He was a fighter, that was for sure. Wendy would have loved to encourage him but she knew that if there was going to be a miraculous recovery from a period of spinal shock, it was normal to see at least some signs of it within the first twenty-four hours after the injury, as Ross had done. In Martin’s case, his level of neurological sparing was deteriorating. ‘We’re going to do our best to make sure your outcome is as good as it can possibly be,’ she responded carefully.
‘You’ll see.’ Martin wasn’t content with such a cautious response. ‘I’m going to win this battle.’
‘Good for you.’ Wendy eased her fingers over the fluid-filled cushion under Martin’s head. ‘I need to check some other things now but we’ll be turning you in fifteen minutes so that will help the pressure on your head.’ She made a note on the chart about the discomfort and then ran off an ECG rhythm strip.
Ross wasn’t looking on his recovery as any kind of battle. Was he just too accepting? Was he going to throw in the towel before he’d even tried to help himself? No. Wendy might not have known Ross for a great length of time but she knew he had far more spirit than that. Nobody who could train himself and then compete in the gruelling Coast to Coast race would ever simply turn away from a challenge. He was fighting in his own way and maybe he was strong enough to do it alone. Maybe he wanted to do it alone.
He had been something of a loner. He’d told Wendy that he’d never had the desire to share his life intimately with anyone on a long-term basis. Until he’d met her. His home stood as testimony to his ability to meet challenges with his own resources. He had chosen and cleared the area himself and had spent five years keeping a hands-on involvement with building the log house he had designed. He had perseverance as well as the ability to think outside the square. The house was a perfect match to its untamed surroundings and Ross had enhanced its setting by avoiding any contrived garden. The solar heating was innovative, large, double-glazed windows helping to harness the heat of the sun, with the bonus of providing amazing views of the unspoilt landscape. The weekend Wendy had spent on the Coast had been memorable for far more than seeing the house Ross lived in, however.
She remembered the exotic intimacy of the outdoor bath, and the warmth and laughter lasting even after the rain had started. She remembered the walk through the forest afterwards with the rain still falling so heavily, but they had been wet anyway, so what had it mattered? Ross had found them shelter in the unique limestone cave the property boasted, and Wendy had the feeling he had deliberately chosen this feature of the land he loved so much in which to declare his love. And Wendy remembered the thrill of the plans for their future they had started to make with such blind confidence.
Wendy sighed softly. That confidence had been shattered by the accident. Instead of leaving her job to be with Ross and work in the hospital on the Coast, here she was, still working in the place where she had helped nurse her lover through the acute phase of his spinal injury. Martin, in fact, was in the very same bed.
The neurological check she was running on Martin was interrupted when the director of Coronation Hospital, Patrick Miller, approached the only occupied area of the six-bed intensive care unit.
‘Hi, Martin. How are you feeling?’
‘Not too bad, I guess.’
‘Is Wendy looking after you well?’
‘She’s the best,’ Martin told the surgeon. ‘Can I take her home?’
Patrick laughed. ‘Her boyfriend might have something to say about that. So would Gemma, I imagine. She’s just arrived to visit you. I came in to check that you were not otherwise occupied.’ A casual glance at Wendy revealed the real reason. He was warning her that Gemma had needed calming down again and Wendy gave an imperceptible nod. Coping with a grief-stricken wife would not help Martin’s condition at present. She would postpone her break and pass up the opportunity to visit Ross so that she could stay close by and curtail the visit if necessary.
‘I’ll be back to give you the once-over soon, Martin,’ Patrick said. ‘We’ll let Gemma have a bit of time with you first, though.’
Gemma Gallagher’s eyes were red but she seemed in control as she came in and kissed her husband’s face.
‘Olivia’s drawn you a picture. Mum faxed it down to me.’
Wendy could see the paper as Gemma held it up for Martin. A tall stick figure stood beside a very short one that was no more than a triangle with legs and a head. One long, spindly arm tracked up to join the hand of the tall figure. ‘Daddy and Olivia’ had been written underneath, presumably by Grandma, but the wobbly Xs had been accomplished by the three-year-old.
‘She sent you a big cuddle and a kiss.’ Gemma’s lips trembled as she delivered the request. Then she sat down and took Martin’s hand between both of hers. ‘We’re going to get through this, Marty. It’s going to be OK.’
‘You bet.’ Martin sounded hoarse and Wendy wondered if the communication from his daughter had upset him enough to be of concern. His heart rate remained steady, however, and his respiration rate and depth appeared unchanged. In any case, Gemma excused herself a short time later when Sally, the physiotherapist, arrived in the unit to treat Martin.
At this acute stage physiotherapy concentrated mostly on preventing the kind of respiratory complications that might be caused by the reduced ability to cough, like airway obstruction from mucus plugging or pneumonia. Even this early, however, the rehabilitation component of treatment was important. It would be considered a disaster if a patient emerged from this period of intense medical treatment with a stiff elbow or wrist that interfered with later mobilisation, so Sally would be putting Martin’s limbs through a full range of passive movements and Wendy knew she had time to take a short break.
Having asked Peter to cover for her if she wasn’t back in time, Wendy slipped out of the ICU. Debbie Stringer spotted her as she went past the nurses’ station.
‘Your secret admirer’s been spending money again. Aren’t you the lucky one?’
‘What?’ Wendy watched the extravagant mass of blooms and Cellophane being pushed over the counter towards her. ‘Is there no card on them?’ Maybe getting flowers from Ross wouldn’t have been so disappointing after all. It might have been a relief.
‘Not that we could see.’ Debbie grinned. ‘And, believe me, we’ve looked. There’s just the florist’s ticket with your name on it.’
‘That’s weird.’ Wendy stared at the flowers. ‘I don’t think I want them, thanks. You have them.’
‘Take them in for Ross.’
‘As if he needs any more after the flood that’s arrived since that article about him in the newspaper.’
‘How ’bout Sam, then? He hasn’t got any flowers.’
‘That’s a good idea.’ Wendy grinned as she gathered up the massive bouquet. ‘I’ll just have to hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea.’
Sam was in the same room as Ross. He had never allowed his paraplegia to spoil the enjoyment he’d had from the last twenty years of his life, and despite being in his seventies now he considered the renal problems he was currently dealing with no more than a temporary inconvenience.
Wendy followed a now very familiar route towards the second large room on the left of the main corridor. Sam was sound asleep in his bed by the door, snoring loudly. Her heart sank as she saw that Ross had, once again, had the curtains pulled to screen his corner by the window from the other occupants of the room. As Wendy entered the screened space she saw that Ross was lying in the supine position. He could do little else but stare at the ceiling because of the semi-rigid collar that protected his cervical fracture and he could not see Wendy approaching. She deposited the flowers on the windowsill above the basin and kept her greeting soft so as not to startle him.
‘Hi, there.’ Any anger