A Diamond with Scars

Losing a Part of You

Sirens blared, people shouted, but the darkness still remained. White hot pain was the only thing Mark felt. Pain and a part of him fading.

'We have to take the leg.' a muffled voice stated flatly, a pang of regret laced the words.

'What? Leg? Take?' Hazy thoughts slowly started to turn. Struggling to open his eyes for even a second, Mark was able to see he was in a hospital. The hustle and bustle of the beeping and metal sounds began to take over as his consciousness started to return. 'No...don't take my leg...'

"Get him to the OR NOW! NURSE!" A loud voice threw orders like a dictator.

Mark's body felt paralyzed, it took every ounce of strength he didn't have to turn his head. Things started to become clearer. Tubes of IVs, more figures than he could make out of the nurses and doctors, and the blood...his blood...and packages of donor blood hanging. Mark remembered everything up until when he got shot. Nothing about the others finding him, or getting him to a hospital. Mark's hazy gaze traveled over his body, down to gushes of blood coming from his leg. "No..." he croaked. His throat scratched and felt like someone shoved cotton in his mouth. He was so dry. 'Please not my leg...." but the words only remained in his mind, he couldn't speak anything else.

"Sedate him!" The doctor ordered, taking notice to his regaining consciousness.

Good thing, Mark tried to move and the pain was even worse than when the bullet bit him. He let out a gurgled groan and tensed up, causing a heart monitor to spike.

A stern looking nurse pulled back on a syringe in a small vial before inserting it into the IV site, making Mark's mind go fuzzy again. The darkness returned.

Two days later...

Mark shifted in the uncomfortable hospital bed, glancing out the window. Exhaustion and anger plastered his handsome face. The last two days had been Hell. He had just been moved from the ICU to a normal recovery room, and for that he was grateful. Now he could see Lori, his fiance. He needed her right now, to have someone to hold.

His eyes glanced down to where his legs...leg laid beneath the white thin cloth the hospital called blankets. Biting his lip for what seemed like the hundredth time he replayed what the surgeon told him once he came to.

'Mr. Drummound...the damage to your right lower leg was too severe for us to save...and with the amount of blood loss...we had to amputate below the knee. We were, however, able to save your arm. It will leave a nasty scar.' The doctor explained while examining the wound dressings. 'Once everything heals, we will be able to start you on physical therapy and fitted for a prosthetic.'

He had tried to sound hopeful for Mark, but seeing the look on his face made him shut up real quick. Things would never return to 'normal' for Mark now. He would just have to adjust. Right now, he just wanted Lori. She had to be worried sick, especially being unable to talk to him the last couple days. Mark was constantly fading in and out of consciousness thanks to the morphine the nurse kept pushing into him. He was grateful to sleep through most of it. Now that he was in a normal room he had a PCA to control it himself. Of course, he was maxed out. Having a limb cut off had to be the worst pain anyone could imagine. The pain signals made him still feel like the bullet was ripping through him over and over...except not. Fucking phantom pain. Mark rarely cried, but this was enough to bring any man to tears. His arm hurt too, but he was able to ignore it. Closing his eyes he rested his head against the flat rectangles being passed off as pillows. Everything under the sun ran through his head. Would he recover in time for the wedding? How would he work? There was no way he could go back into the field. He could continue IT work at the department, but it wasn't the same as getting out there on the streets. What about when they had kids? Could he still be able to run after them?

A million more thoughts raced until there was a knock on his door. Mark's eyes snapped open and he realized he was falling asleep again. Damn morphine. His head spun slightly and he fought back a wave of nausea. Reaching for his water and taking a small sip he looked at the doorway.

Lori.

(edited)