Free After the Fall by Patricia Gussin

if you want to change your mind. Under the circumstances, I mean. So much has changed…”
    Tim bent over to kiss her dry lips, moving carefully so as not to jiggle anything that would threaten her suspended arm.
    â€œWhat’s going on in here, kids?” They were interrupted by Laura’s hand surgeon, not Dr. Corey who’d already returned to Denver, but the orthopedic specialist on staff at Hahnemann, Dr.Hanover. He entered, trailed by a cadre of medical residents and students.
    â€œNeuro has cleared you, Dr. Nelson,” he said with a forced smile. Tim knew what would come next. Ambulation. Hydrotherapy. Physical therapy. Pain piled upon pain. The goal: to salvage as much function in the hand as possible. Laura may not be able to use a scalpel, but working hard with an occupational therapist, she could relearn to pick up a coffee cup, cutlery.
    â€œI know that it’s hard to appreciate right now, but you are fortunate to have an uninjured alternate hand. You’re going to get good in the near term at using your left hand. Believe me, so many hand injuries are bilateral. Burns are the worst.”
    For Tim, this guy’s use of the words “fortunate” and “lucky” in relation to Laura was inappropriate, at best.
    â€œI appreciate everything you’re doing, Dr. Hanover,” Laura said. “Please, could you give me some idea of how long I’ll be in here?”
    â€œFar too early to say.” He turned to his entourage. “This patient is a surgeon—”
    Tim could feel the collective intake of breath as sets of eyes stared upward at Laura’s hand.
    â€œOur chore today is to take her to the operating room to debride the wound. Assess the tissue viability. Then decide on a physical therapy plan.”
    â€œIs that necessary?” Tim knew his question came out like a groan and tried with little success to keep his tone professional. “Back to the OR?”
    Before the doctor could respond, Laura said, “Well, there’ll be an anesthesiologist in there.”
    Laura had a point. She wouldn’t feel a thing as they probed her mangled tissues with a scalpel. Bit by bit, they’d scrape away dead tissue so new tissue could grow back. Problem was, how much of that new growth would be scar tissue?
    Dr. Hanover spoke as much to his entourage as to hispatient, “We debride surgically as often as necessary; once we see healthy tissue, we’ll debride mechanically.” He turned to the student on his right, a tall, thin young man in a short white coat. “What other debridement methods can we use?”
    The young man reminded Tim of himself twenty-five years ago. “Chemical and autolytic.” The student hesitated before adding, “And live maggot debridement?”
    Dr. Hanover grinned. “Not to worry, Dr. Nelson, no maggots for you, although maggot therapy is approved by the FDA. Mechanical therapy with wet to dry dressings should be adequate, provided we get all the necrotic stuff out.” He turned to Laura. “And that we will do, Dr. Nelson, in the operating room.”
    Laura nodded her appreciation, but Tim could read her concern over the agonizing pain she’d face when she emerged from anesthesia. Laura had been right not to want her kids hanging around. What good would it do for them to see her suffer?
I will be here for you, Laura. I will try to earn your love
.

    Later that morning, after Laura’s debridement procedure, Dr. Hanover assured Tim that the surgery had gone as well as could be expected. How many times had Tim himself used exactly those words to tell anxious parents their baby’s condition was guarded?
    â€œWe think we got most of the debris. We’ll go back in tomorrow, and if all looks clean, move to mechanical. We’ll use pulsed saline at the bedside. Lots of pain, which we’ll manage with parenteral narcotics.” Dr. Hanover shrugged. “Gotta go see