Winter Moon

herself of the bad coffee.
        At last a man in surgical greens entered the lounge. "Mrs.
        McGarvey?"
        As heads turned toward her, Heather put the magazine on the end table beside her chair and got to her feet.
        "I'm Dr. Procnow," he said as he approached her. The surgeon who had been working on Jack. He was in his forties, slender, with curly black hair and dark yet limpid eyes that were-or that she imagined were-compassionate and wise. "Your husband's in the post-op recovery room..We'll be moving him into I.C.U shortly."
        Jack was alive.
        "Is he going to be all right?"
        "He's got a good chance," Procnow said.
        The support group reacted with enthusiasm, but Heather was more cautious, not quick to embrace optimism. Nevertheless, relief made her legs weak. She thought she might crumple to the floor.
        As if reading her mind, Procnow guided her to a chair. He pulled another chair up at a right angle to hers and sat facing her.
        "Two of the wounds were especially serious," he said. "One in the leg and one in the abdomen, lower right side. He lost a lot of blood and was in deep shock by the time paramedics got to him."
        "But he'll be all right?" she asked again, sensing that Procnow had news he was reluctant to deliver.
        "Like I said, he's got a good chance. I really mean that. But he's not out of the woods yet."
        Emil Procnow's deep concern was visible in his kind face and eyes, and Heather couldn't tolerate being the object of such profound sympathy because it meant that surviving surgery might have been the least of the challenges facing Jack. She lowered her eyes, unable to meet the surgeon's gaze.
        "I had to remove his right kidney," Procnow said, "but otherwise there was remarkably little internal damage. Some minor blood-vessel problems, a nicked colon. But we've cleaned that up, done repairs, put in temporary abdominal drains, and we'll keep him on antibiotics to prevent infection. No trouble there."
        "A person can live… can live on one kidney, right?"
        "Yes, certainly. He won't notice any difference in his quality of life from that."
        What will make a difference in the quality of his life, what other wound, what damage? she wanted to ask, but she didn't have the courage.
        The surgeon had long, supple fingers. His hands looked lean but strong, like those of a concert pianist. She told herself that Jack could have received neither better care nor more tender mercy than those skilled hands had provided.
        "Two things concern us now," Procnow continued.
        . "Severe shock combined with a heavy loss of blood can sometimes have … cerebral consequences.".Oh, God, please. Not this.
        He said, "It depends on how long there was a decrease in the supply of blood to the brain and how severe the decrease was, how deoxygenated the tissues became."
        She closed her eyes.
        "His E.E.G looks good, and if I were to base a prognosis on that, I'd say there's been no brain damage. We have every reason to be optimistic.
        But we won't know until he regains consciousness."
        "When?"
        "No way of telling. We'll have to wait and see."
        Maybe never.
        She opened her eyes, fighting back tears but not with complete success.
        She took her purse off the end table and opened it.
        As she blew her nose and blotted her eyes, the surgeon said, "There's one more thing. When you visit him in the I.C.U, you'll see he's been immobilized with a restraining jacket and bed straps."
        At last Heather met his eyes again.
        He said, "A bullet or fragment struck the spinal cord. There's bruising of the spine, but we don't see a fracture."
        "Bruising. Is that serious?"
        "It depends on whether any nerve structures were crushed."
        "Paralysis?"
        "Until he's conscious and we can run some simple tests, we can't know.
        If there is paralysis, we'll take another look for a fracture. The important thing is, the cord hasn't been severed, nothing as bad as that. If there's paralysis and we find a fracture, we'll get him into a body cast, apply traction to the legs to get the pressure off the sacrum. We can treat a fracture. It isn't catastrophic. There's an excellent chance we can get him on his feet again."
        "But no guarantees," she said softly.
        He hesitated. Then he said,