“911 in the ED.”
Grace was moving even before I was, as we rounded the corner to find the rest of the OR staff moving quickly.
“It’s all hands on deck in the ED. There was a major pile up on the freeway and they’re already understaffed. Grace, can you—”
“I’m on my way,” Grace answered her charge nurse before she could even get the full request out.
I surmised as much from the page I’d gotten, and was hot on Grace’s heels as we took the stairs down to the emergency department.
“Dr. Reynolds, you’re going to assist in the ER?” one of the newer technicians asked as I entered the ED.
“I’m also a general surgeon seeing as how my specialty required five years of general surgery practice before two years of specialized training. I think that qualifies me to be here, don’t you?” I didn’t bother awaiting his response as I grabbed a gown to put on, along with a pair of gloves, and proceeded to head toward the double doors for the ambulance arrivals.
To my left I found Grace, tying her own gown and anxiously looking toward the parking lot entrance where the ambulances were beginning to pull in. A handful of minutes later, the ED was a madhouse as gurney after gurney began being rolled off the emergency vehicles, and the paramedics expeditiously read off the conditions, vitals, and what procedures they performed in the field on each patient.
“Grace, with me!” I ordered as I was handed off one of the most critical patients. I stared down at the body of a little boy who’d been in the backseat of his parents SUV, which was struck head-on. At least, that was the quick overview of the situation I was given by the medic.
“Heart rate dropping,” Grace called out as we wheeled him into one of the open rooms of the ED.
“Mooom,” the boy managed to croak out, in obvious pain.
“Your mom’s being taken care of, sweetie,” Grace consoled, and I—not for the first time—was relieved that she was the one in here assisting me.
“Severe burns over at least forty percent of his body,” I analyzed out loud. “Burns may be compressing his airway.”
Grace looked at me with sympathy and fear in her eyes. She already knew what we would have to do. It was almost as if words weren’t needed. A minute later, we were joined by Dr. Holland, who assisted with bagging the young boy, who had fallen into unconsciousness. That was probably for the best. Briefly, I almost wished that he would be able to remain in this state for the next six months to a year. I knew the type of pain these injuries would cause him. And that wasifhe survived.
But I wasn’t a wishing man.
“OR three is open,” a staff member called out as he pushed through the curtain that’d been pulled shut as we worked.
“Book it. Let’s go,” I insisted, knowing the sooner we acted, the better.
Grace continued to compress the airbag rhythmically, ensuring that enough oxygen was reaching the boy’s lungs and rest of his body.
I doled out orders as we entered the elevator while Grace continued to call out his vitals. We seemed to bounce off one another naturally, and while I’d worked and trained with some of the best operating room nurses there were, not one of them seemed to have this natural ease with me that she had.
Grace scrubbed and dressed first to enter the OR and establish that the patient remained stable enough for surgery.
I watched her fluid movements through the window from the washroom. She was confident, assured, and ready to do what needed to be done. And even though ninety-nine percent of my thoughts remained on the young boy on the table, my eyes kept straying to Grace.
“There’s likely some internal bleeding, and more scar tissue forming than we’re aware of,” I said to Dr. Holland, who stood beside me, scrubbing as well.
“You’re letting me assist, right?”
I looked at him briefly, a scowl on my face. “Don’t fuck up,” was all I said before hitting the sink’s nozzle with my elbow to turn the water off and exiting the washroom to enter the OR. I was masked and gowned, scalpel in hand, within ten minutes.
The surgery wasn’t one of the longer ones I’d had but it was grueling as I was forced to remove a great deal of dead skin from the boy’s body as a result of the burns he sustained in the accident. There was some good news, however. The only internal bleeding we found was from his spleen, which I was able to stitch up without having to completely take out. But he would need a great deal more surgeries to his body to help it heal.
“We’re going to have to wait a few days to do the skin graft,” I stated as we completed the first surgery. “Is there anyone in the waiting room for him?” My question hadn’t been to anyone in particular, since my gaze was still trained on the stitching job I was doing.
“Both his parents were in the accident. His mother’s been rolled into surgery herself but it’s not looking good. His father is still in the ED,” a nurse from the corner of the room replied.
I nodded. “I’ll speak with his father once we’re finished here.” I sighed, hating that particular aspect of my job.
“I’ll go with you.”
My eyes bounced to the other side of the table. Grace, who was standing next to Dr. Holland, peered up at me, with eyes full of sympathy. That look unnerved me more than the prospect of cutting someone open. I didn’t acknowledge her statement at all, my focus moving back to the table and task at hand.
