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  Then, suddenly, he collapsed.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Mike opened his eyes, groggy, and looked around a familiar recovery room, with fluorescent lighting and walls lined with shelves of medical supplies. He realized, dimly, that he was at Camp Lacy, Bagram’s Combat Support Hospital. He’d assisted here and checked on soldiers in this very bed. His world had gone topsy-turvy, and the doctor had become the patient.

  He was snowed under, anesthetized. He hurt all over, in a vague, achy way. His could feel in his throat that he’d been intubated, but he didn’t know how he’d been injured. He must’ve caught a bullet, but he could see and hear. He moved his legs and they responded. He closed his eyes and was about to drift back into sleep when an Afghan doctor-in-training passed through the room, carrying a rattling tray of instruments.

  Mike felt agitated under the morphine. He knew that Bagram trained local doctors, but now it disturbed him. He wondered if the doc knew the Taliban who had ambushed them. They lived in the same area and probably spoke the same dialect. He heard voices nearby, speaking English and Dari, the most common language around Bagram. He drifted back into a restless, anxious sleep.

  “Dr. Scanlon?” said a voice, and Mike woke up to see a doctor in a scrub cap, his goggles still on. He had a five o’clock shadow, probably from a night in the OR, and he looked to be about Mike’s age, with crow’s feet around brown eyes. “I’m Scott Peddie. How are you feeling?”

  “Yes, hi.” Mike felt his brain waking up slowly. His body hurt more than before.

  “Do you feel comfortable?”

  “I’m fine.” Mike shifted under the covers to shake Peddie’s hand, but felt an excruciating pain in his left arm. “Oh, that hurts.”

  “No, please, don’t move it.” Peddie guided Mike’s arm down.

  “What? Why?” Mike looked down at his arm, which lay under the covers but was grotesquely short. He shifted over to withdraw it, feeling a pain he’d never known. His elbow and lower arm were gone, and there was a massive bulb wrapped around his upper arm. He gasped. “What is this?”

  “Relax, please.”

  “What did you do?” Mike flashed on last night, with horror. He’d looked down to see his sleeve and arm blown off. He hadn’t felt anything, he’d been so adrenalized. “Where’s my arm? Where’s my hand?”

  “Let me get you something to calm you.” Peddie looked toward the OR. “Jamie? Jamie?”

  “No, I don’t want that.” Mike kept shaking his head, his mouth agape. “You didn’t take my arm, did you? I need my hand!”

  “I’ll explain everything—”

  “What happened? This can’t be.” Mike looked over as the nurse hustled in with the Afghan doctor. “Get him out of here! I don’t want him near me!”

  “Okay, calm down.” Peddie waved the nurse and doctor away, then looked down at Mike, pursing his lips. “I’m sorry, and I can imagine how you feel.”

  “No, you can’t!” Mike couldn’t believe this was happening. “What did you do? Are you insane?”

  “If there was any way to avoid it, we would have. Please, try to remain calm. I’ll strongly suggest you take a—”

  “I said, I don’t want a pill!”

  “Okay, you don’t have to take one then. We won’t do anything you don’t want us to do.”

  “Except take my arm, my hand?” Mike couldn’t stop shaking his head. “This can’t be! What did you do? Tell me exactly!”

  “I’m sorry, but it was necessary to perform a transhumeral amputation to the left arm above the elbow, taking your non-dominant hand. We left as much as we could for your prosthesis, including your shoulder—”

  “No!” Mike cried in anguish. “Didn’t you know I’m a surgeon? Didn’t they tell you? What were you thinking?”

  “I did know, but we had no choice.”

  “Who’s we? You and who else? Who? Nobody asked me. Nobody asked me!”

  “That was impossible. You were losing blood and we had to act quickly to save your life. You took two units, immediately.”

  “So why not ask me after I’m transfused? You had the tourniquet on, didn’t you? Chatty did that.” Mike remembered that much.

  “We did. In fact, Commander Chatham assisted me in the OR. Your administrator was here, too—”

  “No, no!” Mike felt crazy. “I don’t believe you! They wouldn’t let you do this!”

  “The gunfire strafed your elbow, essentially shearing it off. The soft tissue had been blown off.”

  “No, no.” Mike couldn’t bear it. “What about the bones? You couldn’t save anything? You couldn’t pin anything? You can do anything with a halo! I’ve done it, on the foot and ankle!”

  “No, your bones were splintered. We always salvage if we can, to preserve functionality.” Peddie’s tone remained calm. “There’s no way I would ever take the hand of another surgeon if I had an alternative, but I didn’t. By amputating just below the shoulder, we were able to salvage a significant skin flap, which, as you know, will aid significantly the primary closure.”

  Mike felt sick. It was real. It sounded real. He could visualize the procedure. He’d seen it done. “What was my MESS score?”

  “Nine.”

  “What about a reattachment? Did you have the hand?”

  “Yes, Chatham brought it, but we’re not equipped to do a reattachment here, and even if we could, we didn’t have sufficient soft tissue. You’ll be going to Landstuhl in an hour, where you’ll have a revision, then you’ll be going home.”

  “I want to see it!”

  “What?” Peddie blanched under his stubble. “Dr. Scanlon, Mike—”

  “I want to see my hand! I know you haven’t thrown it out yet! I want it back! It’s mine!”

  “Nobody’s ever asked—”

  “Go get it, now!”

  “Okay, please, stay calm.” Peddie turned away and left the recovery room.

  “And I want my jacket, too! I want the things in my pocket! I want everything that belongs to me, right now!” Mike fought to regain control. His gaze fell on his bandaged stump, which suddenly was killing him, his traumatized nerves burning all the way up to his neck.

  “Here we go, and those items, too.” Peddie returned with a stainless steel tray covered with a blue surgical drape and a plastic baggie that held Emily’s picture, the crucifix, and the milagro.

  Mike accepted the baggie and put it on his chest, then reached for the tray. Every movement jostled his left arm, sending pain shooting through his nerves, like electricity running along a live wire. “I’ll take that.”

  “Here.” Peddie handed him the tray, and Mike set it down on his belly, appalled at its lightness, as if it held thin air. He didn’t want to take off the drape with Peddie watching. He wanted to be alone with his arm, a thought that struck him as completely nuts. Maybe he could hold his own hand.

  “Please go and give me some privacy.”

  “First, I’ll elevate you.” Peddie cranked up the bed, and Mike realized he’d been in Peddie’s position before, but he never knew how it felt from the other side.

  “Listen, I’m sorry. I know you’re just doing your job. I guess you saved my life, so thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m sorry about what happened, and I understand.” Peddie stepped away, his mouth a grim line. “Call for me or Jamie if you have any questions. Your morphine is on a drip, and the button’s on your right. You know how it works.”

  “I do, thanks,” Mike said, as Peddie left the room. He eyed the drape, but wasn’t ready to remove it. The tang of alcohol, iodine, and blood emanated from the tray, and reality began to set in. He contemplated the fact that he was sitting apart from his arm, which was no longer attached to his body.

  On impulse, Mike picked up the tray and moved it onto his chest, so that it met the end of his compression bandage, crudely completing his arm, the way he was born and always assumed he’d die. He pressed the button on the morphine drip, then pushed it again and again, thou
gh it was pointless. The drip had a governor, so it was like pressing an elevator button once you’d already called the elevator.

  In time, he felt a pleasant snow begin to cloud his brain, so he removed the drape.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Mike was waiting to be transported to Landstuhl when Chatty and Joe entered the recovery room, and his throat caught with surprise. He hadn’t thought he’d get a chance to say good-bye to them. Chatty walked over, putting on a brave face, and Joe had a raw, reddish burn on his left cheek, glistening under Neosporin.

  Mike managed a smile. “Doesn’t anybody check the security around here?”

  “Shut up.” Chatty rested his hand on the bed rail. “How are you?”

  “Fine, not bad. How did you get away?”

  “If we told you, we’d have to kill you.”

  “They tried that already,” Mike said, and they all chuckled, hollowly.

  “How’re they treating you? Peddie’s a good guy.”

  “Yeah.” Mike gestured at Joe’s burn. “You got a souvenir, huh?”

  Joe forced a smile. “Gonna get a tattoo over it, yo.”

  Chatty interrupted, “I told him, get a tattoo of me. Put my face on your face, then you’ll be pretty.” They chuckled again, but it died down quickly.

  Mike fell suddenly silent. There was everything to say, but he didn’t know where to start. He felt so off-balance, and now he was leaving them, when things were hot. He felt afraid for them and tried not to choke up. “I hate to leave you in the lurch.”

  “Don’t say that. We’ll be fine.” Chatty’s lower lip puckered. “Scholl’s, about your arm, you have to know Peddie did everything he could. I assisted, I was right there and so was Joe.” His blue eyes filmed. “I don’t know if that makes you feel better or worse.”

  “Better.” Mike nodded, gritting his teeth not to cry.

  “Peddie tried to save it, and so did I. Really.”

  “I know, thanks.” Mike didn’t want to lose it, especially seeing them for the last time.

  “Thank you for saving my life. You got me and Joe out of that Humvee.”

  “Right,” Joe chimed in, his thickish Adam’s apple moving up and down. “Thank you, Doc. Dermot says it, too.”

  Mike cleared his throat. “You would’ve gotten out just fine.”

  “Not true.” Chatty shook his head. “Anyway, I owe you, so here’s what. I’ll be home in the summer, and Joe’s out a month before that, and we’re all gonna work together.”

  “What?”

  “My buddies are foot guys and they said they’ll put you to work, in the same building as me. We don’t even have to break up. Our love abides.” Chatty forced a smile, his eyes shiny. “Joe’s in too, with my group. The 556th is moving to a better location, under much better management.”

  “Chatty, how?” Mike didn’t want to say out loud that he couldn’t be a surgeon again. That he didn’t know how he’d earn a living. He couldn’t even freeze a wart.

  “Scholl’s, what happened to you is unacceptable.” Chatty gestured at Mike’s arm. “I’m not going to accept it and neither are you. You’re going to go through rehab and get your prosthesis, and if you can’t do surgery anymore, you’ll work with my foot guys without doing surgery. We’ll figure it out. We can do it. You’ll see.”

  There was a commotion at the threshold of the recovery room, and they turned to see Lieutenant Colonel Davy entering the room with his aides. Joe straightened up as Davy strode to Mike’s bed. “Major Scanlon, I trust you’re recovering well.”

  “Fine, thanks,” Mike answered, having nothing else to say. Chatty looked daggers at Davy, who ignored him.

  “Major Scanlon, the Army appreciates your service and your sacrifice. You acted with unparalleled bravery during the ambush, and I have submitted a recommendation that you be awarded the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star. Until that is approved and can be awarded with the appropriate air of formality, I would like to present you with this coin.” Davy shook his hand and gave him a gold coin.

  “Thank you.” Mike accepted the coin, surprised. He never thought he’d get a medal and he never wanted one. He wanted his arm back.

  “Major Scanlon, we wish you safe travels to Landstuhl and on your trip home. Best of luck in future endeavors. Thank you again for your service.” Davy turned to Joe. “When will you be getting a replacement for Dr. Scanlon?”

  Chatty’s eyes flared with outrage. “Who the hell do you think you are? He’s right here.”

  “Pardon me?” Davy arched an eyebrow, and his aides exchanged looks.

  “You try and replace him when he’s right here? You drop a coin on his chest, like a tip? You put in for a medal? Is that all you got after you blackmailed him into renewing?”

  “That’s enough, Chatham,” Davy shot back.

  “Oh you don’t like that? Then you’re really not gonna like this.” Chatty pulled back his arm and punched Davy solidly in the jaw.

  And then it was on.

  Part Two

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “Welcome home, Mike!” everybody said, smiling hard. A small crowd greeted him in Bob and Danielle’s elegant living room, which smelled like perfume, roast beef, and fresh gin. “Welcome home!”

  “Wow, hi!” Mike felt touched, if caught off-balance, and backed against the front door next to Bob.

  “Welcome, Mike!” Danielle beamed, next to Sara and her husband Don, Jim and his wife Laura, and a few of Bob and Danielle’s friends.

  “Thanks.” Mike set his backpack down and stood so that his left arm was slightly behind him. He was trying to hide his empty sleeve, though he knew they had to see it, sooner or later. Evidently, sooner.

  “Mike, we love you.” Danielle hugged him, and Mike kept his left arm out of the way. He’d had revision surgery a month and a half ago, and his incision had healed, though it throbbed under its compression bandage, which told him it was time for another Oxycontin. Danielle released him, her eyes shining. “I hope you’re not overwhelmed by the welcoming committee, but we wanted you to know how happy we are that you’re home.”

  “Thanks so much.” Mike kept up his smile, trying to process everything. Danielle’s hair was longer, uncharacteristically loose to her shoulders, and she had on an artsy dress, even more almost-but-not-quite-Chloe than a year ago. It bollixed up his emotions, given his confused feelings for Chloe. “This is so nice of you, and everybody.”

  “It’s our pleasure.” Danielle smiled back. “We’re so proud and happy.”

  “To Mike!” Jim raised his glass, and Laura and the others followed suit, chiming in, “To Mike!” “We love you!” “Welcome home!” “To our hero!”

  “Thanks so much.” Mike took in all the wet eyes, and everyone looked happy to see him, even if they felt sorry for him. “Where’s Emily?”

  “Here she is!” Sara stepped forward with Emily, who had on a blue velvet dress that brought out the cornflower hue of her eyes, so much like Chloe’s that Mike felt a deep pang of love and grief, knotted together. Emily was only a year and eight months old, but she had grown so much bigger, her body long and on the wiry side. Her face was wider, her cheeks were chubby, but her nose and lips still retained the soft, unformed contours of a baby’s.

  “Hi, Emily.” Mike couldn’t help but reach for her little hand, just to make contact with her, to reassure himself that she was real and they were both alive.

  Emily turned away, biting her knuckle, and Sara smiled, tolerantly. “Emily, turn around, it’s Daddy. Say hi.” She handed Emily over. “Mike, here, don’t worry, take her.”

  “Emily, come to Daddy, honey.” Mike held out his right arm, and Emily rested in the crook of his elbow, her diaper crinkling. “You got so big! What a big girl!” She still didn’t face him, a bout of shyness, but at least she didn’t start crying or launch herself from his embrace, however defective. “Hi Emily, how are you, sweetie?”

  Emily stayed turned away, her knuckle in her mouth, and Sara pat
ted her arm. “Emily, say hello to Daddy. That’s your Daddy.”

  “Emily, hi.” Mike caught a whiff of a strawberry shampoo that clung to her wispy blonde curls. “Can’t you say hi?” He wanted to hear her voice, how she spoke, and which words she knew. He tried to think of a way to get her to talk and noticed she had on shiny patent shoes. “What pretty shoes. Are they new?” Emily kept her head turned, but Mike wanted to try again. “Emily, are your shoes new? Do you want to talk to Daddy? Girls like shoes, right?”

  Emily turned back. “Mommy, I want Mommy!”

  Jim called out, “Welcome to fatherhood, pal!”

  Everybody laughed but Mike, who felt disturbed, though not on his own behalf. Chloe was Mommy, but he seemed to be the only one who remembered that, because Danielle was already stepping forward, holding out her arms for Emily.

  “I’ll take her, Mike.” Danielle accepted Emily, kissed her on her smooth cheek, and cuddled her close.

  “Excuse me a minute,” Mike said, trying to get his bearings. He retrieved his backpack and turned toward the stairwell. “I’m just going to run upstairs and change. Be right back.”

  “Of course.” Danielle nuzzled Emily, who buried her face in her neck. “You don’t need help, do you?”

  “No, thanks,” Mike answered, forcing a smile. He hustled up the stairs, hit the landing, and hurried down the hallway to the guest room where he’d stayed before. He flicked on the light, closed the door behind him, and fished out his bottle of Oxycontin from his backpack. He went into the bathroom and gulped one with water, then put the bottle back in his backpack. He was supposed to be weaning himself off the higher dosages, but he was in pain.

  He crossed to the bureau and opened the drawer, and Chloe’s cell phone was where he’d left it. He was dying to know who she was sleeping with. He picked it up and pressed the ON button, but the battery had lost power. He went back to his backpack and got his own charger, because he had the same phone. He plugged it into the outlet and phone, pressed On, and Chloe’s phone came to life.