The former medical librarian was as silent as a turtle, her reflexes not much faster. Riley acted spooky, always at her elbow, watching her every move. But what really blew her mind was that even though Riley was textbook knowledgeable about some of the medical emergencies they encountered, she shied away from actually working on a patient. And the constant barfing! Definitely not paramedic material. She’d do her best to make sure this woos didn’t become a firehouse fixture. Confident with her decision, Angie was sailing high when her rig slam-banged into something, nailing her against the wheel.
2
Beth was straightening supplies in the back of the ambulance when she felt a thud. What had they hit? Stomach churning, the paramedic trainee struggled into a sterile set of rubber gloves and leaped off the ambulance.
A young woman, about eighteen or nineteen years old, lay sprawled out in a pool of blood, which also oozed from her ears. Attempting to still her panic at the sight of so much blood, Beth focused on clamping the pressure cuff onto the patient’s arm. Noting the dangerously low blood pressure, she flipped back the girl’s eyelids; unconscious, seizing, bloated belly. Palpitating her patient’s abdomen, a sudden gush of fluids spurted out. Lifting the girl’s dress, Beth gasped as a tiny head emerged through the girl’s vagina.
Tentatively rubbing her ribs, Angie jumped from the ambulance and squinted through the fog. “What the hell’s going on? Did we hit a pothole? A dog?”
Beth ran back to the ambulance and grabbed her OB kit. “We hit a young mother whose baby is crowning!”
“Oh, my God,” shrieked Angie. Running toward the patient, she was at the young woman’s side, checking her vitals.
“What do we do now?” Beth asked nervously, peering over Angie’s shoulder. Her head felt as though it was gripped in a vise and that nauseous feeling was threatening to overcome her.
“Check for ID.”
Beth felt around the girl. No purse, no wallet. “Nothing.”
“Probably a runaway.” Angie paced, pounding her fist into her hand, trying to erase the vision of Vietnamese women and children being blow to smithereens as they tried to outrun the bombs. Countless lives lost which she couldn’t put back together. Now, thanks to her own recklessness, this new mother would die, too.
Beth knelt to check the girl’s blood pressure again. “She’s fading. Should we radio the hospital?”
Shaking her head, Angie briskly stepped toward the rig. She was too close to retirement. No way could she get called down on this accident.
Beth ran to catch up. “Angie, I need your help! She’s unconscious.”
“Well, that makes it all the easier. She’s not going to move on you.”
Frantically, Beth tugged at the paramedic officer’s sleeve. “We can anonymously call 9-1-1 from the all-night diner!”
Slapping Beth’s hand away, Angie climbed onto the rig. “And risk being recognized? You’ve been on the job for six weeks. You know what to do.”
Beth’s insides fluttered with a powerful urge to flee, yet her feet seemed glued to the concrete. “I can’t work on the mother and deliver the baby at the same time!”
“Look, the girl’s hemorrhaging through the ears. She’s gonna croak any minute. You want my advice? Save the baby.”
A thin, steady rain framed each step as Angie hurried back to the ambulance, then climbed aboard.
Window of Guilt Page 25
