The Resolve of the Commonwealth (Perseverance Andrews Book 3) by John Spearman

Author:John Spearman [Spearman, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

17

“Admiral Andrews is out of surgery, sir,” Agent Browning said two hours later. “They have removed all the shrapnel. One piece stopped just short of her aorta. The others hit nothing vital.”

“Thank you, Agent Browning.”

Saint John could not sleep. The events of the previous hours kept him keyed up. After a lengthy internal debate, he decided the day that just ended was, by itself, only the fourth worst day of his life. When he factored in all the potential consequences, however, it might take the top spot. If his paralysis continued, there was no doubt it was number one. If he regained feeling and movement below his neck, then it dropped to third. In addition, the pain of the bolts attaching the harness to his head was a constant irritant. On the few occasions when he calmed his mind, the annoyance from them surged and seized his attention.

He had no way of telling the time without pestering Agent Browning. He felt he had bothered the man enough already. Since he could not move his head, it was some time after sunrise before he could determine that a new day dawned from the changing light in his room. This was confirmed when nurses and a doctor entered the room.

“I’m Dr. Watson,” the man said, “and, no, I don’t know Sherlock Holmes. We are going to roll you to one side so I can scan the back of your neck.”

“Knock yourselves out,” Saint John said grumpily.

When they finished and returned Saint John to his back, he asked, “So, how is it looking?”

“Oh, I just do the scan,” Dr. Wasson said. “The neurologist and the orthopedic surgeon will analyze it.”

“You can’t tell me anything?” Saint John complained.

“Afraid not, admiral,” Wasson said as he departed.

Later, two nurses or orderlies, Saint John couldn’t tell, came and began fussing around his bed. They raised side rails and appeared to be doing something with the intravenous tubes feeding into his arm. He still could not feel anything, but he sensed them in his peripheral vision.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting ready to transport you to surgery, admiral,” one replied.

“For my shoulder?”

“Beats me, sir. I’m just ‘fetch and carry.’ You can ask when we get to the OR.”

“OR?”

“Operating room, sir.”

Minutes later, he arrived at the operating room. Not long after, a dark-skinned man introduced himself as Dr. Sorenson. He asked Saint John if he had any questions.

“You’re operating on my shoulder?”

“Heavens, no! You’re scheduled for a full-frontal lobotomy,” the doctor replied in a serious tone.

“Ha ha,” Saint John said grumpily, showing he was not amused.

“Some people have no sense of humor,” Dr. Sorenson muttered.

“It’s a little hard when you have your head in one of these,” Saint John stated. “Here, just to show I’m a good sport—Doctor, after the operation, will I be able to play the piano?”

“Okay,” Dr. Sorenson said. “You have a sense of humor. To answer your original question, yes, we’re working on your shoulder. Trying to find a silver lining to the current dark

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