Part IV: Post-Operative Procedures

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          Gabriel took off the covering over Nova's hair and smoothed it over a few times as the anesthesiologist and head doctor promptly left the surgery theatre as instructed. He admired his chest as it rose and fell with the ventilator and placed his hand on it to feel it for himself for a few moments. Finally, alone with him, he allowed himself to feel all the arousal he'd been denying during the bulk of the procedure.

          Even though the anesthesia reversal agent would help Nova wake up much faster than usual, it would still take a little bit to kick in. He had noticed that Dr. Ali had been a little late with switching out the anesthetic gas for oxygen too, which would interact with the reversal agent. He made a mental note to call her out on it later.

          He trailed his hand down to Nova's belly and rested it there. His eyes wandered over to the tapered asterisk-shaped push-holes in the far wall, where the patient's garments had been hung up. He went over to it to neatly set aside his shoes, pants, undershirt and scrub top.

          He returned to Nova wearing only his socks, a tight pair of boxers, a stethoscope around his neck, and his surgical cap. He fiddled with the interface of the ventilator off to the right side of the table's head, and it powered off a short time later. He then squeezed Nova's left breast and pushed down, so he could feel his heart beating beneath.

          He waited, and waited, but it was too soon for him to be off the ventilator—the monitor started to beep urgently at him that the patient's respiratory rate was zero.

          "I know, I know," he said to it with mild annoyance. He trailed his finger along a row of colour-coded buttons beneath the monitor and found the one that would silence that particular alarm. It chirped affirmatively upon being pressed, and the persistent beeping ceased.

          As he turned his attention back to Nova, he undid one of the ties for the protective mask on his face and let it hang from his neck. He then pressed and held a button on the column of the table, and as it lowered to sit closer to the floor, Gabriel bent down and administered ten slow, deep rescue breaths in a row by blowing into the tube that protruded from his lips. He finished by planting a soft, tender kiss on his forehead.

          After the table was at his desired height, he went to one of the supply carts and found an ambu bag. He hastily attached it to the oxygen supply at the table's head and ventilated the motionless patient twice in quick succession. Then, he carefully peeled back the adhesive strips that held the probe in place on his stomach, disposed of them, and pulled a cart over to him to set the device aside. As he removed it, the adjustable part of the probe automatically reverted back to its default state by shrinking the pliable metal alloy back down, to be compact for storage.

          He moved to stand between Nova's legs next and swung the tube of the stethoscope over his head so he could use it. As he was getting the earpieces in position, he glanced at something flashing on the vitals monitor.

          "Tsk tsk," he tutted at the flashing oxygen saturation number. It read 90%, but fell to 89% as he looked away. "So needy."

          He placed the bell of the stethoscope over the mitral valve of Nova's heart and pushed into his left breast as he positioned it to his satisfaction. With his free hand, he took the oxygenated ambu bag and squeezed it while holding it loosely to his face. He took a deep bracing breath, then tossed it aside again. As the hard plastic clattered against the surface of the metal cart nearby, Gabriel bent down, closed his lips around the endotracheal tube, and blew into it as hard as he could. He relished in the feeling of Nova's torso expanding against his skin and the sound of his lungs moving against the backdrop of his heartbeat. He pressed down with the weight of his upper body to force the air out of him again, and repeated this until he was sufficiently hard.

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