Maggie but did not smile. Nick thought she wasn’t sure how to accept a compliment.
Maggie looked at the girl’s mother and smiled. “Does she know what is happening?”
“Yes,” Dr. Fang said. “We will keep both her and your team closely informed.”
“Dr. Fang,” Wright interrupted. “I’m afraid in my fatigue I have not properly introduced you and Ms. Russell. Ms. Russell leads a mission hospital in Guatemala. She represents the heart and soul of what the Wright’s Kids Foundation is all about. You both would get along smashingly.”
Dr. Fang bowed slightly. “I am honored, Ms. Russell. I am at your service.”
Maggie laughed. “You all give me too much credit. I so appreciate what you are doing for these children.” She rubbed the back of Daisy’s neck.
“Now, if you would please excuse me, I will go attend to my staff in the operating theater,” Dr. Fang said.
The CEO, Mr. Kwek, thanked the doctor and spoke to Wright. “Mr. Paul, I was also hoping to show you the baby you saved ten days ago—the one with the congenital heart condition. I think you will be pleased.”
He led them down the children’s wing to the pediatric cardiac ward. They entered the central nurse’s station with rooms arranged around it like spokes in a wheel. The area was full of medical machinery—blinking, beeping and breathing in a chaotic choir of life-saving measures, surrounding their tiny patients in a sea of medical miracles.
Mr. Kwek escorted them to the farthest room. It was full of balloons, flowers, and toys and, unlike Daisy’s room, it was filled with joy. The baby’s mother jumped from her seat and ran toward Wright, embracing him around his waist, hanging on, full of gratitude. In the crib was a healthy looking pink baby with one arm immobilized by a board to protect an IV, heart leads stuck to its chest around a large dressing, and a pulse oximeter wrapped around one big toe—a fraction of the tubes and monitors that adorned the other sick children.
“We are moving him to a regular room today. I’m thankful you could see him,” Mr. Kwek told Wright.
With the grateful mother still clinging to Wright, he turned to Maggie and Nick and said, “The little nipper had Tetralogy of Fallot, a hole in his heart. Looks like the cardiac surgeons have done a splendid job.” He peeled the mother from his waist, held her by the shoulders, and said something to her in Iban.
The mother loosened her grip from Wright, and like a magnet drawn to anyone accompanying the great savior, attached herself to Maggie and Nick, hugging them both, even though they had nothing to do with her baby’s care. She was expressing happiness that he was alive.
“The Kangdang Kerbau Hospital, the KKH, is the largest hospital specializing in healthcare for women and children in Singapore,” Wright said. “One of the best in the world. You both would fit in here like a hand in a glove.”
* * *
Wright convinced Nick and Maggie to leave the hospital shortly after Robert was out of the operating room. The doctors would keep Robert heavily sedated with his new endo
tracheal tube in place until the swelling around his mouth and throat subsided and his own airway stabilized. The residents would keep them well informed.
Nick thanked God that Robert’s six-hour surgery had been successful. His exhausted mind couldn’t stand one more assault. He was in complete denial and shock about the news about Amy, but when Ms. Boxler called Wright as they were in the helicopter on their way to Wright’s island home, she told him the plane wreckage and the bodies of the pilot and Dr. Amy had been found and were being recovered as she spoke. It appeared to be a critical engine failure, she said. They didn’t stand a chance.
He had no words.
Nick hadn’t been this tired since a twenty-four-hour stretch on call. Since the injury to his eyes, not having to be on call for trauma duty was the one thing he was thankful for. But that was a lifetime ago.
Nick stood with Wright and Maggie overlooking the infinity pool that stretched out to the sea. A clock in the house chimed midnight. The last time they were together in that spot, they had been about to embark on an adventure to the rainforest of Borneo.
“I know you both are exhausted,” Wright said. “Please sleep for as long as you can and ask anything of the kitchen staff. They are at your service.” He paused as if trying to decide whether to continue. “The news of Dr. Amy is…devastating, to say the least,” he finally said. “Nick, as you rest, I propose that you consider my invitation. I know we have a lot to discuss, and we’re all too tired now. But, Dr. Hart, I need you now more than ever. I would like you to consider becoming my chief medical officer.” He looked Nick in the eyes and must have caught his glance at Maggie. “With modern technology you can work from anywhere in the world.”
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