‘We have Alistair,’ Georgie said, and felt an almost overwhelming relief that this skilled surgeon was right here, right now.
She returned to Theatre to find everything was in place. Alistair examined Megan once more and then he nodded.
‘We have no choice. We go in now or brain damage’s inevitable. As it is …’
‘I should have picked it up yesterday,’ Georgie repeated, immeasurably distressed.
‘There were no signs yesterday. All her symptoms could be explained by dehydration. They probably were caused by dehydration. I’m thinking this bleeding’s gradual and slow, so we might be in time. There’s no need to punish yourself over it.’
‘So stop blaming yourself,’ Charles told her. ‘That’s Georgie’s specialty,’ he told Alistair. ‘She takes on the problems of the world and makes them her own.’
‘Well, you’re not on your own here,’ Alistair said. ‘Lizzie’s OK’d the operation? If she approves, we go in.’
‘We shouldn’t ask you. You’re not covered by insurance or medical indemnity,’ Charles reminded him.
‘But you are asking, right?’
‘I guess we are,’ Charles said, and managed a smile.
‘But Lizzie wouldn’t sue,’ Georgie said, horrified.
‘Smiley might,’ Charles said.
‘Alistair won’t care,’ Georgie said roundly, and Alistair met her look and held it.
‘God knows, I have no taste for heroic surgery,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’d like a skilled paediatric surgical team on this one, but we make do with what we’ve got.’
‘Maybe you’d better put your suit on first,’ Georgie said faintly.
‘Suit?’
‘It makes you look clever,’ she told him. ‘Shorts and sandals don’t cut it in the clever stakes and I want you to be clever.’
‘So no stilettos, Dr Turner?’
She managed a shaky smile. ‘No stilettos. Megan is too important.’
And after that there was no time to think of anything. There was certainly no time for Alistair to don his suit—he put on operating gear over his shorts and left it at that. Emily was called away from her hair appointment to perform the anaesthetic. Yes, this afternoon she planned to be a bride but ‘I’ve got hours and hours and how long does it take to put on a dress?’ Cal assisted Alistair and Georgie assisted Cal. Four doctors, three nurses and they were all needed.
That they all knew what to do was a testament to Alistair’s skill. ‘He does a lot of teaching,’ Gina had told Georgie, and she believed her. For not only did Alistair’s fingers move with skill and precision, knowing exactly what he was doing, improvising for any equipment he couldn’t find with a dexterity that left her awed, he also seemed to know exactly what everyone else in Theatre was doing—where every person needed to be moments before they needed to be there.
His soft orders filled the room, and under his commands they worked as a team that a major teaching hospital could be proud of.
The procedure sounded straightforward enough, but what looked straightforward in textbooks was technical surgery of the most challenging kind. First he needed to lift a piece of Megan’s small skull, working with infinite precision, aware that any false movement would aggravate the bleed. Then he worked carefully through the dura mater—the tough membrane around the brain—carefully separating the dura to locate the subdural clot causing the swelling.
After that he had to evacuate the haematoma and make sure there was no further bleeding from ruptured blood vessels. The skill lay in causing no more damage. This tiny brain was still developing. Any fractional miscalculation could have consequences for life.
Alistair worked as if this were a normal, everyday procedure. His demeanour was calm and methodical, as if this was nothing more serious than an inflamed appendix. But so much hung on his skill. OK, Cal would have tried to do this alone if Alistair hadn’t been there, but as a general surgeon Georgie knew his chances at succeeding would have been much less. If all the bleeding vessels weren’t located, the damage would continue.
Georgie knew instinctively that neither of these things would happen after Alistair had operated. This man was just too competent.
Too competent for his own good? Ego driven? Maybe, she thought, but now wasn’t the time to quibble about egos. He could be as egocentric as he liked, as long as he saved Megan.
And gradually it seemed that the combined skill of Alistair and Cal might do it. Hopefully they’d caught it in time. Hopefully there’d be no damage and Megan would grow up to be a normal, healthy kid like her brothers and sister.
Thanks mostly to Alistair. Georgie worked on with quiet competence, but inside she felt like weeping. They were so lucky this man was there. And to think she’d nearly abandoned him in the heat.
‘Yeah, you still owe me for that,’ Alistair said, as Cal carefully suctioned the wound, and she jerked her head up to meet his eyes.
The toad was smiling.
‘You didn’t want—’
‘And you figured that was exactly what I’d do.’
‘What are you guys talking about?’ Emily queried, and to her fury Georgie felt herself blushing. She turned back to her tray of equipment, thinking, Dammit, did the man have a mind-reader on board?
He scared her witless.
But he was saving Megan.
Maybe he’d already saved her. The worst of the damage had been cleared. Now he waited patiently, taking his time, watching carefully for any ongoing haemorrhage. Then, satisfied that the area was dry, he began the laborious task of suturing the dura and reattaching the bone.
He left nothing to chance. His fingers were so skilful Georgie could only watch in awe. Hand him equipment as it was needed. Try to anticipate his needs. Marvel at the skill of the procedure she was watching.
Finally he moved on to the superficial sutures. Even that wasn’t straightforward. For such surgery a specialist unit would have ready-made staples, but here Alistair could only suture, and the results of his suturing now would mean the difference between major scarring or whether Megan could wear her hair any way she liked as she grew up. Maybe such scarring didn’t matter so much in the greater scheme of things—he was well within his rights to hand over to Cal for this last step—but Georgie could tell by Alistair’s fierce concentration that he knew what scars could mean to a young woman. He was thinking forward to Megan’s life after this surgery.
He cared.
There would be minimal scarring from this man’s work today, she thought as he worked on. For a surgeon already weary from such an intense procedure, his sutures were flawless.
And then, finally, he could relax. They could all relax. Finally Georgie could hand over dressings, he could fit them over the child’s neat wound and he and Cal could step back from the table.
‘We’ll need a further CT scan in a few days but it’s looking good,’ he breathed.
Only then did Georgie notice a trickle of sweat running down his face. The release of pressure … He’d held himself contained, until now.
There were advantages to being a control freak, she thought, but suddenly she was far from being in control herself. She was suddenly shaking. She stepped back from the table and leaned hard against the wall.
‘Cal,’ Alistair said urgently, and Cal was by her side, pressing her onto a nearby stool, pushing her head between her knees.
‘I’m not fainting,’