Recoveries... a KnightWATCH story

Chapter 2

         “Sulu”, Emily said into her helmet mic, “we’re ready to go.”

         “Okay.” He pressed his radio key. “Marshall Tower, Lifeguard Seven-Zero-Two-Sierra-Kilo, airborne with patient, squawking five-five-zero-one.” He pulled up on the collective control in his left hand, lifting the aircraft off the ground. “Proceeding VFR direct to Carrolton Memorial.”

         “Lifeguard Two Sierra Kilo,” the tower controller replied. “Copy your squawk and information. You’re clear direct to Carrolton. Safe flight.”

         “Dispatch from Sky Two,” Emily radioed on a different frequency. “Off the scene with four, inbound Carrolton, requesting a med channel.”

         “Copy, Sky Two, off the scene with four, inbound Carrolton. Med six is up and ready. Just advising, Knight 41 was diverted to St. Vincent’s.”

         “Copy info. Sky Two medic is going off channel.”

* * *

         “All right,” Karl Marx, M.D., yelled over the din of the Carrolton Trauma Center. “What’s our status?”

         “Quick Care is handling all minor walk-ins,” replied Stephanie Berglund. “We’ve got two curtain areas set aside in case something major comes in over there.”

         “Trauma room one is ready for the patient being flown in on SkyKnight Two,” added Melinda Bradley. “OR is standing by, with orthopedics also on hold. After that, we’re closed to trauma.”

         “Okay, Mindy. Any word on this star patient we’re waiting on?”

         Melinda grumbled under her breath. Knowing she hated that name, Marx made a point of using it whenever things were upset in his little world. He firmly believed that misery wasn’t an individual emotion, but one to be shared. He loathed his name (his Far-Right-Wing Republican parents also had a strange sense of humor), feeling it did not befit someone from a very rich family. But he couldn’t change it; his parents had made it clear he would kiss his inheritance good-bye if he tried. It was one of the reasons he often shared his misery.

         “No specifics yet, other than a car-vs.-ambulance crash. The patient that Trauma Two just sent up to OR was from the same accident. She was the patient in the ambulance that was involved.”

         “Good grief! Goddamn ambulance drivers not driving safely. No wonder she was hurt so bad.”

         Melinda and the other staffers in earshot collectively bit their tongues. No one know why, but Karl Marx hated ambulance crews. When they were in the ER, Marx would alternately deride them or blow them off. In the staff lounge, he would sometimes even go so far as to say he had saved his patients in spite of their bungling. Most of the other doctors were skeptical of these statements, and nurses who worked with Marx considered them bald-faced lies. Because of his attitude, almost everyone suspected Marx could be in big trouble if he ever needed an ambulance, depending on the crew and their level of professionalism.

         “SkyKnight Two to Carrolton Trauma, how copy?”

         Melinda walked over to the desk, being sure to beat Marx to the radio. Knowing that Marx disdained helicopters as a “look good for television contrivance”, she wanted to be sure someone in the ER got an accurate report from the flight crew. Melinda donned a headset and pushed the transmit trigger.

         “Sky Two, this is Melinda at Carrolton. Copy loud and clear, go ahead.”

         “Carrolton, this is Emily H. on Sky Two. We are about four minutes from your pad with a motor vehicle crash patient, male, age 27. MVC was head-on impact with heavy damage to patient's vehicle, patient had to be extricated. Patient was the restrained driver of his vehicle. His airbag did not, repeat not deploy. Patient is in full spinal package with cervical collar, KED board and long spine board. We have two large-bore IVs of Ringers Lactate running on pressure infusers. Latest vitals: blood pressure 90 over 60; EKG showing heart rate of 110, sinus tachycardia with no abnormalities; respirations 24 and labored; pupils are equal and reactive to light; skin is warm, dry and pale. We currently have oxygen running at 12 liters by nonrebreather mask. Patient has not received any medications, reported to be allergic to Codeine. Patient is ‘A’ on AVPU scale, GCS of 15, in large amount of pain. We’ve noted deformities to both legs, and probable fracture of the left radius and ulna. Possible flail chest on the right side. This will be a hot offload. We will not need a cot waiting at the pad. With our proximity we are not requesting orders. Do you have any questions?”

         “Negative questions, Sky Two,” Melinda replied. “You’ll go direct to trauma room one on arrival, and help is waiting at the pad. See you in two to three. Carrolton clear.” Melinda removed the headset and turned to walk away, only to walk right into Dr. Marx.

         “Well?”

         “Yes, Dr. Marx?”

         “You forgot a very important question, Mindy.”

         “And that question is?”

         “Who is he? The idiot EMT, or the poor schmuck the idiot EMT ran off the road?”

         “We know the patient needed to be extricated. He’s got major injuries. You might say he’s a VIP... a Very Injured Person. Now, why is who he is so important to you?” Melinda stepped closer, onto her tiptoes, looking up into Marx’s face and lowering her voice. “Will the patient’s identity,” she snarled, “affect the level of care he receives?”

         “Uh, no, uhm, of course not.” Though standing over a head taller than Melinda’s 5’ 2”, Marx suddenly became the much shorter of the two. Melinda turned and walked away, not allowing Marx a chance to rebut.

         The doors to the helipad elevator opened and Emily, André and two patient care assistants (a job once known as an orderly) wheeled a cot into the ER. Before the group could get into trauma room one, Marx walked up, shouldered Emily aside and started looking at David. Stephanie Berglund walked over to Melinda.

         “Mel,” she said under her breath, “way to go. You gave him exactly what he deserved.”

         “Please remember that at the disciplinary hearing, Steph. He’ll --”

         “Never get the chance, if I’ve got anything to say. He’s been running roughshod over people ever since he started here six months ago. It’s about time he got some of it back. Also, he’s not gonna get this case. As soon as I heard we had a flight trauma coming in, I paged Angie Swanson.”

         “Okay, people,” yelled Marx, “let’s get this guy out of here. This... EMT (he spat the letters out with audible contempt) is Ortho’s problem, not ours.”

         “Not yet, doctor,” Emily rebutted. “You haven’t taken report, checked him over, gotten X-rays or seen if he’s stable enough to go to surgery.”

         “He’s here, so he’s OBVIOUSLY stable,” Marx retorted. “Lady, you don’t have the experience or knowledge to contradict me --”

         “But I do,” interrupted a soft, husky voice from right behind Marx. “Doctor, is what she said about your lack of evaluation true?” Marx froze and slowly turned to the voice of Dr. Angelina Maria “Angie” Swanson, Chief Trauma Surgeon and Marx’s boss.

         “Dr. Swanson,” Marx stammered. “They -- they just walked in, I, uh, I haven’t had time --”

         “We’ll talk later. I’m taking over. Someone give me the bullet. What’s open, Stephanie?”

         “Trauma one is ready and waiting.”

         “Then let’s move like we’ve got a purpose, people.” Emily gave Dr. Swanson a quick recap as Stephanie handed over a written copy of the radio report. André, Melinda and the care assistants wheeled David into the treatment room.

         “Dr. Swanson,” Marx said, trailing behind the group. “It isn’t necessary for you to take this case. I’ll make sure he --”

         “You’re relieved,” Swanson acidly replied as she entered the treatment room. “In fact, clock out and go home. You obviously need some rest and time to think. Now go.” She closed the door on his face to emphasize the point.

         “All right, folks,” Melinda told the crowd. “Lift him gently on three. One... two... three!” David yelled in pain as he was jostled about while being moved to the exam table.

         “Relax, sir,” Melinda told David, bending down so he could hear her over the organized chaos of the trauma room. “You’re safe, and we won’t be moving you for a while. What’s your name?”

         “David... David Longfellow. How... how bad?”

         “We’re finding out now, David. You’re probably looking at surgery and a pretty long recovery. Now, what’s your best side?”

         “My best... what?”

         “Your best side, for pictures. Doesn’t matter, our camera sees right through you.”

         “Melinda,” someone yelled, “need you to clear out for x-rays.”

         “Melinda?” David asked.

         “I’ll be back in a moment.” As she walked off, Emily and André came to David’s side. Emily took David’s right hand in hers, and André put a hand on David’s shoulder.

         “David, we have to go,” Emily said. “As soon as we’re restocked, they need us to go available for coverage. You’re in good hands here, and we’ll all be thinking and praying for you.”

         “And remember,” André chimed in, “just nod your head a lot, say ‘yes’ to all their questions, and give them almost as much trouble as they give you. Just keep fighting, and you’ll be fine.”

         David let go of Emily’s hand, then reached inside his shirt and pulled out a small crucifix on a chain. Holding the crucifix, he told his coworkers, “please, guys, each of you put your right hand around mine.” They did so, and Emily placed her left hand on top of the gathered hands. “Dear God,” David intoned, “thank you for the skill of these friends and others who have and will soon help me. Please watch over them and all who help the sick and injured, and keep them safe from harm. Amen.” Emily and André both muttered soft “Amen's”, then left the room. Walking their cot to the helipad elevator, André saw the look of worry marring the beauty of his partner’s Amerasian face.

         “Emily, we’ve done what we can for him. And we both know he’s in good hands. Don’t worry too much about him, but keep him in your thoughts and prayers.”

         “I know, André,” she sighed. “I’m also worried about Connie McKenzie. Did you see when she tried to climb on board with us?”

         “Yes, and you did the right thing. Don’t let that bother you.”

         “It’s not that. André...” she said as they walked onto the elevator, “I saw her face. I saw her eyes. She was in fear, almost panicked when we took over patient care. I’m afraid that if something does happen... she’s going to fall apart.”

         Back in the trauma room, the x-ray techs were finishing their pictures. As they left, the trauma team came back in. The lead x-ray tech promised Dr. Swanson he would get the films developed immediately. Melinda walked back to David’s head.

         “I told you I’d be back, David.”

         “Please, Melinda... let me... let me see... your face.” Surprised by the request, Melinda leaned close to his face. She pulled her surgical mask down for a second, revealing her face and giving him her most encouraging smile, then put it back in place. She was even more surprised when David started crying.

         “David, what’s wrong?”

         “Not,” he sobbed, “not how...:”

         “David?” Neither of them noticed Steph walk over.

         “Melinda... I’ve been... wanting to meet you. I just.” he continued to sob, “I just... I didn’t... I never thought it would be this way!”

         “Just relax, David,” Melinda softly replied, suddenly at a loss for words.

* * *

         “Any word from the OR?”

         “About who, Steph?”

         “The two wreck patients we sent up, Mel.” It was five hours later, and things had quieted down. No one, however, wanted to guess if it was the start of a quiet Sunday evening, or just a calm between storms.

         “The lady, 31’s original patient,” she replied, “made it out of OR into Surgical ICU. She’s listed as ‘grave’ right now. They’re not sure if she’ll make it through the night.”

         “And the other one, Mel? The EMT?”

         “I... well...” Melinda slowly turned her face away, staring at the counter she was leaning against. “I haven’t heard.”

         “You mean you haven’t asked, you chicken.”


         “What?” Melinda turned and looked her friend in the eye, a small amount of fury and embarrassment coloring her face.

         “I heard what he said to you in trauma one, Mel. In the five years I’ve known you, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words. And just now was the second. Admit it, you knew exactly who I was talking about. Mel...” she said as she put a hand on Melinda’s shoulder. “Mel, it’s been almost two years. Let Jeremy go, honey. Let him rest in peace.”

         “I don’t know --”

         “Okay, this isn’t the place to talk. But we’re both out of here in 30 minutes. Mike’s in Florida with his Guard unit. I need someone to share some dinner and beer with, and I imagine you could use a friendly ear and shoulder.”

         “Now wait a minute,” Melinda said, her face brightening a little. “You mean to tell me that ‘Major Mike’ left you at home alone? He trusts that his loving, gorgeous, age-40-and-still-attracts-the-college-boys wife won’t go out and party in his absence?”

         “Slipped a cog somewhere, didn’t he?” The two nurses almost fell over laughing, attracting the attention of the other staffers. “Look, Danielle is off at college, Mike Junior -- excuse me, ‘Michael’, age 15 going on 50 -- is out of town until Wednesday with the high school soccer team, and Dear Ol’ Hubby is off playing soldier boy. My house is a bachelorette pad right now, and I could use some company. When’s your next shift?”

         “Not for three days. Why?”

         “That settles it. I’ve got two days away from here when I walk out the door. You’ve got an hour after we get out of here to get your stuff together and come to my place for an old-fashioned sleep over. Stir-fry dinner and the best German beer made in China included.”

         “Well, I don’t --”

         “No buts, Mel. I need the company. You need to talk. And if necessary, I’ll enlist Avery to make sure you’re there.” Avery was a patient care assistant, working his way though nursing school. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, or even threaten one. He didn’t need to. At six feet, seven inches and 310 pounds, all the former college linebacker had to do was walk in and say “hello”. It also didn’t hurt that his voice was low enough in the bass range to register on the Richter scale. “I may just invite him anyway. I hear his fiancée is a rotten cook.”

         “You wouldn’t know it from looking at him,” chimed in Dr. Swanson. “If I ever did a body fat survey, I’d want him as one of the subjects. He looks like he has five percent body fat, tops. A very healthy man. Now, ladies, what are you plotting? And whatever it is, make sure it doesn’t interfere with the staff switch information pass along.”

         “Hard to exchange info,” remarked Melinda, “when your relief has yet to show. Jerry Crandall just stumbled in the door. And I haven’t seen Paula Pawlush or Bill Hockenberry.”

         “Paula’s not here? Interesting. Verrry interesting. Stephanie, who’s your replacement as charge nurse?”

         “Edwin Martello. I gave him a quick overview about 30 minutes ago. He’s down in the cafeteria. Wanted to grab some semblance of dinner before the next rush hits this place. Can’t say that I blame him. Doc, what’s so interesting about Paula not being here?”

         “First off, I’m looking for Jim Cherbourg. He’s supposed to be replacing the already-relieved Dr. Marx. As for Paula being late, consider that Don Drake disappeared about 30 minutes ago for a supposed lunch break. Granted, he’s pulling a double shift today and may be taking a nap. Still, it is an interesting coincidence.”

         “Aaaaahhhh,” commented Melinda, with a knowing smile. “ ‘The Duck’ and his favorite hen are missing at the same time? Interesting indeed.” Don ‘The Duck’ Drake and Paula Pawlush worked so hard at hiding “the great secret that isn’t” (even entering from opposite ends of the ER to avoid being seen together) that the entire hospital knew about them. Whenever they both cut it close on the time clock, there was much speculation (some of it rather colorful) as to the reason for the mutual delay.

         “Well, speak of the various devils.” Paula Pawlush and Bill Hockenberry walked up to the nurses’ station. As Melinda gave them a rundown on current patients, Dr. Swanson walked over to Stephanie.

         “Okay, what’s the deal with you and Melinda?”

         “Doc, I don’t know if you saw or heard what happened with the EMT that was flown in this afternoon. There’s some history behind it, but not involving him.” Dr. Swanson's eyebrows lifted up in an “oh, ho!” gesture of interest. “I’m alone for a few nights, so I’m throwing an impromptu slumber party to see if I can get her to face the issue. Want to join in?”

         “Yes, but you better bring me up to speed on the history.”

         “Okay, the major part of this starts over two years ago...”