A/N: I can't believe that I started this story when I was 16 years old and now I am almost 26. I have finished college and went on to become a biologist, which I love. Life had had its changes for me, but I never forgot about The Angel. I've wanted to finish it for years, but never could figure out how to tie it up neatly. I now have the entire rest of the story carefully plotted out in sharp detail, so hopefully I will finish this, if anybody is still interested. I know that I've said that before, but now I am on new anti-depression meds. I have felt more clear and motivated in the past month than in years. If you still follow this story, please enjoy the latest chapter- with more to come as soon as I can churn them out. Love y'all, and don't forget to review!
Chapter 19: Physician, Heal Thyself
Clara stumbled in through the open bay doors, at the end of her strength. She cursed her still-weakened muscles. With a grunt and a fair amount of exertion, she slammed a button on the wall and the airlocks shrieked and closed. "Help! I need help in here!"
The bulkhead doors to the ship opened with a groan. Martha and Malonyo dashed in, concern written across their features.
Clara struggled to keep the Doctor upright. She balanced his dead weight on her shoulders, hardly able to stand against the ship's gravity. Bits of soot and dried blood speckled the floor with every movement. The stone was more red than grey. "Help him," she panted. "Help him."
Malonyo rushed over and supported the other side of the Doctor with his good arm. Clara sighed, grateful for the relief. Martha whizzed around with a small whirring device in her hands. The fact that she hadn't said a word made Clara worry more than anything.
"How bad is it, Martha?" Clara asked, afraid of her answer.
Martha met her eyes. "I don't know," she replied. Her voice was professional, but Clara could sense an undercurrent of worry present there. "I can't examine him in this state. I need him unfrozen."
Clara nodded. "Well, let's get going then."
Martha nodded, "I've got the sickbay cleared and ready." She pocketed the device and helped share the weight of the Angel. Carefully, the trio stepped out of the bay and made their way through the ship. "Tell me what you've got so far, Clara."
Clara swallowed a lump in her throat. She had forced herself to be strong this whole time, but the thought of having to recount his injuries began to chip away at the facade. "His right leg is broken, one of his wings appears damaged, and there seems to be something wrong with his ribs. He was having trouble breathing."
"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" Martha pressed, her concern growing.
Her eyes shone with tears. "He said he'll die unless he can go into a healing coma."
Martha hardened her gaze, her jaw set. "Well. I'd better get to work then."
She huffed in frustration, realizing that she could not work on him without also being able to see. Clara said he needed a healing coma, but Martha knew that she could help send him on the road to recovery. Martha steeled her gaze. This would be her greatest challenge yet. Saving a life with nothing but her sense of touch and her instincts.
"Clara, Malonyo, I need you two to leave so I can work." Martha asked, no nonsense in her voice.
Malonyo nodded and turned back toward the bridge. He had a ship to run.
"To hell with that," Clara snapped. I'll keep my eyes closed.
Martha huffed, "Okay well you'd better." She gestured broadly at a sterile surgical table with various syringes and instruments on it. "Make yourself useful and hand me that syringe of lidocaine. I've got to numb him up to put in a chest tube. He's got a hemothorax."
Clara's face paled, "a what?"
"He's bleeding into his chest and the blood is preventing his lung from inflating. If you enjoy him breathing as much as I do, please hand me the syringe!"
Clara obeyed and Martha took hold of the syringe, drawing up the exact amount of medication she would need to numb up his chest. It would take the edge off, but there was no way to make this procedure completely painless. She carefully kept her gaze off of the doctor. She used a hand bent awkwardly behind her back to scan where he needed the tube placed. His breathing was ragged, accentuated by the occasional hacking cough. He must have breathed in a lot of smoke. What the hell had happened to him? The scanner beeped. Right lung.
Martha grabbed at his chest with shut eyes until she managed to pull or tear off the clothes getting in her way. She needed access to his skin. She felt along the side of his right chest and clearly felt that three ribs had been displaced. They punctured into his chest cavity, popping his lung and filling the pleural space with blood. The only way to allow the lung to expand was to place a tube in his chest to drain the blood and create a vacuum. Lungs need to be pressurized to work and a hole in the pleural cavity defeats their ability to inhale and exhale. Can't blow up a balloon with a hole in it.
Luckily, she did not need to intubate because, according to the scanner and her stethoscope, his airways seemed clear and unswollen. She had no idea how she'd be able to intubate without being able to see the vocal cords. Doing a crike would be too invasive for what he needed right now, but she wouldn't hesitate to do one if he stopped breathing on his own.
With skilled fingers, she chose the spot she felt best to insert the tube. She thought it would be harder to do this blindfolded, but with so many years of experience she almost forgot her eyes were closed. It was all clear in her mind.
She took a sterile sponge and soaked it in iodine. She scrubbed it liberally over the section of skin to sterilize it. He did not need an infection happening on top of everything else. God, she wished she had a nurse to help her.
She replaced the sponge with the lidocaine syringe and carefully counted her way up the ribs to the spot she had chosen. Thank God his physiology was close enough to human. "Doctor, this is going to sting," she said to his unconscious form, "hold very still."
She carefully and slowly stuck the needle through his skin, judging its depth with nothing but instinct and her decades of experience in trauma medicine. Fortunately, the Doctor did not stir. That gave her hope that he would not feel what she was about to do next.
"Clara." Martha held out her hand. "Hand me a scalpel."
Clara's eyes widened. "Martha, you can't see. You're going to cut into him with your eyes shut?" Her alarmed face and trembling hands almost had Martha exasperated.
"Look, Clara, you're just going to have to trust me. I've got decades of experience, I'm pretty sure I can feel my way around by now. For a chest tube at least. He needs this or he could die!" Martha looked to Clara's unconvinced face. "Don't worry, I'm just making a small cut." She held out her hand again and this time Clara hesitantly placed the scalpel into her gloved hand. "Thank you." Martha reassured.
"Now, hopefully he stays unconscious because this next part hurts no matter what. I haven't the time to sedate him, I need his breathing going." She felt to the spot she had picked out and steeled her hand. She felt the blade's cool metal through her glove. She could not believe what she was about to do. If this were a hospital on earth, she'd lose her license for sure. "Clara, hold his hand and don't let go. Let him know you're here."
Clara clasped his clammy hand in hers. She squeezed, hoping that he would get the message. She braced herself. She was definitely not a medical person and could already feel her heart racing with panic. She had to be strong for him. At least she couldn't see what was going on.
"Alright, here I go, gentle as I can." Martha said, reassuring herself more than anyone else. She made a small incision between two of the broken ribs. The Doctor made a small groan but did not wake up.
She paused a moment, then took a deep breath and advanced through the skin, muscle, and into the chest cavity. Blood immediately gushed across the room with the release of the pressure hemothorax, staining her immaculate white coat. Martha scowled and jammed her finger into the hole until she could get the tube placed. The Doctor hissed, his face contorting into a pained expression. Consciousness came back to him like a rude awakening.
"Martha? How are you here…Clara…ahhhh!" He yelped between labored coughs. "What are you doing!? I said I needed a healing coma!"
Martha shushed him and pushed him back down from where he had tried to raise himself up. "Doctor, you need to trust me. You need critical help right now and I don't think a healing coma will stop this blood from compressing your hearts and lung to death."
Clara squeezed his hand harder. "Let her work, Doctor. Try to relax. Don't talk."
"Worst part and then it's over." Martha reassured. "Just hang in there for me." She fumbled with her free hand until she found the chest tube, already hooked up to a suction outlet in a blood recirculating machine she had set up.
She replaced her finger with the tube, pressing it tightly into the cavity. The Doctor screamed, writhing on the bed and gripping Clara's hand for dear life. "God, that HURTS, Martha!"
"It's all done. It's all done." She soothed. She could not stitch with her eyes shut, so she secured the tube in place with special surgical tape. "Stay still, don't rip off this tape." She turned the machine on and the tube ran dark with blood. Almost instantly, the Doctor could feel himself able to breathe again. He choked in a deep breath, searing with the irritated lung slowly reexpanding itself.
He panted, trying to recuperate his oxygen. Thank God for his respiratory bypass system getting him through this as long as it had. The pressure in his chest began to dissipate and he could feel his hearts softening into a more regular rhythm. He gripped Clara's palm so hard he was sure it would hurt. She winced but said nothing. He let up some, trying not to crush her delicate hand. He looked to Martha. "Are you done poking and prodding me?" He grated out.
"Not quite, but the worst is over. I need to place a central IV line into your upper chest to recirculate your blood back into your system. It'll also deliver medications you need." Martha reached for her kit and prepared the spot with iodine. She felt awful about not letting him enter his coma and be free of the pain. She needed him relatively awake for these critical procedures so she could get accurate reads on his vital signs.
The Doctor groaned. No use arguing with her; he knew better. Despite the pain she was causing him, he felt grateful for her help. He could feel his bond with Martha strengthening by the minute. How was she here anyway? He had never questioned that until now. He had enough on his plate to worry about.
His train of thought was snapped by the poke of a large bore needle into his chest near his collarbone. He hissed, gritting his teeth. He used his free hand to grip the bedsheets for all they were worth.
"Okay," Martha drew back. "The central line is in. How would you like some morphine?"
Morphine. Mana from heaven. He nodded, "Yes, please!"
Martha chuckled. "I'd bet you're ready for it." She hung up several IV bags of various concoctions and fed them through a series of pumps mounted to a pole. Each pump could dispense an exact dose per hour, and sound an alarm if a line became blocked.
The Doctor felt that sweet morphine hit his system like a cool rush of wind on a hot day. Almost immediately his pain went from a ten out of ten to maybe a three. So much better. He took a deep breath to test his now fully expanded lung. It felt so good to be able to breathe. He'd never take it for granted again.
The morphine was having other effects too. Without meaning to, he felt a giggle coming on. He couldn't stop his mouth from trying to smile. The room spun around him. Clara looked like she was fuzzy. Had she brought a clone? There were two of her. He could tell by the look on her faces that she was concerned.
"Claraaa," he slurred. "Have I ever told you how much I love ya?" Clara gasped. He smiled like a dope with half-lidded eyes, and even though Clara couldn't see it, she could feel the smile in his soul. Martha snorted.
"Doctor, you…you definitely are high!" Clara laughed, grateful for the lightening up of the atmosphere. She knew he was drugged up, but the words were still nice to hear. He never said them out loud, so she was relishing the opportunity.
"No really, Clara you're so beautifulll." He squeezed her hand, studying her face for a reaction. "And so are you, Marfa. I'm so lucky you're my companions," he giggled.
Martha chuckled, amused. "It's Martha, not Marfa. Now." She lifted up the sheet to expose his mangled leg. "I'm sorry to do this to you, but I've got to set this leg so it heals properly. You've got a compound fracture and the bone is sticking out."
The Doctor lazily waved her off. "Whatever you say, Marfa."
Martha tore away the pant leg and felt the wound. She didn't feel any active bleeding, and felt good pulses in the vessels around the broken bone. She brought her scanner out and focused it on the injury. It did not seem that the bone was tamponading any vessels. She had to be careful because moving the bone could unclog a dam and restart the bleeding. Satisfied that such was not the case, she moved to the foot of the bed and grabbed his ankle.
"Doctor this is going to hurt but it'll only take a second. Are you ready?"
"Sure, Marfa." He drooled a little bit. "Whatever you think is—AHH!"
There was an audible crack as Martha yanked the ankle to bring the tibia out of the skin and back into place. The Doctor screamed, even with the morphine. The sound of it crushed Clara's and Martha's hearts. They almost couldn't bear it. "All done, I'm all done!" Martha encouraged.
The Doctor panted, out of breath. What a rude sobering up. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his throat felt dry. He coughed harshly. It would take a while to get all the soot out. After the initial shock, the leg did feel better. Marginally.
The morphine crept back in and took hold again, for which he was grateful. He focused on taking deep breaths, trying to take control. Clara gripped his hand with all she had. He could feel her soul trying to wrap around his, attempting to take some of his pain away as he had done for her before. He was grateful for her presence.
"Doctor," Martha called. "You may enter your coma now. I won't disturb you further except to apply and change bandages to help you along. Got it?"
The Doctor nodded. Without regeneration energy to help like it normally would, he wondered if a healing coma would even work. His life was out of danger now, so he could focus on healing. Suddenly he felt exhausted. His head was pounding and his vision was shimmering like a mirage. The air smelled of metallic blood and iodine. He felt Clara squeezing his palm with one hand and soothingly rubbing his arm with the other. God, her hands were so tiny. That was a much better thing to focus on, he decided.
Without the strength to say anything, he felt himself slip into the merciful abyss. He closed his eyes and began to snore softly. His vital signs on Martha's scanner slowed to a crawl, just the bare minimum to keep his system going. She set the scanner to sound an alarm if any of his numbers changed significantly.
Martha finished splinting and bandaging the leg with clean gauze. She felt around on the rest of his body for any further injuries. She had almost forgotten about the broken wing Clara mentioned. Really, a wing? She was not a bird doctor. She furrowed her eyebrows. How the hell do you fix a wing? Her scanner told her the rest of the injuries were only minor scrapes and bruises. Surprisingly, he had no head trauma, as nasty as the blood on his face looked. That was a miracle, considering.
Martha blindly felt the soft feathers of his right wing. Unlike the rest of his body, she had no idea what she was feeling for here. She griped and huffed in frustration, just running her hand along the bones of the wing searching for anything that seemed abnormal. Well, more abnormal. It was all abnormal to her.
Finally, she thought she felt something. She thought of the anatomy of a chicken wing and compared it to that. Thank goodness for her local wing bar. She chuckled inwardly at the thought, but it seemed to be relatively accurate. One of the bones of the "flapper" seemed out of place. It was not sticking through the skin like the tibia had been, but she could tell by feeling the unbroken left wing that it was not supposed to be in this direction.
She used both hands to grasp either side of the bone and wrenched it into place. It made a crunching sound as it snapped back into its socket. She winced, but luckily the Doctor did not awaken this time. She splinted the broken bone as best she could with a rod and tight linens. She brought in a second gurney to rest the bad wing onto. It was better than letting it droop to the floor.
Satisfied, she figured that he could take care of the rest. She finished up by placing a Foley catheter and an NG tube to feed him, plus extra fluids and electrolytes. She left his bedside and drew the encircling curtains around his bed closed, with strict instructions for nobody to enter unless they kept their eyes shut or averted. Clara nodded silently, ready to begin her long vigil by his side.
Now Clara was alone with him. Finally, after so many months, she was with her Doctor again. She cupped his face with one hand. No longer contorted in pain, his face felt peaceful to her palm. His jaw had unclenched and the muscles were relaxed. She sighed and withdrew her hand. He still had a lot of healing to do, but nevermind that. She was just so glad he was back. She almost couldn't believe it. Everything felt like some fever dream.
She brushed a lock of hair from his face and gave him a small kiss on the forehead. His golden energy in her mind seemed quiet, but it fluttered slightly at her touch. She pulled up a chair and rested her head on her arms situated over the edge of the bed, one hand still tightly holding his limp one. Exhaustion wracked her body too, and the adrenaline she had felt all day was finally fading away.
Wordlessly, Clara joined the Doctor in deep sleep. The world faded away, with nothing but the two of them left in it. Stars passed lazily in the window, and the soft darkness of space claimed their dreams.