Cabin of Axes - Bea Paige Page 0,36
how to deliver medications, I remember the skills to revive someone using CPR. I remember medical facts. Strangely, I don’t yet remember where I worked or even trained. That part is hidden, but I am aware of everything I need to know to suture a flesh wound, which is what it looks like to me from where I’m standing. Though to be certain I need to get a good look.
“You’re a nurse?” This time it’s Mathieson’s turn to blurt that out.
“Yes.” I know it’s the truth, just like I know these men and I have met before, fucked before, maybe even loved before. “I know how to clean and suture a wound. I’ve done it a thousand times before,” I explain.
“Have you remembered everything?” Franklin asks. There’s a stillness to his body, a wariness as he flicks his gaze between me, Berrin and Mathieson.
“Everything?” I ask, frowning. Maybe I wouldn’t think it so odd a turn of phrase if he wasn’t looking at me so strangely.
“I meant anything else,” he replies quickly, and even though I want to press him further about his choice of wording, I don’t. My need to fix what’s broken takes over. Mathieson’s hurt and I’m a nurse. I fix things. I care for people. That’s what I do. What I’ve always wanted to do ever since I was a little girl.
“No, nothing else,” I reply, and just for a moment I swear I see relief in Franklin’s eyes, but it’s fleeting, and I can’t be certain. “I’m a nurse and I have all this knowledge inside of me. It’s weird. I don’t remember where I trained, what college I went too, where I worked, but I’m grateful because I remember something that’s vital to me.” My gaze flicks to Mathieson. “You should be grateful too.”
“Is that so?” he grumbles, arching a brow.
“Yes. That wound needs to be cleaned thoroughly and sutured. You should go to the hospital where they can deal with it properly, but I can sew it up providing you have all the correct equipment and haven’t severed any tendons. If you have then I’m afraid you’ll have no choice but to go to hospital. That will need specialist care and surgery.”
Mathieson wiggles his fingers, scowling a little. “No tendons severed. It’s not deep, just a flesh wound. So sew me up, Doc.”
“I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse,” I correct him, rifling through the first aid box. I’m pleasantly surprised at what I find inside. There’s everything I’d need to administer a high level of first aid, including cleaning and suturing a wound. “I’m just going to wash my hands and put some gloves on so I can take a proper look at the wound and check you’ve not clipped a tendon or damaged a muscle, okay?”
Mathieson nods his head. “Knock yourself out.”
“Well, this is interesting,” Berrin says, a hint of a smile in his voice.
“Could one of you clean the surface of the counter please so that I can lay out what I need?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at Berrin and Franklin.
Franklin rips his gaze away from mine and swallows hard. “Sure, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” I return to the sink, feeling three sets of eyes on me as I thoroughly wash and dry my hands. Pulling on a pair of sterile gloves, I begin laying out the items I need on the now clean surface.
“Let’s take a look, shall we?” I say, giving Mathieson a reassuring smile as I cup his hand in mine and press at the wound which, fortunately, runs along the fleshier part of his palm from just beneath the base of his little finger and down to almost where his hand meets his wrist. It’s a clean wound, that is, it isn’t jagged or ripped. “How did you do this?” I ask, as I gently press against the edges searching for deeper damage that only an operation can fix.
Mathieson winces. “With my flick knife. My hand slipped when I was cutting a length of rope. Stupid accident. I was distracted,” he mutters.
I meet his gaze and his stony eyes are more billowing rain clouds than flint this time. “When was the last time you had a tetanus jab?”
“Last year.”
“That’s good, one less thing to worry about. Okay, so first I need to irrigate the wound with some sterile saline,” I explain, letting his hand go and grabbing the bottle of saline solution from the counter.
“I’ve already cleaned it,” Mathieson complains, as I guide him