The Surgeon's Christmas Wish. Annie O'Neil
suppose you get your fair share of sprains up here.”
Tara sat back in the worn leather chair and laughed, relieved to be back on familiar terrain: doctor talk. “Not to mention broken clavicles, arms, legs. The regular business is in ligaments. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s the same in every ski resort, but by the end of the season you’ll be examining medial collateral and anterior cruciate ligament injuries in your sleep!”
He liked how her eyes crinkled when she laughed. In fact, Fraser liked how Tara’s whole face lit up when she spoke about medicine. It clearly fuelled her.
“Oh, and I forgot to say, I do a couple of voluntary shifts every couple of weeks at the local hospital in the ER. I’m sure Valley Hospital would welcome it if you followed suit but it’s by no means required.”
“To see patients from the clinic?” Fraser was impressed. Tara really seemed to see things through with her patients.
“No, not really. I mean, if they’re there, obviously I’d see them, but it helps me keep all of my skills up to speed and, more importantly, I don’t want the locals thinking we are a bunch of elite medics who swan in and out with the good snow. It’s mostly about giving a bit back to the community. Proving we’re here for the long haul.”
Fraser’s grip tightened on his coffee mug. Ouch. That one had hit a bullseye.
“How about altitude sickness? Much of a problem with that?”
Tara pushed her lips forward in a let-me-think-about-it-for-a-second expression. She was clearly unaware of the fact that her thinking pout was about as close an invitation to give her lips a languorous après-ski kiss as you could get. Fraser shifted in his chair. Lasting this season bachelor-style was definitely going to be a bit tougher than he’d thought.
“Not too much,” she continued, oblivious to the not-necessarily-unpleasant sensations Fraser was experiencing. “I’ve only been here a year or so, but the only altitude sickness case I’ve come across was a couple who went heli-skiing who hadn’t been before. The chopper crew got to them before any of their symptoms became too severe and we were able to get them home safely.”
Helicopters. Fraser felt his lips twitch involuntarily. He hadn’t been behind the controls of a helicopter since … Well, long enough that he shouldn’t be having a physical reaction at the mention of a helicopter. Maybe he should’ve talked to someone about it when he’d had the chance. Someone in the forces.
Who was he kidding? It had only been recently he’d felt anywhere near being able to speak about that day. But not to just anyone. If he were to open up, which was unlikely, he would need to speak to someone who could understand precisely how scarred he felt. The chances of finding someone else who could understand what it was like to be responsible for their own brother’s death, leaving his wife a widow and two children fatherless—well—they were pretty small.
“Many deaths?” It slipped out. Sounded too keen. He felt a scowl form.
“No. Sorry to disappoint you.” Tara’s dark eyes turned quizzical, obviously wondering why a lack of extreme trauma would upset someone who’d taken the Hippocratic oath to care and protect.
“We do get the odd spinal injury, and the rescue crews have seen their share of fatalities over the years. To be honest, I try not to dwell on the extreme cases, because it just means someone’s life has gotten a whole lot harder.”
Fraser sighed heavily, nodding in agreement. He could relate to that. “It’s part of the job. Seeing people’s lives, their dreams, come to an abrupt halt.”
Tara felt herself examining Fraser more closely. The cavalier guy who’d been trying to win her over with her favorite coffee seemed to have been spirited away. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Something dark. Was he lost in the same black hole she’d been pushed into after her ex had betrayed her? She scanned his face. Maybe she’d been too quick to judge.
Don’t go there, Tara. He’s male. Emotions only run skin deep. No loyalty.
“Listen.” She stabbed her fork into a final triangle of pancake. “I’d bet none of the injuries we have here are different from what you’ve seen at any other ski resort. Probably the biggest difference up here in Deer Creek are the bears.”
“Bears?” Fraser felt his eyebrows raise a little too high. Had his voice risen too? Unlikely.
Tara laughed and clapped her hands, “You should see yourself! A big strong man like you getting all nervy over a little grizzly bear.”
So she thought he was big and strong, eh? That was a plus. Little grizzly bear? Yeah, right. Fraser cleared his throat, trying to regain some professional composure.
“What do you do in the cases of a severe injury on the slopes?”
“The ski patrol up here is really good,” Tara enthused. “The boys work on the same radio frequency as we do and they are all trained to a high level of first aid. In fact, a couple of them are the local ambulance medics during the summer, so they know their stuff.”
Fraser felt himself nodding along with Tara’s breakdown of how the ski support staff all worked together in Deer Creek. Sounded like a smooth operation. Good blueberry muffins as well. He could definitely do with one of these every morning.
As if on cue, Tara’s radio began to crackle to life with the ski patrol radio tag. She pulled it off her belt and set it between the two of them on the table.
“Morning, team.” They heard the male voice continue, “Afraid we’ve got a fifty-three-year-old male presenting with a cardiac arrest. Ski Patrol Unit One is administering CPR. They are about five minutes out from the clinic on the Starlight Slope. Tara, do you read? Switch to Channel Two. Over.”
Tara simultaneously picked up the radio and rose from her chair. Speaking into the radio, she gestured for Fraser to follow her and gave Marian a quick wave goodbye. “We’re on our way to the clinic now. Do you need an AED on site? Over.”
“Negative. Patrol has a defibrillator on the skidoo. Prepare for arrival of patient. Over.”
Tara pulled on her jacket, giving Fraser a concerned glance. “Are you sure you’re up to starting now? You’re not scheduled yet.”
“You bet your woolen socks I’ll help.” Fraser was all too aware that the first few minutes after a person suffered from cardiac arrest were critical in terms of maintaining an oxygen-rich blood flow to the body’s vital organs. Compromising those precious opportunities just because he wasn’t on a roster? Not a chance.
As they jogged the few yards to the clinic, Tara looked up at slopes at the sound of the approaching skidoo. The ski patrollers were highly visible in their bright red jackets with white crosses on the back. She saw one of them administering CPR whilst riding on the rescue stretcher with the patient.
Not a good sign.
Tara ran into the clinic, calling out to Liesel about the incoming patient.
“Already on it!” replied the nurse, pulling open the double doors to the trauma room housing all the necessary equipment.
Tara did a quick scrub at the sink and turned round to see Fraser carrying in the stretchered patient along with one of the patrollers. Good to see he wasn’t afraid to lend a hand. On Fraser’s quick count, they shifted the man to the exam table.
“How long has he been out?” His voice was all business.
“Two to three minutes max. The patient is suffering pulseless ventricular tachycardia,” came the reply. It was Brian, an EMT based in the Valley. Tara had worked with him on a couple of river rescues over the summer. Reliable. He would’ve been doing all he could. “You guys need me in the room?”
Tara looked up quickly at Fraser, “I think Dr. MacKenzie and I have this one?” He nodded a quick assent, simultaneously unzipping the man’s jacket to reveal a skintight ski shirt.