Her clogs would need to be cleaned and dried before she went back to the patients.
But for now, she was going to lean over and splash cold water on her face until she felt some relief from the pressure of the night.
Sommer felt time ticking as she pulled the pins and elastic from her hair and combed everything back in place. It might give the patients more confidence in her care if she didn’t look like a bog witch.
She worked quickly, knowing that every minute she was in the bathroom, her fellow nurses took on more duties. Quickly peeing, she cleaned off her clogs, dragged on a fresh set of scrubs, thoroughly washed her hands, then gave herself a shake before heading back into the fray.
As she passed by the nurse’s station to let them know she was on the floor, a man stumbled through the ambulance bay without any assistance—no police, no paramedic, just a man gripping a large wad of something against his stomach.
For a moment, Sommer’s brain stuttered as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. At first, she thought he was holding a towel to his stomach, and it was covered in blood.
Then she realized the man had staggered in holding his intestines bunched in his hands.
How did he get to the hospital?
Sommer grabbed a wheelchair that rested against the wall and raced forward, triggering the automatic door so she could look out and find someone who could give her some details.
As she scooted forward from behind him, he fell heavily into the chair as if he could go that far and no farther.
“What’s your name, sir?” Sommer asked, moving to the front and stooping so they were eye-to-eye.
“Coyote.”
“Coyote, what happened to you?” Sommer stood to push him toward the head nurse’s station, manned by Marsha, to signal that she needed to be directed to an open space where she could provide medical support.
Marsha looked down to assess the situation, then checked her clipboard and held up a finger. She ran from area to area, pulling back curtains, sliding them into place again. “Here,” she called.
When Sommer arrived, she positioned Coyote against the wall, hoping he wouldn’t pass out and fall to the ground.
Marsha whipped the soiled bedsheets from the mattress, swiping the surface with disinfectant cleaner, bringing the level of sanitization up to standard.
Between Sommer and Marsha, they made the bed, then lowered it to its lowest setting, before helping Cayote ease out of the chair and onto the bed.
Someone called for Marsha. They caught eyes. As she passed by Sommer, she said, “I’ll let Dr. Peters know. We need to stabilize him and get him packaged for transport.”
They’d already been informed surgery was full.
They certainly couldn’t leave this man with an open abdomen cradling his intestines.
There was no team to help her; everyone was spread thin.
In her head, she felt time ticking.
First things first. Since the blood had coagulated and he was breathing without effort, Sommer started with the exposed bowel. Like a dangling eyeball, his intestines needed to be kept moist.
Sommer dampened gauze bandaging with saline solution, but as she went to apply the dressing, she realized Coyote was holding things together. She’d have to come up with a solution, but for right now, “We’re going to have to work as partners on this, Coyote.”
He lifted one hand, then the other, as she did her best to think through her strategy. Step one: find the damage. “Is this your blood all over you like this?”
“Doubtful,” Coyote said.
He was extraordinarily calm for a man holding his insides. It could be his personality; it could be shock. She needed to warm him up and start an IV.
First, she needed to clean him up and look for wounds that weren’t as obvious.
“Keep your hands on the gauze for me, Coyote. I’m going to cut you out of your pants, give you a quick bath, and put you in one of our designer hospital gowns.”
“You do that, sweetheart. Just be careful. I dangle low.”
