“Mom, are you even listening?” Penny’s voice punctures my anxiety bubble. She’s standing by our car, backpack dangling from one hand, looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Sorry, sweetie. What did you say?” I fumble with my keys, focusing on my daughter instead of Josh’s missing truck.
“I said I have to return the mermaids book to the school library, but I can’t find it anywhere.” Penny sighs. “Have you seen it?”
I unlock the car doors with a beep. “We can search for it when we get home tonight.”
Penny slides into the backseat, buckling herself in. “But Ms. Garcia will ban me from borrowing new ones if I don’t return it today.”
“Then you should’ve thought about it last night when we had time to search, not now when we can’t do anything about it.” I pull out of our parking spot.
“Mom, it’s not funny,” Penny huffs, kicking the back of my seat for emphasis.
I glance at her in the rearview mirror. “I wasn’t trying to be funny. Kick the seat again and you’re going to have more trouble than the ban.”
She sulks, I drive, until we reach the school and she’s out the door, backpack bouncing as she runs to join her friends in the line to get inside.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into the hospital parking garage, eager for the distraction work will provide. I’m glad for the familiar routine of slipping into fresh scrubs, sanitizing my hands, and logging into the EHR system to check for my assignments.
“Morning, Lily,” Mark calls from the nurses’ station, two coffees in his hands. “Ready for another day in paradise?”
“Always,” I reply, accepting the paper cup he slides my way. “What’ve we got?”
“Quiet so far,” he says, knocking on the wooden desk.
He jinxes us,obviously. The first trauma page hits before I can even take a sip of the coffee.
“Two incoming from a vehicle over embankment,” Dr. Reynolds announces, striding toward the trauma bay. “Mother and daughter. Mom’s got a head trauma and multiple fractures, daughter with femoral artery laceration, stabilized in the field. ETA two minutes.”
“I’ll take the daughter,” I say, already moving to prep the second trauma room.
“Good. Chen with Finnigan, and Thompson, you’re with me on the mother,” Reynolds directs.
The ambulance bay doors burst open, and the first stretcher rolls in, paramedics already rattling off vitals and history.
“Female, approximately forty years old, unconscious at scene with head trauma and compound fracture to the left arm. BP 90/60, heart rate 120, GCS 9 on scene, now up to 12. Possible internal bleeding…”
They wheel her in while I position myself at the entrance, waiting for the daughter. A heartbeat later, the second ambulance arrives, and I’m all focus and no emotion as they roll the stretcher toward me.
“Female, thirteen years old, traumatic injury to right thigh with femoral artery laceration. Firefighters on scene applied a temporary clamp and tourniquet. Lost approximately 700cc of blood before control, stable, BP 100/70, heart rate 110, conscious.”
I get my first look at the patient as they transfer her to our bed. She’s a small, delicate girl with dark hair matted to her forehead with blood from a cut above her eyebrow. Her skin is the pale gray typical of significant blood loss; her lips are tinged blue despite the oxygen mask. But her eyes are open, alert, tracking the movements around her with the dazed expression of someone who can’t make sense of what’s happening.
“Hi there,” I say, moving to her side as the trauma team swarms around us. “I’m Lily, one of the nurses taking care of you. Can you tell me your name?”
“Emily,” she replies, her voice small but clear beneath the oxygen mask. “Is my mom okay?”
“The doctors are working on her right now,” I assure her, checking her pupils with a penlight while another nurse starts a second IV line. “You’re both in good hands.”
Dr. Chen, the attending physician, moves in to examine the leg injury. “We need to get her to an OR stat. Type and cross for four units.”
I connect monitors, call out vitals, and help prep her for transfer, while keeping up a steady stream of reassuring talk. Emily’s eyes never leave my face, clinging to me. It’s what I want: her focus on me instead of everything happening around her—toher.
“He was an angel,” she whispers. “He promised me flowers.”
I brush a lock of hair away from her cheek. “Who was?”
She tries to smile, lips barely moving. “A firefighter. I’m going to marry one someday.”
