Time Heals All Wounds
Chapter One
"Ok, Honey, take a nice, deep breath and count backwards for me, starting at one hundred," Rudy instructed, eying his groggy patient very closely.
Jaime's body quivered slightly as she inhaled the sickly sweet anesthetic. "One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight..." she felt herself drifting far away from the operating table. "Ninety-seven...ninety...six...ninety...six..."
"She's out, Rudy," the technician said quietly. "Let's find that clot and get it out fast."
Rudy nodded. This was Jaime's second bout with bionic rejection, and it had progressed far more rapidly than the first. It had been less than 8 hours since she'd first noticed an unsteadiness in her hand, and already a dangerous blood clot was threatening her life. Rudy calibrated the drill and said a silent prayer that this time, they wouldn't be too late.
Steve paced nervously in the hallway, ignoring Oscar's suggestion that he sit down and try to relax. It had all happened so suddenly! One minute, he and Jaime were cuddled together on the sofa in Steve's den, sharing popcorn and a movie, and the next, first her hand and then her entire right arm were shaking uncontrollably. Steve had helped her to stretch out and lie down, then immediately got on the phone to Rudy. When he turned around to ask her Rudy's question about whether she was in pain, Jaime's body had gone limp and she didn't respond.
Jaime heard the voices first, achingly familiar but she just couldn't place them. Curious, she moved toward them, amazed at the way she seemed to float rather than walk in their direction. A young boy, about eight years old, and a girl who looked a few years younger, stood at the grassy edge of a playground. The boy grinned while the girl stood with her arms folded, glaring at him.
"I did not!" the little boy (who was he?) shouted.
"Yes, you did, too!" his tiny companion insisted. "Give 'em back!"
"Why would I wanna touch your stupid doll?"
"Gimme back her shoes!" the little girl demanded. Jaime was fascinated; it was as though she was watching the children through a fog, and she knew them, but...who were they? They seemed close enough to touch, yet so far away...
"Don't have 'em," the boy said tauntingly.
The little girl stomped her foot, sending her tiny blonde pigtails sailing across her shoulders. "Do too! Steven Austin, you give them back, or I'll never speak to you again!"
Wha-a-at? Jaime frowned. Her mind scrambled to make sense of it, but she couldn't clear away the fog.
"You're still talking," 'Steven' teased. "But I don't hear you!" he finished in a sing-song voice.
Jaime could only watch as the little girl (herself?) burst into tears and ran blindly away, toward the street...straight toward an oncoming car.
Steve had immediately rushed Jaime to National, where Rudy was waiting. Oscar had arrived before the first tests were completed, and was at Steve's side when he got the soul-crushing news.
"Jaime's in full bionic rejection," Rudy explained, as gently as possible. "They're scanning her brain now, to pinpoint the location of the clot, then we'll take her straight to surgery."
Steve was mute with grief for a few moments before he could bring himself to ask a question. "How bad...?" was all he could choke out.
Rudy shook his head, his expression grim. He knew the devastation his words would cause, but he couldn't lie. "The severity of her illness, the rapidity of its onset – I'm sorry, Steve. We'll do everything we can." The doctor placed a hand on Steve's shoulder, acknowledging his pain, before heading quickly down the hall, back to his patient.
Steve had one last glimpse of Jaime as she was wheeled past him, on the way to the operating room. The attendants lingered just long enough for him to lean over the gurney to kiss her and whisper a few soft, private words of love before they had to speed her away through the big double doors. Now, all Steve could do was wait, pace and pray.
Jaime couldn't watch, but couldn't look away. The big car's brakes squealed and screeched, and a little girl's scream rang shrill and sharp in the air before cutting suddenly to silence.
"There's the clot," Rudy murmured softly. "I see it; it's a big one."
"Rudy, I'm losing her pulse!"
"She's going to rupture; I have to get it now!" Rudy said, more to himself than his assistants.
"Her breathing's erratic," the nurse told him softly. "Rudy, she's -"
"No, dammit! Not this time!" the doctor insisted, as the line on the heart monitor went flat.