by Radclyffe
“There’s no sign of focal injury—no paralysis or anything else to suggest major brain damage,” Pam said gently. “That’s good. That means there’s probably no surgical problem that’s causing pressure on one part of the brain. The CT scan will tell us that for sure.”
“Then she’ll wake up soon? She’ll be all right?”
Pam hesitated. “Look...”
“Please,” Jude said.
“If it’s just a concussion, she’ll have a megaheadache and nothing else to show for all of this,” Pam acquiesced with a sigh, hoping she hadn’t just shot herself in the foot by breaking her own rule never to prognosticate. Glancing at Melissa, she said pointedly, “I’d prefer not to have this conversation on tape.”
“Sorry.” Melissa quickly terminated the tape as they disembarked. “It’s automatic. You’re welcome to see it and we’ll erase—”
“Fine, fine,” Pam said absently, her mind already back on her patient. She stopped at the double doors to the CT suite. “You two will have to wait out here. As soon as I see the scans, I’ll let you know. Has anyone called her family?”
“Oh God,” Jude gasped. “Maddy—I don’t even know her number.”
“I’ll leave that to you,” Pam said.
And then the neurosurgeon was gone, and so was Sax. The heavy windowless doors swung shut, and Jude was left standing in the stark, harshly lit hallway, wondering how everything had changed so quickly.
“Jude?” Melissa asked. “Who’s Maddy?”
“Her grandmother,” Jude said dully. “I need to call her. I’ll check Sax’s on-call room. There should be something in her wallet...”
“She’ll be okay, you know.” Melissa tried to sound positive. Man, she felt inadequate. She’d never needed to comfort Jude before. She couldn’t ever remember her being really upset even, not personally, not about the kinds of things that people usually got upset about—a love affair gone south or a professional setback—nothing that had ever hit her somewhere deep like this. Jude was always in control; Jude always managed to stay a safe distance away from all the upheaval that plagued most people’s lives. “Jude, these people are not going to let anything happen to her. She’s...hell, she’s...”
“She’s just flesh and blood, Mel,” Jude said bleakly, “and she’s vulnerable, just like all of us.” She passed a trembling hand over her face, then seemed to pull herself together with conscious effort. “Come on—let’s go see if we can get a key to her on-call room.”
*
September 3, 9:11 a.m.
As she opened the door and stepped into the room, Jude thought about the first morning they had met—Sax standing a few feet away, peeling off her faded jeans, looking unconcerned and wholly oblivious to just how damned attractive she was. And totally unaware of the effect she was having on me. Jude realized now that she’d been hooked from that moment. First her body, then her mind, and now...so much more. Everything. There was a small kernel of panic growing in the pit of her stomach, and she had to work very hard to not give it credence. She’s going to be fine. You’re not going to lose her now.
“Her jacket’s on the chair,” Melissa said, watching Jude cautiously. Her friend was standing still, her expression distant, her entire body rigid with tension. “Want me to look?”
“No.” Jude forced herself to concentrate on what needed to be done. “I’ll do it.”
After crossing the room to the chair, she lifted the black leather jacket, caressing her palm over the surface worn smooth by years of use. She thought of the times she had rested her cheek against it while pressed against Sax on the motorcycle. She wanted to rub her face on it, to search for some lingering hint of the heat of Sax’s body or a breath of her scent, but she felt the pockets instead, finally locating the wallet in the inner left.
In the billfold, she found Sax’s driver’s license in a clear plastic slot with several other cards behind it. She slid them out and shuffled through them, noting a medical license, a health insurance card, a donor card, and finally a card with In Case of Emergency typed on it. Maddy’s name and number were there.
“She even looks good in her license photo,” Melissa remarked, peering over Jude’s shoulder, trying to distract her friend from her worry. “That’s not fair. Nobody looks good in those.”
“Mel,” Jude’s voice almost crackled with tension, “do you think we need to bring this...donor card?”
“Jeez, no,” Melissa said sharply, watching Jude’s hands tremble. “Put it back. She’s probably awake by now.”
“Yes, of course, you’re right. I’ll call Maddy from radiology and let her know what’s happened. The CT scan must be done by now.”
They were almost to radiology when they heard the overhead PA system blare.
Code Blue...Radiology STAT...Code Blue...Radiology STAT...Code Blue...
They looked at one another, stunned, and then ran.
September 3, 9:36 a.m.
“She’s seizing,” Deb announced breathlessly as she careened through the doors of the CT room, nearly plowing into Jude and Melissa on the other side. “Fuck. Where do they keep the crash carts around here?”
“What happened?” Jude cried, her fear building as she realized that Deb looked scared. “Deb?”
“I don’t know. We were moving her out of the CT scanner, and she started...shaking...sort of.” As she spoke, she grabbed a red cart on wheels and began pulling it behind her. “The code team should be here in a second—I’ve got to get back in there.”
Deb pushed the doors open with her shoulder, and Jude and Melissa followed her inside, never even stopping to discuss it. Pam was bent over the stretcher, lifting Sax’s eyelid with one finger and peering intently at her pupils.
“It’s the damnedest thing,” she muttered to no one in particular. “It looks like REM, but it isn’t. Not like anything I’ve ever seen before.”
Straightening, she frowned at Jude and Melissa, who looked to be protecting Sax’s flank on the other side of the bed. She dismissed their presence as one factor she could not control. “We’d better Dilantinize her, just in case this is some kind of brain stem instability,” she said to Deb. “Can you find a loading dose on the crash cart somewhere?”
“I’ll have it mixed in a minute,” Deb replied tersely, breaking open a vial and drawing the medication into a syringe.
“That’s an antiseizure drug, right?” Jude touched her palm to Sax’s jaw and softly stroked her face. Sax was shivering all over while her lids fluttered rapidly. Someone answered her question in the affirmative, but Jude couldn’t process the information. It was as if every cell in her mind and body had a single focus, as if her entire system was on overload and innately tuned into Sax’s, fighting for her survival.
Pam checked Sax’s vital signs on the portable monitors. She waved away the members of the code team who had just barreled through the doors ready to start CPR. “Hold off—her signs are all stable.” What the hell is this?
Jude thought she felt Sax’s cheek press into her palm. In her mind, she heard Sax’s voice. I’m very sensitive to any kind of drug. I know that now. I’m careful to avoid them. I don’t even take aspirin.
She turned to the neurosurgeon with urgency. “Can I speak to you, please?”
“I can’t tell you anything right now,” Pam said sharply. “In a few—”
“It’s about Sax. It’s important. I think that the Dilantin could hurt her.”
Pam looked quickly from the monitors to Jude, her eyes narrowing. “Do you know something about her medical history? For God’s sake...”
“I didn’t realize—”
“Never mind. Just tell me now.” Pam took Jude’s arm and led her away from the bed. Over her shoulder, she directed, “Stein, hold the Dilantin but watch her vitals carefully. If her pO2 drops, push it.” Facing Jude, she said, “Go ahead.”
Jude rapidly related what Sax had told her about the misdiagnoses in her childhood, the problems she’d had as a result of the drug
therapy, the unusual REM patterns that no one could explain, and her altered neurologic responses. Desperately, she finished, “I just thought the usual meds might not work or that they might hurt her.”
“You might be right,” Pam agreed, hiding her surprise and her intense curiosity about what Jude had just told her. Saxon Sinclair was an astounding woman in more ways than one, and she would dearly love the chance to learn more about this aspect of her life. The fact that the very private surgeon had chosen to share such confidences with the redhead suggested to Pam more powerfully than anything else could that she wouldn’t be getting to know Saxon quite so intimately.
“We need an EEG before we do anything else,” she informed the several medical personnel waiting for instructions. “Dr. Sinclair doesn’t seem to be in any kind of trouble, at least not at the moment. Let’s move her to trauma admitting, Deb. We’ll get a bedside EEG there.”
As Deb nodded and moved to wheel the gurney out of the room, Jude stepped over and reached for Sax’s hand. Linking her fingers through Sax’s, she said firmly, “I’m coming, too.”
“Could anyone stop you?” Deb asked with a faint grin.
Jude’s heart twisted a little as she realized how much Deb reminded her of Sax at that moment, but she managed to smile back. “Not in this lifetime.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
September 3, 10:23 a.m.
atypical EEG...WAIT...look at this...accelerated or...NO...focal anomaly...seizure activity...no it isn’t...more like REM...cycles unusual...what the HELL...
Sax fought to open her eyes despite the piercing glare and found herself staring into a huge silver disk suspended above her head, a hot white bulb in its center. Oh God. Waking up...just like before. Alone. She recognized the lights...the smell. Hospital. Her chest tightened. She tried to move her arms, tried to lift her legs. Restrained. She struggled, moaned at the swift surge of pain. A silhouette took shape in her field of vision, backlit by the bright light. She tried unsuccessfully to focus.
“Please...”
Gentle hands touched her cheek; a soft voice spoke. “You’re in the hospital. You’re going to be all right.”
Lies. They tell you lies; they give you drugs; they make you lose yourself. She shuddered. She closed her eyes. Please.
“Can you hear me? You’re safe.”
Lies. Tender fingers brushed her forehead. They lie.
“Sax...” Gentle pleading now. “Wake up, please.”
She knew that voice; she knew that touch.
Frantically, she tried again to focus. Features began to emerge from the shadows, giving her something to cling to in the sea of confusion and pain. A face bending near—green eyes, caring and reassuring. Dark red hair, shimmering with gold, a perfect face. The look in those eyes—strong and steady and sure. Tightening her fingers on the hand holding hers, she asked desperately, “Jude?”
“Yes, right here,” Jude soothed, seeing the bewilderment in Sax’s eyes. She’s trembling. She’s terrified. “I’m right here.” Reluctantly, because she had to, she looked away for a second, calling to the doctors still bent over the EEG tracing, “She’s awake.”
“Don’t go,” Sax implored, struggling to sit up. She wasn’t sure where she was. She wasn’t sure what was happening. They can hurt me...no...Jude is here. This is now, not then. Jude. “Don’t go,” she pleaded again.
“Of course not,” Jude said, one hand on Sax’s shoulder, caressing her. Sax’s obvious fear was tearing at her. Her chest ached with the need to comfort her, but she knew it wasn’t her sympathy Sax needed. It was her resolve. “Sax, you’re at St. Michael’s. Everything is all right.”
Pam moved to the head of the bed opposite Jude. “Welcome back,” she said with a fond smile, but her eyes were searching Sax clinically—examining, assessing. “Do you know who I am?”
Sax studied the tall, lithe figure, her initial panic subsiding, second by second, as she realized that she did know who this woman was. Even more importantly, she knew who she herself was. “Pam Arnold. Neurosurgeon. And I’m Saxon Sinclair.” She turned her head as far as the restraining collar would allow. “And this is my trauma unit.”
“Excellent,” Pam affirmed with a nod, hoping that her intense relief didn’t show. She had so not wanted to put a drill to Sax’s skull.
Sax looked from Pam to Jude, aware for the first time that Jude’s face was smeared with soot and streaked with sweat...or was it tears? “What happened? Are you hurt?” She tried again to sit up. The two women by the bedside answered simultaneously.
“No, I’m fine. Lie still.” Jude pressed one palm to Sax’s shoulder.
“You got cracked on the head and sustained a significant concussion, but no serious long-term damage,” Pam stated.
“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Sax asked again, searching Jude’s face.
“I am just fine.” Jude smiled, the burden of fear she had labored under for the last sixty minutes finally relenting. “Everyone is.”
Satisfied, Sax lifted her left arm to the extent that the arm board taped around it would allow and saw the plastic catheter in her vein. “Did you give me anything?” She looked at Pam, her face losing the last of its color. Not again. God, not again.
“No. Nothing,” Pam assured her swiftly. At Sax’s look of surprise, she confessed, “You have Ms. Castle to thank for that.”
“Thank you,” Sax murmured, glancing to Jude and linking still shaky fingers more tightly through hers. She took a deep breath, gradually feeling more settled. Time to move on. “Pam, can you get this damn thing off my neck?”
“Yes, your spine is clear on the CT.” Pam released the Velcro straps on the molded cervical collar and removed it. “Do you need something for pain? Let me finish my exam, and I’ll order some morphine.”
“I’m fine,” Sax lied. Her disorientation, while lessening dramatically, had unfortunately been replaced by a throbbing headache—a trade she was happy to accept. She pulled at the strap that ran across her chest pinning her to the narrow table. “Let me up.”
“As soon as Stein closes that laceration on your head, we’ll get you upstairs to a room.” Pam began checking reflexes and motor tone.
“No.”
“I’m sorry?”
Sax’s expression was implacable. “I’m not going to be admitted.”
“Saxon, this isn’t negotiable.” Pam knew she had an edge to her voice now. Perfect. Lovely. Just what I need—a power struggle in the middle of a goddamned mass casualty alert.
“I’m sure you have something better to do than argue with me,” Sax said reasonably, as if reading Pam’s mind. “I’ll sign the Against Medical Advice form if you insist, but I’m not staying.”
“Now look—”
“Can I talk to her for a minute...alone?” Jude interrupted calmly. Sax’s voice was strong and her eyes were clear, but she was pale as the sheets and the hand that lay in Jude’s palm shook. It was clear to Jude that she was in pain.
“Be my guest,” Pam replied in clipped, angry tones. “I’m going to check on my other patients.” She glanced at Jude, who was softly stroking Sax’s arm, and added curtly, “Talk some sense into her.”
“As if I could,” Jude said with a smile. Before Sax could make any kind of argument, she leaned down until her lips nearly touched Sax’s ear and whispered, “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
Sax carefully turned her head until their eyes met, their lips barely inches apart. Jude’s irises were so many swirling shades of green, she almost got lost in them. She forgot what she had meant to say. “How much?” she asked softly instead, just because she wanted to hear her say it.
“So much I can’t even imagine being without you.” She’d said it. It was the truth, and the truth of it was amazingly simple to accept. I love you. Yes. “I was scared to death out there when we found you. I can’t go through that again.”
“Oh, that’s not fair,” Sax murmured, desperate to hold her. She reached across with
her unrestrained right hand and stroked Jude’s cheek, traced her fingers along her jaw, then rested her thumb against the corner of her mouth. “I love you. I’d do anything for you.”
“Then stay here,” Jude said softly, leaning closer, lightly kissing her forehead.
“I’m scared.”
Jude’s heart twisted, because she knew what that admission cost. “I’ll stay with you.”
Sax turned her face away, struggling with old terrors, wanting to embrace new trusts. She felt Jude’s touch, knew she was not alone. She drew on that strength, relied on that constancy, as she searched for reason and fought to conquer fear. “Okay. But just overnight.”
“Deal.”
September 3, 8:45 p.m.
Sax awoke drenched in sweat. Rivers of it soaked her hair, the hospital gown, the sheets. The room was dim, illuminated by a faint light from the bathroom. Nighttime.
Pushing the covers aside, she carefully shifted toward the side of the bed. The movement didn’t seem to produce any adverse effects. Headache—nearly gone. Nausea—minimal. Vision—clear. Excellent.
“What are you doing?” Jude asked from the chair a few feet away where she had been dozing.
“I need a shower.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to get up.” Jude went to Sax’s side and brushed the hair from her forehead. It was wet, but Sax’s skin was warm, not clammy.
“I’m fine.” Sax sat up slowly. No dizziness. Good.
“What’s going on, then? You’re soaked.”
“It happens to me sometimes. It’s probably just the tail end of the trauma. Like when a fever breaks, I guess.” She reached for Jude’s hand. “Don’t worry.”
“Is Pam going to flay me when she discovers I’ve let you get up?” Jude asked only half teasingly. The neurosurgeon’s last words to her had been, “Make sure she stays put.”
