Annie O'Neil - The Surgeon's Christmas Wish

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.

“Scissors?”

Tara quickly pulled a pair out from a drawer and handed them to him, while steering the heart-rate monitor to the head of the gurney.

“Update before you go, Brian?” Tara worked as she spoke, reaching for the defibrillator.

Brian spoke from the doorway, giving the doctors room around the patient, “We administered on-site CPR for three minutes and confirmed chest rises, but no pulse. We administered one shock from the defibrillator, and received a weak pulse and heart rate. We then lost the pulse after loading the patient onto the rescue stretcher so I continued to administer CPR until now.”

Tara thanked Brian, who slipped out of the room as Fraser efficiently cut away the clothing surrounding the man’s chest, applied lubricant and stood clear in order for her to apply the shock from the defibrillator.

They both stood completely still for a moment, waiting for the tell-tale beeps on the heart-rate monitor. Silence. Silence.

They repeated their motions—each working wordlessly—only looking to one another for confirmation of the other’s movement. Eighty percent of patients could survive a heart attack with prompt defibrillation.

Tara increased the charge. “Clear!”

Fraser stepped back.

They waited again, listening, watching the patient for signs of a response.

Silence.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Tara heaved a sigh of relief. They’d done it. She looked up at Fraser and received a broad smile of confirmation. A shot of heat poured straight into her stomach. Espresso hot and just as stimulating. Uh-oh. She hadn’t experienced girly flutterings like this for some time. A long time. And that was just the way she liked it. Clean and simple. No feelings. Just medicine.

She tried to shrug away the growing suspicion that working with Fraser would be much more than “just medicine.” They’d saved this man’s life. With medicine. And now just one lovely, warm smile and her knees were going all wobbly. Terrific.

“Arthur Jones.”

“What?” Tara was jolted back into the room at the sound of Fraser’s voice.

“That’s his name,” Fraser was looking at her with an odd expression as he held up a driver’s license he’d retrieved from the man’s wallet. “Arthur Jones.”

“Yes, right, of course.” Of course. Really proving your worth in the doctor department, aren’t you, Tara? “Mr. Jones?” Tara rested a hand gently on the man’s shoulder. “Mr. Jones?”

The gray-haired gentleman’s eyes fluttered open with a look of bewilderment, “Where—where …?”

“It’s all right, Mr. Jones. I’m Dr. Braxton and this is Dr. MacKenzie.” Tara didn’t afford herself a glance in Fraser’s direction. “I’m afraid you’ve had a heart attack. Are you here with any family?”

“Yes, all my family.” Arthur’s voice was weak but audible.

“Can you tell us how to get in touch with them?”

“We’re staying in one of the lodge’s chalets. The Pine … The—”

“It’s all right, Mr. Jones.” Tara laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “We’ll call the lodge and find your family for you. Right now, your job is to rest and we’ll get everything organized for you.”

Fraser leant back against the counter, enjoying watching Tara interact with the patient. She had a soothing nature—a good bedside manner they called it in med school. He’d reluctantly inherited the moniker Smooth Operator by his medical peers, teased for the warm responses he seemed to elicit from the female patients in particular. Any smooth operations he might’ve pulled off in the past few years had passed him by. He wasn’t one for one-night stands and dating someone for the fleeting duration of a ski season just seemed cruel when he knew he had no intention of hanging around. He was going to have to watch himself around Tara Braxton because everything about the last few hours at Deer Creek was teasing at his psyche, asking the unthinkable, Why not stay awhile?

One thing Fraser knew he couldn’t handle was settling down. Long term just wasn’t for him.

“Dr. MacKenzie, would you mind getting Liesel to call the Valley Hospital, please? We’re going to need to transfer Mr. Jones for further tests.”

“What about Thanksgiving?” Arthur tried pushing himself upright on the medical trolley. Gently pressing him back down to his pillow, Tara replied with a regretful smile, “I’m afraid you will definitely have to go to the hospital. I suspect they will want to keep you overnight for observation just in case you need to have an operation.” Arthur closed his eyes and let out a quiet moan. “Ginny’s gone to so much work! All those pies …”

“I’m afraid pie might be off the menu for a while.” Tara chuckled, gesturing to Fraser to help her raise the patient’s bed so he could sit a bit more upright. “We’re just going to move you into a seated position, Arthur, all right?”

After helping Tara, Fraser slipped out of the room to hunt down Liesel. Once he was happy the ambulance had been organized and family members had been contacted at the lodge, he decided to take a little nosy around the facility. Of course, he wouldn’t be staying in Deer Creek forever, but he may as well be familiar with his immediate surroundings for the next few months.