Chapter Eleven. Post-Op and Recovery.
Margaret sat at Charles' bedside, holding his hand, checking his vitals and IV drips every so often. She had insisted on remaining at his side, and that she'd be his Nurse. Hawkeye designated himself as Winchester's physician. BJ and Potter insisted on hanging about as well, waiting for Charles to come out of the anesthesia.
Many other MASH personnel had found excuses to pop by, hoping for the latest news. Colonel Potter had to finally put an end to it, as they had other patients in the Post-op ward from their earlier seige of wounded.
He shoo'ed the latest group of woolgatherers out. "Go on, now, people. I'm sure Major Winchester would be gratified with your concern, but we have other patients to attend to as well. Father Mulcahy will have the very latest information on Winchester's condition, so talk to him if you want to know. We'll be sure to let you know when the Major can have DAYTIME visitors!"
Margaret watched the crowd leave. She had not spoken aside from what was absolutely necessary in her role as a Nurse, nor had she given herself the freedom to cry. She would wait until he was conscious and clear-headed, and she could find some privacy.
She took out the little box of the personal effects he'd had on him when the shooting occured. She picked up the unopened letter from Honoria.
She looked up at Mulcahy. "Father, did you call his family?"
"Yes, Major, I took care of it."
"Thank you," she said, taking Charles' hand once more.
None in the Post-op ward had missed her unusual attentiveness and the hand-holding. Hawkeye watched her, remembering the past evening when she and Charles had been having so much fun on the dancefloor, and after when they'd been sitting and talking so intimately at the corner table.
He sat down beside her. "Margaret? Are you okay?"
She continued to stare at Charles' pale face, pulling his hand closer to her. She finally answered. "No. No, I'm not okay, Pierce."
He didn't say anything for a moment. "He's my friend, too, Margaret."
"I know," she whispered. She was very close to losing it.
Hawkeye sat vigil with Margaret for a few minutes more, neither of them speaking. He finally spoke. "He should be coming out of it within the half-hour, Margaret."
"I plan on being here when he comes to."
He stood and patted her on the shoulder. "I know."
The half-hour had come and gone, and there was no sign of movement or consciousness in Winchester. Pierce checked the bandages and reviewed the notes Margaret had been faithfully maintaining in Charles' chart.
Hawkeye was at a loss as to why the patient had not woken up yet.
They ran a battery of tests, including wheeling the unconscious man into X-ray to see if there'd been any brain or spinal injury, and nothing was out of the ordinary. He simply could not or would not wake up.
After a couple hours of this, Hawkeye finally insisted to Margaret that she take a break. "Hit the latrine, go grab some coffee and food, stretch a little. It could be several more hours, maybe even days, Margaret. You know that."
He hated being so harsh, but he and she both knew the drill when a patient wouldn't come out of anesthesia.
She knew he was right. She leaned forward, putting her mouth directly on Charles' ear, and whispered, "I'll be back in just a few moments, Charles."
She didn't dare kiss him right in front of Hawkeye, who was watching the entire time. She stood and stretched, checking the big clock on the wall. 09:45! She hadn't realized morning had started so long ago.
She stretched and yawned as she stepped out into the mild morning sun, breathing in the fresh air. She did what she could to freshen up and wake up, and returned within ten minutes.
"Any change, Doctor?"
"No, Margaret."
She sat down and took Charles' hand once more. She leaned forward, carefully not pressing on him, and rubbed his brow and his cheek, speaking softly to him.
"Charles, I know you're in there, that you can hear me. Your surgery went well. BJ and Hawkeye were there, and Colonel Potter as well before they were done. Everyone's worried, Charles. You'd be amazed at how the whole camp's reacted to this. The Father had to turn people away who wanted to donate blood for you! He called your family in Boston, as well."
No response.
She continued speaking softly to him, about their brief time together as more than friends, how much fun she had on the dance floor with him, the various goings-on at the 4077th.
Margaret was correct: Charles could indeed hear her. He was in a state of limbo; not quite conscious, but not unconscious either. It was similar to the state of sleep where your mind is alert, but your body is reluctant to respond to commands from the brain.
His initial reaction when he'd heard her voice, coming out of the black void of anesthesia, was beyond joy. She's alive! he thought. He'd gone down, not knowing if his effort had succeeded or not. To come to almost-consciousness with her voice the first he'd heard was a joy as well.
His limbs and head felt heavy and lethargic, and he couldn't seem to move any part of him, only lie there.
He'd heard Margaret and Pierce talking.
"He's my friend, too, Margaret."
"I know."
He heard her whisper that she'd be gone for just a few moments, and would be back. He wanted to squeeze her hand, to keep her there, but could not. He smiled inside when he heard her return, knowing she was leaning forward and whispering.
The image in his mind was odd. He was sitting in a comfortable chair, listening to Margaret. She mentioned the mail from his sister. Ah, his letter. From Honoria. He had not had a chance to read it, foolishly thinking he'd had plenty of time to read it during his duty shift. He'd realized his error: assuming anything in this hellhole called the Korean Conflict. How precious each moment is, he thought.
He wished Margaret would open the letter from Honoria and read it to him, while he was able to picture things so well. It would be like his darling sister was there with him, talking to him. He so missed his sister. She and Margaret will adore one another, he hoped.
Will? Is he already planning on introducing Margaret to Honoria? It seemed natural to do so. Precious moments. He did not want to waste one single moment with Margaret.
What happened served to prove one thing to him: He wanted Margaret in his life. Forever.
He heard Father Mulcahy talking to Margaret.
"Any response, Major?" he asked kindly, sitting next to her.
"No, Father. I looked through his effects, and found this." She handed him the letter from Honoria. "He'd just received it today...well, yesterday, and was saving it to read while on duty. But then, he...he..."
She faltered, not able to articulate it.
"Perhaps you should read it to him. You know how he loves his sister Honoria."
YES! Charles thought, concentrating on the hand Margaret was holding. It was a Herculean effort, but he managed to wrap thumb and fingers around her own fingers that were gripping him.
"Father, he squeezed my hand when you said that! HAWKEYE!"
Pierce came running. "What is it?"
"He squeezed my hand when the Father mentioned his sister Honoria and the letter!"
She leaned to Charles' ear and whispered, "I felt that, sweetheart. Now, WAKE UP, Mister!"
He could not help but smile at her command. It was like the initial motion of hand-squeezing had reminded the reticular formation of his brain, the communicating center between cerebrum and cerebellum, of what to do with his voluntary muscles.
He awoke in stages. Hand first, then smile. Work on the eyelids. They opened, and he saw her lovely smile and sparkling blue eyes once more. He gasped with such joy that he startled the observers.
Hawkeye leaned down. "Charles? Are you all right? In pain?"
"Happy. My sweet." he managed to say weakly.
She hugged his hand and arm to her breast, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Margaret."
Not moving, she said aloud, "Yes, Charles?"
He stunned everyone present, and didn't give a damn who heard what. "I love you."