Winter Wonderland Wishes. Abigail Gordon
you part of the medical team assisting the disabled athletes at the international games last year?’ Nancy asked Phoebe as they waited for Tilly to check the surgical roster at the Eastern Memorial, where Phoebe would be operating.
‘Yes, I was—but how did you know? The games weren’t held in Australia.’
‘My older brother Jason’s a weightlifter. He lives in Detroit with his wife and baby daughter,’ Nancy continued as she offered Tilly her credit card for the consultation payment. ‘He suffers from congenital amputation of his left leg below the knee, and he had a similar issue to me with his right heel the night before his heat. I remember he told me about a consultation he had with Dr Phoebe Johnson, the podiatric surgeon with the American team. Once I heard your accent I assumed that there couldn’t be two of you in the same specialty.’
‘No—not that I’m aware of anyway,’ Phoebe replied as she finished signing the notes so Tilly could book surgery the following week. She turned back to Nancy. ‘Being involved with the teams was a wonderful experience. Can you please give my best to Jason? If I remember correctly he won a medal—was it silver?’
‘Yes, and he was thrilled to win it. He swore that if it wasn’t for you and the treatment you provided to alleviate the pain he would have pulled out and wasted almost four years of training.’
Heath walked back to his office, unavoidably impressed with this experience that Phoebe had kept close to her chest and not put on her CV. She was even more unforthcoming than him!
He wondered what else he didn’t know about his temporary associate. And he still wondered if this small inner-city practice would prove enough of a challenge for her …
The morning was steady, and by lunchtime Heath was preparing to leave for his afternoon surgical list at the Eastern Memorial. Aware that Phoebe’s last patient for the morning had left, he knocked on the open door of Phoebe’s consulting room.
‘Come in, Tilly.’
Heath paused. ‘It’s not Tilly.’
Phoebe turned from her computer screen, where she was reading through the notes for her first afternoon patient.
‘Sorry, Heath—come in.’
With only fifteen minutes before he had to leave for the hospital, he wanted to catch up and see how her morning had progressed. And he just wanted to see her but couldn’t admit that even to himself.
Before he had a chance to open his mouth, Tilly knocked on the door.
‘This time it has to be Tilly,’ Phoebe remarked as she watched Heath cross his arms across his broad chest.
‘Yep, you’re running out of alternative suspects now.’
Phoebe smiled, then asked Tilly to join them.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Phoebe, but your afternoon patients have both cancelled due to the extreme weather,’ Tilly told her. ‘So it looks like you’ve got the afternoon off.’
‘Oh, no. That’s disappointing,’ Phoebe said, slumping into her chair and not masking her feelings. ‘I feel so guilty, being here and doing nothing.’ She had a strong work ethic and that made sitting around seem a complete waste of time for her and a waste of money for the practice. ‘I’ve had more time off since I arrived than I’ve worked.’
Heath considered her for a moment and then came up with a suggestion. ‘I have an idea to appease your misguided sense of guilt. Why don’t you assist me in Theatre over at the Eastern Memorial this afternoon? I have three on the surgical list and I could do with an extra set of hands—but we’d need to leave immediately.’
Phoebe sat bolt-upright and answered with an unhesitating, ‘Yes!’ as she reached for her bag. ‘Let’s go … I’m all yours.’
Heath nodded, but his body abruptly reminded him that if his life had played out differently and Phoebe really was all his there would be far more pleasurable things he would do with her that afternoon.
THE SCRUB NURSE greeted Heath as he prepared for the first patient.
‘Abby, we have Phoebe Johnson, a podiatric surgeon from Washington, joining us this afternoon,’ Heath announced as he turned off the tap with his foot and shook the water from his hands into the scrub room trough.
‘Hi, Phoebe, welcome aboard.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Abby.’
Phoebe slipped her freshly scrubbed hands inside some surgical gloves. Her long dark hair was in a flat bun and neatly secured inside a floral cap, and like the other two she was already dressed in sterile blue scrubs. They entered the theatre just as the patient was drifting off under anaesthesia.
‘So, today’s patient is a thirty-five-year-old professional skateboarder. He’s here for a lateral ankle ligament reconstruction. The ankle has not responded to non-surgical treatment and has been unstable for over six months,’ Heath informed the surgical team, including two observing third-year medical students as he began marking the stained sterile area. ‘Would you like to lead on this one, Phoebe?’
Phoebe was both flattered and pleased to be asked. Heath was a complex man, but a man who treated her as his equal, not only in words but in actions.
Quietly she declined. ‘I’d prefer to assist today. We can switch it around another time, perhaps.’
‘Certainly.’ Heath looked over his surgical mask at Phoebe for slightly longer than required before he averted his eyes back to the patient. ‘I routinely use the modified Brostrom procedure.’ He confidently made a J-shaped incision over the outside of the patient’s left ankle with his scalpel, identified the ankle ligaments and began the process of tightening them, using anchors that he placed on to the fibula bone.
Phoebe appreciated the way he led the students through the procedure by describing the steps clearly and precisely.
‘I’m stitching other tissue over the repaired ligaments to further strengthen the repair,’ he said as he continued, with Phoebe holding the incision open with forceps.
Phoebe had done many of these operations over the years. ‘That looks great, Heath. Very clean and tidy. I’ve had a few when I’ve needed to use tendons to replace the ligaments. I’ve woven a tendon into the bones around the ankle and held it in place with stitches, and occasionally a screw in the bone. I’ve utilised a patient’s own hamstring tendon before. But it made it a much longer operation as I had to take the hamstring tendon through a separate incision on the inside part of the knee.’
Heath nodded in agreement. ‘On more than one occasion I’ve needed to use a cadaver tendon and had to weave it into the fibula bone. There’s many ways to solve a problem like this, and as we know each has its merits.’
Phoebe and Heath worked together as if they had been operating as a team for years—or at the very least months. Their effortless collaboration would be deceptive to any external observers, who might not think that this was their first time together in the operating theatre. Phoebe was able to pre-empt Heath’s next move, and neither of them could deny their natural synchronisation.
‘That went well.’
Phoebe nodded her agreement with Heath’s statement as they scrubbed in for the second operation. Each was exceptionally happy with how well they’d worked together but not wanting to state the obvious.
They made a great team.
The afternoon progressed well, with the other two patients’ procedures completed successfully and on time. Phoebe felt a great deal of satisfaction working with such a skilful surgeon as Heath. His dexterity and knowledge in the field was second to none and, while she was confident in her own abilities, she felt there was still much she could learn from