Chapter 91: Amelia Goes to Germany
Owen was peaceful once he'd spoken with his family. Mary, the CNA, chatted with him about the melee as she cleaned up after the aspiration. Even though it was nearly 3am, Owen requested a meal so he could eat while he waited to head to Germany. After being filled with familial love, pleasurable pain meds, and edible but not delicious hospital food, Owen fell fast asleep. He hadn't slept in hours. The last full night's sleep he'd had was the night before the Marines rescued him and the four others.
When the transport team came, Owen was so asleep that he did not flinch. Mary ensured that the backpack Dr. Kepner had given him was included on the gurney. She enclosed a note in the pack that read, Major Hunt, it has been an honor being your CNA. I so appreciated your resilience and humor. You'll remain in my prayers. Traveling mercies, SPC Mary Branston.
Owen slept through the entire flight from loading in Djibouti to unloading in Saarbrucken. His pack was zip tied to his litter so it would not be misplaced. His new nurse, coincidentally also named Mary, kept an eye on him expecting he might be disoriented when he awoke.
Meanwhile, prior to boarding her flight, Amelia had called Cristina. Living just under 3 hours by car from Landstuhl, Cristina promised to head there to be with Owen until Amelia arrived. Before leaving, Cristina worked her connections quickly and effectively. When Dr. Cristina Yang arrived at Landstuhl at 1215, she was credentialed at the facility as a civilian doctor. Although she said nothing to Amelia, Cristina was completely disgusted that Owen had decided to serve another tour.
"Hey, Sleepy," Cristina said flatly at 1230 as she stood at Owen's bedside tapping a pen on his medical file.
Owen sucked in a deep breath and brought his hand to his eyes and nose. After pinching the bridge of his nose, Owen slowly opened his eyes and blinked repeatedly before asking quizzically, "Cristina?"
"Don't worry. You haven't died and gone to hell. Well, you're in Germany so I suppose hell is an appropriate moniker," Yang cracked with a shrug.
"What?" Owen, still half-asleep, inquired in utter confusion. Some pain meds were still flowing through his IV, but he was in a great deal of pain. His hunch was that he was overdue for doses of other pain relief. Being in a different room than the one where he'd fallen asleep was disorienting. Stunned that he slept through the entire flight and transport, Owen attempted to find his bearings. The presence of his ex-wife was utterly confusing. "You're here. Um, why?" he asked as nicely as possible.
Cristina closed his chart and looked down at him. "Your wife called and asked me to come. She's on her way and didn't want you to be alone before she arrived. Kepner is on her way home, so I guess I'm the next best option."
"Thanks for coming," Owen offered. "And for reassuring Amelia. That's incredibly kind."
Cristina, not wanting the conversation to become sentimental, changed the subject. "What the hell were you thinking when you decided to do this tour? Didn't we talk about this?"
"You told me to consider my identity. I did," Owen shrugged as he attempted to shift, but found himself wincing.
"When I said that, you were supposed to read between the lines and come to the conclusion that you needed to stay with your wonderful wife, family, and unborn baby," Cristina clarified.
"Oh…I thought you were providing me with food for thought and not specific advice," Owen chuckled.
"Now that I know you'll be fine, I'm very close to slapping you upside the head," Cristina kidded. "Don't worry, though, I'll smack the left side of your head, so I don't worsen your brain bleed."
"Thanks, I think…hey, could I have some water?" Owen requested in a hoarse voice.
"No," she answered flatly. "You're NPO." Cristina examined his IV bags and compared them to his chart. "You're due for some meds. How's your pain?"
"20," Owen responded.
"The scale is one to ten," Cristina stated flatly as if Owen wasn't familiar with the pain scale.
Owen audibly growled and insisted, "And on a scale of 1 to 10, my pain is a 20."
"Patient is belligerent, has obviously forgotten how to count, and is attempting to break NPO rules. Besides that, he shaved his handsome curly hair and looks ridiculous," Cristina recited, pretending she was writing notes in his chart. Owen slightly chuckled as he shook his head.
Mary entered the room with a number of medications on a tray, "Oh, doctor, I'm sorry to interrupt." She began to turn back toward the door, but Cristina encouraged her to stay.
"Major Hunt, I'm Mary. I will be your nurse today. You're scheduled for surgery at 1400. Can you tell me your birthdate and full name?" Owen provided the data as Mary confirmed the information his ID bracelet. Next, she reached for his dog tags and confirmed that information. "How's your pain, Major?"
Owen sucked in a breath as he squeezed his eyes tightly, "My leg and knee are a 20. My gut's about 17, and my right arm and side about a 15."
Mary smirked as she pushed something into his IV, "I have some Fentanyl that should help." She continued, "In addition to the Fentanyl, I have a number of pre-op medications for you. We'll start with Cefazolin, a pre-emptive antibiotic, Magnesium Chloride to balance electrolytes, Tylenol for your fever, and then Xanax to help you stay relaxed."
"I don't need the Xanax," Owen insisted abruptly. "I'm steady. It's unnecessary."
"Umm…ok. Your doctor did order it for you," Mary nudged.
A bit too sharply, Owen snapped, "And I'm a trauma surgeon who knows what I do and don't need before surgery."
Cristina quipped, "Yes, because you just displayed such a level head and such impressive self-control. Take the Xanax, Owen." Mary smiled at Cristina with a hint of surprise. She was shocked to hear a doctor speak that way to a patient. Cristina, guessing the questions behind the grin shrugged, "I'm his ex-wife."
Owen huffed as he glared at Cristina. Looking back at Mary, Owen calmly said, "I apologize for being abrupt. At this time, I'd like to refuse the Xanax." Mary nodded and slipped the unused syringe into her pocket.
"They aspirated my leg and knee in Djibouti, but it's swelling back to where it was. Can you raise the end of the bed to slow that?" Owen begged.
Mary leaned over to the rail to remind the doctor who was used to being on the other side of the bed that he could adjust that himself using the controls on the side rail. Then she continued with her routine, "Let's check your vitals, Major." She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Owen's left arm, placed a monitor on his finger, and stuck a thermometer in his mouth. "BP 145/107. Temp 101.3." Cristina frowned when she heard the BP reading.
"Would it be possible to call my wife before surgery?" Owen requested.
"I can arrange that," Mary affirmed before stepping out of the room.
Cristina interjected, "She's in the air, Owen."
"I'll leave a voicemail and then call the kids," Owen reasoned with a crabby tone.
Cristina pointed out, "It's 2:30am in Seattle."
Owen grimaced, "When will Amelia arrive?"
"About 10pm our time," Cristina shared.
Owen closed his eyes and sighed. Walking back into the room with a phone and another syringe, Mary shared happily, "Feel free to call your family, Major." She added with a teasing tone, "The doctor ordered midazolam since you refused the Xanax. Are you amenable to that or do I need to call in the big guns to convince you?"
Grinning, Owen surrendered, "I'm fine with the midazolam, but can it wait until I've left a message for my wife? I don't want to fall asleep mid-sentence."
"That makes a great deal of sense. I'll come back in a few minutes," Mary agreed. Cristina followed Mary out of the room to confer with her about Owen's BP and so Owen could be alone during his call.
Owen called Amelia's cell and relished hearing her voice in the outgoing message. At the tone, he recorded, "Hey, Mia. It's 1230 my time. I'm heading into surgery for my leg and knee at 2. Thanks for calling Cristina – she's here hassling me and trying to act like she isn't worried in the least," he chuckled. "Just wanted to tell you how much I love you. You are my joy and mean more to me than you can imagine. I can't wait to see you post-op. I love you, Mia. If you speak to the kids before I do, shower them with my love." He hung up the phone and rested his head on the pillow as he stared at the ceiling.
Five minutes later, both Mary and Cristina entered the room. "Is that Fentanyl kicking in?" Mary asked.
"A little. The pain is still intense, I'm just too high now to be tense about it," Owen described.
Mary chuckled with understanding, "Well the midazolam will finish the job." After injecting the meds, Mary stepped out.
Cristina smiled at Owen and stroked his head, "You've had a hell of a day."
Raising his eyebrows with a chortle, Owen agreed, "You're telling me… Thanks for being here."
"Of course," Cristina responded in a rare reassuring tone as she grinned at Owen. "You're going to be fine. You'll get through all this, Owen."
Owen, eyes closed but smiling, mumbled, "Mhm."
"Midazolam starting to take effect?" Cristina asked as she observed his sedation.
Groggy and fading, Owen responded, "Not really." Seconds later, he was sound asleep.
Cristina gently kissed his forehead then sat down next to the bed, holding his hand and waiting by his side until he was taken to surgery.
Hours later, at 2235, Amelia entered the surgical waiting area with a look of concern. When she spotted Cristina, she smiled with relief and walked toward her. "Thank you so much for coming. I truly cannot thank you enough," Amelia gushed as she hugged Cristina. Cristina thought to herself, Be nice. Let her hug you. She doesn't know you don't do hugs. Be nice, her husband was severely injured and is in surgery.
Stepping back and then sitting across from Cristina, Amelia peppered her with questions, "How was he when you arrived? Were they controlling his pain? Has anyone given you any surgical updates?"
"He was sleeping like a rock," Cristina shared. "Apparently, he fell asleep in Djibouti and snoozed through the transport and the entire trip to Germany. I arrived about 12:30 and woke him up. He was confused when he saw me, but he came around. We chatted for a while and he whined that his pain was at a 20. Then the nurse dosed him up with pre-op meds and checked vitals. BP 145/107, temp 101.3. The doctor had already ordered Fentanyl and added midazolam when Owen refused to take Xanax. His blood pressure decreased to 123/85 after the midazolam. That was a relief."
Amelia chuckled, "Good. I don't know what he has against Xanax. He won't take it personally and won't prescribe it for his patients."
"When he was in therapy for PTSD, one of his doctors put him on Xanax. My sense was that he didn't like feeling out of touch and out of control when it would kick in. It made him pretty spacy," Cristina disclosed. "Anyway, within seconds, the midazolam powered up and he was asleep again. I spoke to the surgeon. He was going to try to take a look at the lower part of the femur if he could easily visualize it without much effort. The surgeon decided to wait on an MRI for the femur since he'll be able to track post-op conditions on the patella using the same MRI. He was wheeled to the OR at about 2:30. There was one update at about 6. A nurse came by and assured me the surgery was going well. She didn't have any worthwhile details."
Amelia blinked a few times as she tried to process everything she'd just heard. "The patella itself, is it at all salvageable?"
"I didn't ask. I'm sorry," Cristina offered.
Amelia nodded slowly and uttered softly, "Ok…so not much news. That's ok. Thanks again for being here, Cristina."
Cristina poured some water into a cup and poked a straw into the cup. "Water?" she wondered aloud in an uncharacteristically gentle tone.
"Yes, thank you," Amelia responded. Cristina smirked at Amelia and then saw Mary approaching them.
"Oh, here's the nurse who came out earlier," Cristina told Amelia.
Mary smiled and reached out her hand, "You must be Dr. Shepherd-Hunt." Amelia shook her hand and greeted her. Mary shared that Owen's surgery was successful. They were able to salvage the patella after reconnecting 4 large pieces of the bone. She added, "There are now a number of pins, wires, and screws in his knee and he's in recovery. The doctor will be speaking to you shortly to provide further details. If you'd like to wait for him in the Major's room, I can show you there."
"Cristina, you're coming, right?" Amelia asked with sincerity.
Thinking to herself, I'm not the one he wants to see post-op and I don't belong in there, she lied, "I need to get back home. I have an overbooked day tomorrow. But keep me posted, ok?"
"Sure. Thanks again for coming up," Amelia expressed as she squeezed Cristina's hand and glanced at her with a mix of exhaustion, gratitude, relief, and anticipation.
Mary showed Amelia to Owen's room and assured her he would be returning within an hour. Just being in the space where Owen had been hours ago had taken Amelia's breath away. She saw his pack and hugged it, holding on to it as if it were Owen himself. As she sat down on the sofa in the room, Amelia placed the pack beside her and began to sort through it. Inside the large part of the pack, she found his field coat, helmet, radio, laptop, phone, iPod, surgical tools wrapped in rags, sunglasses, a handful of random meds, two changes of clothes, a gun in its case, a couple medical reference books, a journal, a note from his CNA in Djibouti, and a small 3x5 photo book full of pictures of the family. In an outer pocket designed for files were a number of military-related documents. In a file marked BRON, she found Bronwyn's artwork that had been sent to him in preceding weeks. Somehow, he'd managed to print out an image from the baby's latest ultrasound. He stored it in a file by itself labelled BABY BOY. In a file marked MIA, he had papers with notes and lists of what he wanted to tell her when they spoke next. One outer pocket had water, two Red Bulls and some snacks. Various toiletries were in the corresponding pocket on the other side of the pack. Looking at the volume of goods Owen had stowed in the large backpack, Amelia laughed as her memory recalled Mary Poppins never-ending carpet bag. With the exception of the field jacket, which she put around her body, Amelia gently repacked the backpack and set it on the floor. She closed her eyes but remained awake, stirring when she heard Owen attempting to clear his throat.
She ran out into the hallway and saw that the orderlies and Owen were just about to enter the room. As she backed up to get out of the way, she cried tears of gratitude that he was alive. The orderlies locked the wheels of the bed and left the room, leaving the couple alone. Amelia approached her husband and grasped his hand. Although Owen had dozed off as he was brought into the room, his hand grasped hers. Surveying his uncovered head, face and right arm, she saw the extent of bruising that covered those areas. She tugged on the tie to his gown by his neck and pulled the gown up so she could examine the bruising on his right side. From his pecs to his hip, Owen's entire side was varying shades of purple. Although she was a veteran surgeon with years of experience who had seen just about everything, seeing the deep and extended bruising was more than she could take in. She refused to let herself be sick and quickly looked away. Moving to his leg, which was fully dressed from the surgery, she was only able to view the dressings and drain.
"Hey," Amelia whispered in Owen's ear as she placed one hand on his left arm and one on his chest.
"Mia?" he sought to confirm as decreasing amounts of anesthetic continued to work their way out of his body. He slowly opened his eyes and smiled widely when he saw her. "You… you're here. I love you. You're so beautiful."
Amelia smiled back and leaned down to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love you too. It is so good to touch you, to hold you, to kiss you. Oh, I've missed you. Are you in any pain?"
Still semi-sedated and smiling, Owen shook his head. He reached out his left hand and mumbled, "I want to feel my son." Amelia placed his hand on her baby bump as tears streamed down Owen's face. "Already amazing," Owen declared. "I'm to blame for that," he grinned sheepishly.
Pulling up a chair beside the bed, Amelia smiled and stated, "If you need to rest, rest. I'll be here when you wake up."
With fading eyes, Owen muttered, "Maybe a few minutes. Hold my hand?"
Your Arms are my castle, your heart is my sky.
They wipe away tears that I cry.
The good and the bad times, we've been through them all.
You make me rise when I fall
Amelia grasped his hand and kissed it, saying simply, "Yes." She looked at the clock and noted the time: 1:00 am. Even though she was exhausted, she wanted Lynne to know the latest. She'd be just about to leave to pick up the kids from school. The phone rang and Lynne answered immediately, thrilled and relieved to hear that Amelia had made it to Germany and that Owen had made it out of surgery. Hearing the babies babbling in the background made Amelia's heart soar. With an exhausted yet peaceful sigh, Amelia ended the call and gazed at Owen.
After a few minutes, Amelia realized there was no reason for her to try to stay awake. Climbing into the left side of the bed next to Owen, she placed his arm around her and snuggled into him. His arm instinctually tightened around her and conformed to her body. She covered herself in an extra blanket and fell asleep beside him, grateful to feel his breath as it landed on the top of her head and to hear his heartbeat as her ear rested on his chest.