Page 30 of Double Exposure

My father nods. “It’s definitely broken.” Now he looks away. I’m suddenly on the outside, watching all three men work on my father.

I have trouble tracking the flurry of activity that follows. My dad, all of one hundred and sixth pounds of him is gently extracted from his self-made igloo. Though he tries to assist, Carter keeps telling Dad to let them do the work.

My dad is thin and wiry, built and strong, but in the morning light, he looks gaunt and pale with scraggly facial hair. Though he only shaves about once a week, he was already overdue when he left three days ago.

Carter asks him a series of questions as they load him onto the gurney: has he hit his head (no), is he dizzy (a little), does he have pain (yes), his leg, just below the knee. Broken skin (no).

This makes me sigh with relief. No compound fractures.

Ryan folds the tarp and retrieves my father’s camera bag and pack while Carter and Ross open the sides of the gurney and remove plastic splints.

Dad lays on the gurney, talking like nothing is wrong, being chatty. I could kill him.

“Your mother called you, then?”

“Yes, because you hadn’t checked in.”

“I must have given her quite a scare.”

“You gave all of us a scare. You gave me a scare.”

Then Ryan says what we are all thinking: “I don't understand how you're still alive.”

My dad, despite everything, grins. “I've been in worse situations,” he says, smiling.

Carter interrupts. “This trip across the snow won’t be easy, Mr. Choi. There is a little suspension in the gurney but not much. We need to stabilize that leg first.”

My dad nods and then closes his eyes as Carter presses lightly with fingers until my father holds his breath.

“This will have to be isolated. The cold probably helped with keeping the swelling down.”

My father has a quick intake of breath. “That’s definitely it.”

After explaining that Ross and Carter are both trained medics, Ross then lays the splints on either side while Carter wraps the straps around the lower leg and secures the splint. All Dad does is stare wide-eyed at the trees above us.

“Done,” says Carter gently squeezing my father’s shoulder before standing up.

He has no idea how invasive my father probably thought that touch on his shoulder was. But Carter is amazing. His gentle touch and caring voice, all reassure my father he is in good hands.

The trek back to the helicopter is slow and when the team hits a bumpy patch or felled trees, they carry the gurney. I stand outside the helicopter as they load my father in and latch the gurney back into place.

While Ross climbs into the cabin, Ryan begins to unfurl an IV.

Carter sees my face, “He’s dehydrated and hypothermic, but that’s all we’re going to do right now,” he says. Then he cups my chin with a bare hand. “How are you doing?”

I nod and swallow hard. “I’m fine.”

Rather than trying to milk something out of me he accepts my answer.

“Where do you want to sit?”

“With my dad.”

Carter helps me up and pulls down a jumper seat. I settle while he pulls down one for himself. Ryan passes off the IV line and hands the bag to me. “Hold it higher than his arm.”

I nod.

The propellers whirl, and Ross leans back to talk to us. “Set?”

“Let’s transport,” says Carter already working on my father’s arm, trying to find a vein.

“I have very low blood pressure,” says my father in his measured voice. “You may have to use a strap.”

As we lift off and skim over the tops of the trees, Carter finds a vein in the top of my father’s hand and inserts the needle.

Heat pours from a series of vents. My father begins to shiver violently and I know exactly what he’s going through—a very rare experience for me. I never know what he’s thinking.

I close my eyes for a moment, to breathe a sigh . . . of relief? To let go of my anger? To allow myself to feel grateful to these three men who have risked their lives for me and Dad? My last thought is the only one I’m sure about at this point.

When I open my eyes, Carter is not in the jump seat. He’s kneeling on the floor, one hand on my father’s shoulder.

That hand stays in place the entire way to the hospital.

I don’t know which man I’m more impressed with: Carter for being so professional and caring—or my father, for having his guard down and letting Carter stay with him.

I’m suddenly angry with both my parents. I’ve been trained to have my guard permanently up—in my family exposure, personal vulnerability, is a weakness.