Page 64 of Collateral Damage
"Sorry." His touch becomes even more careful, hovering over the site of the injury. "This isn’t my area of expertise."
He works in silence, rewrapping the ankle with practiced, clinical technique. Firm but not too tight. Supporting without cutting off circulation. His hands are radiating heat, and I’m suddenly, dizzyingly aware of how close he is. I can see the individual dark strands of his hair falling forward as he concentrates, and the small, pale scar above his left eyebrow.
I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice from wavering. "Whoever taught you that did a fine job," I say.
"My CO will be pleased to hear it. I failed the Combat Lifesaver the first time. Had to re-sit it."
A small smile tugs at my lips, a reprieve from the tension. "You failed?"
"Twice, actually." He secures the wrap with metal clips, his fingers lingering for a second too long. "Couldn't get the IV placement right under pressure. Kept blowing the veins."
The idea of Silas failing at anything makes my mouth curve into a genuine smile. "I had to retake my neuroanatomy final. Completely blanked on the cranial nerves during the practical."
A ghost of a smile crosses his face, humanizing the hardened lines. "How bad?"
"I put the accessory nerve where the vagus should be. My professor wasn't impressed. He said I wasn’t cut out for medicine. I was devastated.”
Silas looks up at me, frowning, his gaze intense. “But you passed?”
I nod, the old disappointment nipping at me. “I did.”
“What happened to him?”
I wince. “His wife left him, and he started drinking. He lost his position at the University and lost his medical license. I don’t know what happened after that.”
He shakes his head. “Nothing good, I’d guess. Alcohol is good for two things: sterilization and emergency pain medication.”
I nod. "Couldn't agree more. A significant portion of the stroke patients I see have alcohol as a contributing factor. Increases blood pressure, affects clotting, damages the vessels over time."
He shifts away from me, but stays near enough that we can carry on the conversation, the warmth of the fire pulling us into a shared space.
“What made you pick neurology?”
I pause, the question catching me off guard for a split second. A familiar spark of energy settles in my chest as I think back to those first weeks of medical school.
“The second I started studying the nervous system, I knew I wanted to learn more,” I say, meeting his eyes. “I’d originally planned on general medicine. I wanted something predictable and straightforward, but that changed the moment I saw how the brain functions.”
I take a breath, the conviction steady in my voice. “The more I dug in, the less I saw it as a textbook requirement and the more I saw its beauty. I realized the nervous system isn't just a bunch of wires; it’s this incredible, complicated roadmap of God’s design. Every nerve, every synapse—it’s so intricate it’s divine. I went in looking for a career path, but I stayed because I found something wonderful.”
He watches me for a moment, his expression unreadable before a flicker of understanding crosses his face. He nods slowly, his voice dropping an octave.
“How do you reconcile your faith with suffering?” he asks. “You see firsthand the design and then see the chaos when it breaks.”
I look away for a second, the faces of my patients blurring in my mind. “When things go wrong, it’s the result of our fallen world. Death and disease were never part of God’s original plan.” I meet his gaze again, my voice softer but firm. “I think about what Joni Eareckson Tada says—that God permits what He hates to accomplish what He loves. Even in a body that’s failing, There’s a soul He is refining.”
He remains silent, listening, so I continue. “And Amy Carmichael... she wrote about how our spirits can be 'unshaken' even when the physical world is crumbling. She saw pain not as an absence of God, but as a place where His grace becomes tangible. In neurology, I see the brokenness every day, but I also see the miracle of the human spirit’s resilience.”
“Do you tell your patients any of that?”
My lip twitches. “Well, there are rules. Occasionally, I bend them.”
He laughs. “Likewise. Although when I do it, occasionally I need government approval.”
I have no idea what that means exactly, only that he probably lingers in the gray more than I want to believe.
“You never said what your father did,” Silas says, leaning back.
I eye him. “You didn’t find that out?”
