Doctor's Orders

22. Trauma

"I know I'm not a doctor," I said confidently. "But my gut tells me it's cancer. She has a suspicious mass in her abdomen, near her left ovary. And get this, she was actually nice to me."

"Hmm, that is strange," he said in a mocking voice, and I playfully slapped his arm. But then a dismayed look took over. It was never fun to find cancer or any other life-threatening illness and I knew it would upset him if that's what it really was.

The night went on and on, one patient after another after another, as it always did. Heart attacks, migraines, broken bones, abdominal pain, vomiting, diarrhea, strokes, even another gunshot wound, but thankfully again, this time it wasn't gang related. I was sure we had seen one of every kind of sickness or injury throughout the night. Only an hour before our shift was up, ambulances came screaming in, carrying victims of a multiple car accident on I-90. I hadn't been on an official trauma team yet, but it soon became clear that this was an all-hands-on-deck situation with the number of victims involved. 

"Jansen!" Dr. Styles barked. "You're with me!" I was confident that he made that call, not because of our private relationship, but because he trusted my skills. I followed him to the ambulance bay where we met the EMT's with a teenage boy on the stretcher with massive bleeding from his chest, neck and face. Chunks of glass were still impaled in his skin. 

We raced alongside him, prepping him to receive the crucial care he would need to survive. I put in the fastest IV I've ever done. I had to put it in his groin because neither arm was in the condition to receive an IV. Harry shouted rapid commands at the rest of the team who were doing everything possible to stop the bleeding, as well as trying to remove the glass without causing more bleeding. The boy was barely conscious, but the procedures for his care were likely to be exceedingly painful, so I began to pump morphine through his IV to take away as much of the pain as possible.

The morphine had barely started dripping when he coded. Suddenly everyone was involved in CPR while his blood pressure continued to slide dangerously low, and then it dropped to nothing. I couldn't fathom how much time had passed, but when I heard Dr. Styles call out, "Time of Death, 6:53 AM," I didn't want to listen, I didn't want to accept his final diagnosis. None of us did; we all wished we could do more when a patient slipped away, somehow bring them back for just another minute so that we could try just a little longer. It was never easy to let go. 

I was jerked out of the state of shock by Dr. Styles commanding me to come with him to work on another patient. Three and a half hours after our shift ended, Harry and I wearily clocked out. Four patients had died, two were in critical condition, and the remaining were also hospitalized. Out of the seven cars involved, not one passenger walked away without needing some level of medical care.

In addition, Mrs. Clark had been sent for a biopsy, and Harry agreed with my initial assessment that it presented as cancer would. That was the hard part about working the ER - we weren't always able to follow patients' care once they were transferred to other departments for testing and other care. I found myself hoping that Mrs. Clark would, in fact, return to the ER with one of her hypochondriac complaints in a few months' time.

It had been a heartbreaking day and I just wanted to forget all of it and go home to sleep. We drove home silently. Without even asking, he followed me into my apartment, and then it felt like he folded his entire body around me in a comforting embrace. "Well, that was one of my worst shifts ever. Same for you, huh?"

"Yeah." My voice came out in a squeak. "I'm so tired. I need to sleep."

He loosened his hold around me. "I'm staying with you." It was a simple statement, not even close to a question. I held his hand and led him to my room, knowing we would just sleep. I was thankful for his intuition, knowing that I would rather sleep in his embrace than alone. I pulled the comforter off my bed, which was likely full of cat hair, and I retrieved another one from the closet. I locked Catniss out and climbed under the blanket with Harry, who had already tucked himself in. 

"It gets easier." His smooth voice melted into my ear. "But some days still get to you."

It was easy to let go of my stress, cocooned in Harry's body. We easily slept for six hours and woke up in the same position. 

I turned around to face him, his eyes fluttering open. "What do you think happened?" I asked.

"There was alcohol involved," he replied. "But you and I both know that it doesn't do any good for us to think too much about these things. The more you think about his family and the others who lost people today, the more difficult it becomes."

"I know," I whispered. "It's just, he was so young. His parents...," I began and couldn't continue without starting to cry.

"I know, hon," he whispered back. His affectionate term for me buoyed my heart above the river of sadness flowing through me . "Is it okay if I call you that?" 

"Sure, hot stuff," I said, giggling.

"Not sure I like that one," he shot back. "Do you have any eggs? I'm in the mood for breakfast food, even though it's dinner time."

"Sure, but I'm going to grab a quick shower first, all right?" 

He kissed my nose and got up. I stretched for a few minutes and then went to take a deliciously hot shower.

I found Harry in the kitchen making a mess. "What are you doing?" I laughed. "You're cleaning this up when you're done!"

"No deal," he said in all seriousness. "I cook, you clean. It's only fair."

"Not when you make it look like a tornado came through here."

"You'll forgive me when you taste these omelets," he assured me.

We sat down with the omelets, fresh orange juice, and coffee. He wasn't kidding, he was a great cook. I wondered how I hadn't noticed before, but then I remembered the steaks we grilled up on the roof. The man did know his way around food.

"Caught the news," he said in between bites. "It was alcohol. A drunk driver lost control of the car and swerved across several lanes of traffic."

"That's horrible," I said sadly. "It wasn't the boy, right?"

"No, the boy wasn't drinking. But the drunk driver died, too."

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "What a fucking selfish thing to do!" I exclaimed and Harry's eyes went wide, not accustomed to hearing me swear. "Why are people so stupid?"

He grabbed my hand and stroked his thumb across mine. "Yeah, it sucks," he mumbled. We finished eating in silence, the delightful dinner somewhat marred by the unpleasant reminder that four people died today because of a drunk driver. 

After we both cleaned up dinner, Harry asked, "Do you want to watch something funny? You know, something that will really get us laughing. I think we need that."

I agreed, and we decided to move the party to his cat-free apartment. I was beginning to think I would just have to bring Catniss home in a few weeks when I went for the music festival I was planning to attend. I didn't want Harry to have to avoid me because of his allergies, and as much as I loved my kitty, I loved Harry more.

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