Sommer worked at a level-one trauma center like Marna did, only on the other side of the city.
At both hospitals, there were helicopter pads on the roofs where, normally, the most life-threatening cases would land. The dedicated teams would rush the patients from the roof down to the surgical center, having practiced their military-precise transport, cutting off a second here, another one there, so that from touchdown to scalpel, the time was mere minutes.
They all prayed to the Golden Hour—the time in which hope was brightest.
Here, at Sommer’s hospital, the helipad was under repair after damage sustained in the last big storm. They would get those who had a little more time for transportation, assessment, and care—broken limbs, some stab wounds, the concussed, thebattered, the walking wounded that needed to be cleaned up, stitched up, and sent on their way.
Bar scenes complicated the medical interventions because blood-alcohol and recreational drugs had to be considered.
Pain management took on a heightened risk.
And there were always the inevitable pools of vomit, and sometimes even puddles of urine, that made the life-saving dashes that much riskier.
Sommer stood with an isolation gown covering up her blue scrubs, gloves on her hands, hands in the air to avoid germs. She was ready for anything from wound compression to CPR.
“Hey, you remember that young guy that came through after he had seizures?” Her teammate asked. “Young guy with the sweet smile?”
“We sent him up for an MRI?” Sommer twisted his way. “The one with big plans for getting married to his high school sweetheart when she finishes her nursing degree?”
“Yeah.”
Sommer’s brows came together. “Oh, that’s not a good-sounding yeah. What is it?”
“Whatwasit? Prion disease.”
Sommer wished she didn’t know. In her mind, there was some easy intervention, and the guy went off to lead an amazing life. “He said his family was all big hunters. Do you remember the pictures of the stag in his pickup truck?” Sommer asked. “I wonder if the prion was from butchering his own meat? Nicking the spinal column maybe?”
“Scary that there isn’t a single thing that can be done to save someone. The proteins fold and fold, and that’s that.”
And Sommer wished she hadn’t said that; now Sommer had an earworm: “Just fold and fold, and that’s that.”Unhelpful.
The sirens screamed as the emergency vehicles raced up the ramp, exiting the highway. They cut off once they hit the main street, protecting the hospital from some of the high-decibel impact.
Sommer shuffled her foot in and out of her rubber clog. “That’s miserable that happened. Did the health department have the family tested to see if it affected anyone else?”
“Eating the same game? I don’t know if they followed through or not. You’d think it would make the paper if it wiped out a whole family.”
Sommer took a breath and deliberately set those images aside. No more earworms, she scolded her brain. Focus.
Nights like tonight didn’t happen that often, but every time it did, Sommer watched the unfolding drama and violent impact on people’s lives with a heavy heart.
The first ambulance arrived with a cop escort.
The EMT flung the door open, and Sommer stepped forward, ready to listen to the medical summary and help move the patient into the hospital.
This first patient barely fit on the gurney both in length and width. He was a bear of a man, feet shackled, each wrist cuffed to the rails, covered in blood—so much blood. The paramedic was using his full body weight to compress a wound on the man’s chest.
“Knife wound. We packed it tight, but it’s not doing a lot of good. He wrestled around until something gave. They might have nicked an artery.”
“Surgery,” the doctor said and looked at Sommer.
Sommer’s hand went up in the air. “Surgery!” Then she jumped out of the way as that team jogged forward. They made the transfer from gurney to rolling bed in the hallway. One of the nurses climbed onto the man’s legs to maintain pressure on the wound as they raced for the elevators.
The policeman held his duty belt in place on his hips as he jogged after them.
“The ringleader, you reckon?” Sommer’s colleague asked.
“Something. That officer’s not letting that guy out of his sight.”
