Healing Her Emergency Doc

by Caroline Anderson

Laura walked into the kitchen, wrapped in her dressing gown and the rosy afterglow from their lovemaking.

  He was back, and it was such a relief to know she’d been wrong.

  There was nothing the matter, he clearly wasn’t bored by her, and maybe he’d been genuinely busy. Whatever, she was more than happy to have him back, and she wasn’t going to over-analyse it.

  She dished up the casserole—made in the hope that he’d come round, but which she could have frozen if he hadn’t—and sliced some of the fresh tiger bread she’d bought just in case.

  She slathered it in butter, put it on the side of the bowls and put them on the table as he walked in, looking rumpled and sexy and good enough to eat.

  He smiled at her. ‘That smells amazing.’

  ‘We aim to please.’ She sat down at right angles to him and picked up her fork. ‘So, tell me about your weekend. How were your parents?’

  ‘Oh, they’re fine. They’re coming down in a couple of weeks to see my new place, and I told Mum about your grandfather’s books and she’d love to see them, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Well—yes, of course it’s OK,’ she said, feeling a little shiver of something that felt like hope. If he was telling his parents about her, maybe...

  And maybe not. Don’t get carried away.

  ‘Oh—you brought wine, didn’t you? Would you like some?’

  ‘That would be lovely, but just a small glass. I’m on at six tomorrow.’

  ‘Me, too,’ she said, with a flicker of relief that they seemed to be OK, because if not that would have made working together really, really awkward. She poured two small glasses and handed him one.

  ‘Here you go. Don’t drink it all at once.’

  They chuckled, and he scooped up the last of his gravy with the bread.

  ‘More?’

  ‘Did you really need to ask?’ he said, sliding his plate towards her, and she laughed because he looked as hopeful as Millie if there was a treat in the offing.

  ‘No. Apparently not. More bread, too?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. I’m starving.’

  So she gave him most of the rest, had the last little scrapings herself with another slice of bread, and when they were done they curled up on the sofa, Millie between them with her head on his lap, and watched the tail-end of an old sitcom episode that had them both chuckling.

  And it felt so good, so normal, almost like they were back in college living in the house-share, but with the added bonus of the afterglow of their lovemaking.

  His hand was lying on Millie’s back, stroking her gently on autopilot, and Laura reached out and threaded her fingers through his and he looked up and met her eyes.

  She could see warmth and tenderness, and something else that she couldn’t really read, but it sent a sudden shiver down her spine, a tiny tingle of unease.

  Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t all OK, after all?

  And then he sighed, and she could feel him withdrawing from her. ‘I need to go,’ he said softly. ‘Early start.’

  She nearly asked him to stay, but there was that tingle of unease. ‘It’s OK. I’m on early, too.’

  She followed him to the door, and he folded her against his chest and held her wordlessly for an age before he let her go.

  ‘Sleep tight,’ he murmured, and with a gentle, lingering kiss he opened the door and went out.

  She watched his car pull away, the lights disappearing as he turned out of her drive, and then closed the door thoughtfully.

  What was wrong? Something, she was sure, but he obviously wasn’t about to discuss it. Had he found something out over the weekend? Maybe there was an eye problem with one of his relations that he hadn’t known about—or maybe she was reading something into nothing.

  She went back into the kitchen, cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, took Millie out to the garden and then went back to bed, surrounded by the scent of his skin and the faint, lingering warmth of his body. Their lovemaking had been so emotionally charged tonight, as if there was a whole new element to it, something different that hadn’t been there before.

  Almost—desperation?

  What’s wrong, Tom? What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BY THE MIDDLE of their shift the next day, she’d decided she’d imagined it.

  He was fine, working with him was fine, and he was back to being his normal self. She must have read more into it than was there.

  They were together in Resus, just finishing off the notes of the last case and speculating if they’d get time for lunch today, when the Tannoy burst into life.

  ‘Adult trauma call, five minutes.’

  ‘Here we go again. So much for lunch,’ she said, her heart sinking, and went out to get the details.

  She went back to Tom and the team who were assembling. ‘Right, we’ve got a twenty-year-old man who lost control of his motorbike going down the steep hill to the prom, slid across the road, through the railings and ended up wedged on the sea defences. He has serious fractures of both legs and an arm, a flail chest and query pelvic fractures. We’re going to need a radiographer here now, and if he makes it that far he’ll need a full body CT scan and maybe MRI. We’ll also need to activate massive transfusion protocol. Right, lead aprons everybody, because we’re not going to be able to leave him for a second.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Is he conscious?’

  ‘Not as far as I know, which could be a good thing for him if they’ve had to lift him off the rocks. Orthopaedics, Cardiothoracics and Neuro have been paged, they should be here any second. Are you OK to lead? It sounds pretty complex.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. I’ve done a lot of stuff from HEMS while I was in London, it sounds pretty similar.’

  By the time they’d finished donning their PPE and lead aprons and gearing up for all possibilities, their patient was being wheeled in, still with his helmet on.

  ‘Has he been conscious at all?’ Tom asked the paramedic after his handover, and he shook his head.

  ‘No. His GCS has been three throughout. The police are trying to contact his family. His name’s Rob Wilding.’

  ‘OK, thanks. Right, we’ll need a full set of pictures of his head, spine, chest and pelvis, but let’s get these clothes off first and find out what we’re dealing with. Can I have the FAST scanner, please,’ Tom was saying in the background, and she was glad he was there because she didn’t fancy leading on the case and he’d had much more experience of this sort of thing than she had. The young man had so many issues that needed dealing with as a matter of urgency, and prioritising them was going to be tricky.

  Both legs were splinted, the left fractured in multiple places, his right arm was lying at a very odd angle in a splint, and his breathing was laboured. That was possibly the most critical. That or a pelvic fracture with massive internal bleeding. Or a ruptured spleen...

  ‘Oxygen sats eighty-eight per cent,’ a nurse said, and Tom shook his head as the clothes were swiftly cut away to reveal a deep spreading bruise over his ribs. ‘OK, he’s got a large flail segment here. We need the CT team down here stat and we need to stabilise that flail segment, but we might need to intubate him and take over because he’s not shifting nearly enough air so we need to know if we can get that helmet off yet. How’s his trachea?’

  ‘Displaced to the left,’ Laura said, and Tom swore softly.

  ‘So he’s got a flail chest on the left and probably a pneumothorax on the right. Can I see those cranial and c-spine images, please?’

  He looked across as the images that had just been taken appeared on the screen, and grunted.

  ‘OK. His skull’s cracked like an eggshell, but the occiput looks clear so it should be reasonably stable, and his neck looks good to go. Right, we need to get that helmet off. Laura, can you undo the strap and slide your hands in and stabilise his
head and neck, please, while I take it off? Then he needs hundred per cent oxygen to get those sats up. OK, Rob, we’re going to take your helmet off.’

  It only took moments, but she was glad that Tom had the job of tilting it to clear his nose, and then it was away and they went back to what they were doing, and Tom was tutting.

  ‘He’s going to need a full body scan if we can get him stable enough. Laura, can you put a chest drain in on that side, please? I just need to check his abdomen for free fluid, then I’ll have a look at this arm next.’

  ‘I’m already on it. That hand’s not a good colour, is it?’ she added as an aside as she started on the chest drain.

  ‘No.’ He picked up the arm carefully, felt for a pulse and shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ He checked the X-ray and winced. ‘I’ll see if I can pull it out quickly otherwise it’ll have to wait and he might lose it.’

  With a bit of gentle traction he managed to line up the arm again, to Laura’s relief, and he nodded.

  ‘OK, I’ve got a pulse,’ he said, and while they put a cast on it to stabilise it he ran the FAST scanner over his abdomen. ‘That looks OK at the moment. Now the legs. OK, they both have a pedal pulse but that’s as good as it gets. Have you got that chest drain in, Laura?’

  ‘In and bubbling nicely.’

  ‘Any blood?’

  ‘No, and his sats are picking up.’

  ‘Well, there’s a miracle, we don’t have to intubate. Where the hell is everyone? We need Cardiothoracics and Orthopaedics in here now.’

  And then suddenly the room was full of people, and after a combined effort of over an hour from when he’d been brought in, he was stable enough to take for a scan and then Theatre, where a multi-disciplinary team would work on him simultaneously.

  Tom stepped back and watched as they wheeled him out, then turned and thanked everyone.

  ‘Good job, everybody. Great teamwork. Well done. We’ve given him a chance, although who knows what’s ahead of him,’ he added, shaking his head. ‘Right, I need lunch before I do anything else,’ he muttered, and he stripped off his PPE and walked out, leaving her to finish off writing up the notes.

  She stared after him, worried yet again. He’d been fine while they were busy, but now he seemed odd. Why? Because the boy might die? Or might live, but with life changing injuries?

  ‘Is Tom OK?’ Ryan asked, walking in a second later and looking concerned, and Laura shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know. He said he’s gone to get some lunch. We just saved a twenty-year-old by the skin of his teeth, but it’s not looking good for him.’

  ‘No, I noticed. What about you? Have you had lunch?’

  ‘No. We were about to go when the trauma call came in.’

  ‘Go now. Your hands are shaking.’

  ‘I can’t. I’ve got to finish this and then talk to the relatives.’

  ‘No. Grab some chocolate or something and check on Tom, then come back and carry on if you must, but go now.’

  She nodded and went to find him.

  * * *

  How was he still alive?

  And why? Surely, surely he couldn’t survive all those injuries and come out the other side the same person. The skull fracture alone was enough to kill him, without the major blood loss from the multiple limb fractures and the flail chest threatening to puncture the lung that still seemed to be working.

  How was his pelvis intact? How were his internal organs still in one piece? How? Or had they just missed something massive brewing in the wings?

  His whole body felt drained, and his hands were shaking, but at least the lad was in the right hands now. He just hoped they weren’t saving him for a worse fate, because the chance of him not having life-changing injuries was pretty damn slim.

  He went out to the snack dispenser in the waiting area and got a bar of chocolate, just as Laura appeared.

  ‘Great minds think alike,’ she said, and he ripped it open and passed her half, crammed the rest in his mouth then went back to the machine and bought another one and shared that, too, his hands shaking. Low blood sugar, or stress? Or both...

  ‘Did you talk to the relatives?’

  She shook her head. ‘They aren’t here yet. I don’t know if the police have managed to track them down, but I just heard Rob made it to Theatre, and he’s still stable.’

  ‘How? How?’

  She shrugged. ‘I have no idea, Tom, and who knows what the future holds for him, but at least he might have one now. Ryan sent me to find you, by the way.’

  ‘Ryan? Why? What did he want?’

  ‘Just to check you were OK. He was worried about you.’

  He frowned. ‘Of course I’m OK. It’s my job, it’s what I do. I was just hungry. Right, do you want me to talk to the relatives when they turn up?’

  ‘We could do it together?’

  ‘OK. Not that there’s much we can tell them at this stage apart from the fact that he’s alive at the moment but probably has life-changing injuries. I hate giving that kind of news.’

  ‘Don’t we all? But it happens,’ she said gently, her voice loaded with meaning. ‘Things happen to people, Tom, and their lives change as a result, sometimes drastically, but life goes on and they learn to adapt.’

  Do they? Would he? Would he learn to adapt to being blind?

  Don’t go there! It may not happen. You could be wrong. Or not...

  ‘Actually, can you do it?’ he asked, suddenly desperate to get away. ‘I really need to get something proper to eat.’

  ‘Only if you bring me back a sandwich.’

  ‘Done.’

  He threw her a smile and walked briskly away, heading out of the staff door into the park and sucking in the fresh air.

  What if he was right? What if it was RP? And how long did he have before his life was changed for ever?

  Don’t think about it.

  * * *

  He didn’t go round that evening, but he phoned her at nine to tell her that Rob Wilding had survived surgery to his left leg and chest wall, his head injury was stable and he was being moved to ICU.

  And she cried.

  ‘Laura?’

  He heard a sniff. ‘Sorry. I just can’t believe he’s alive. It doesn’t seem credible.’

  ‘No, tell me about it. He was really lucky it didn’t kill him.’

  ‘He was. His family will be so relieved now. They were utterly devastated. He’s only had the bike three weeks, it was a birthday present.’ She was silent for a moment, then he heard her take a deep breath. ‘I don’t suppose you want to come round?’

  Want to? Yes. Was it wise? Probably not. ‘It’s late,’ he said, stalling.

  ‘I know, but—I could do with a hug. You could stay?’ she added, and he felt an overwhelming surge of longing to spend the night in her arms.

  Not wise, but so damn tempting.

  He hesitated for an age, then he sighed quietly and gave up fighting it. ‘OK. I’ll come now. I’ll see you in a minute.’

  He grabbed his toothbrush and razor and deodorant, threw them in a washbag and stared at it for a second.

  Thin end of the wedge...

  To hell with it. He wanted her, she needed a hug and, dammit, so did he. He was going.

  * * *

  Not only did Rob survive, but forty-eight hours later, when they brought him very carefully out of the induced coma he’d been put into protect his brain, he was lucid and coherent.

  He also had sensation and movement in both feet, and his hand which could so easily have lost viability also had feeling in it. Which, Tom thought, was nothing short of a miracle. And he didn’t believe in them.

  His parents came down to the ED to report on his progress, and by chance both he and Laura were on duty, so they were able to thank them personally for what they’d done.

  ‘He
was very lucky. We just did our job,’ he said quietly, but his father shook his head.

  ‘That’s not how we see it. If you hadn’t done what you did when you did and how you did it, he wouldn’t have got to Theatre. That’s what they told us. That’s good enough for me. As far as we’re concerned, you two saved our son’s life—’

  His voice cracked, and Tom wrapped his arms round him and gave him a brief, hard hug.

  ‘That’s what we’re here for,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t always work, but when it does, it makes it all worthwhile, so thank you for letting us know. It makes a real difference to us because we see so many people and have no idea what happens to them, so a success story like this is a real bonus. Give him our best wishes and tell him to come and see us when he’s better.’

  ‘We will,’ his mother said, ‘when he can walk in here for himself, but that might be a while.’ Her voice cracked, and she slipped her hand into her husband’s. ‘I tell you one thing. What’s left of that bike is going to a scrap yard, and he’s never having another one, not while I’m breathing. I don’t ever want to have to see him like that again.’

  ‘No. Nor do we,’ Laura said with a wry smile, and she hugged his mother gently. ‘You take care.’

  ‘We will. And thank you, again.’

  They walked away hand in hand, and Tom watched them go with a lump in his throat. ‘It must be so tough being a parent.’

  ‘Absolutely. Well, if you’re a proper parent,’ she added with an edge to her voice. ‘It’s not tough being my mother. She’s never had a clue what’s going on in my life, and she wouldn’t care if she did. Right, what’s next?’

  If they hadn’t been at work he would have hugged her, but he had the distinct feeling that if he did she’d just cry, and he didn’t want to do that to her. Plus the gossips would have a field day, and so far, as far as he was aware, they didn’t know they were anything other than old friends, and that was the way he wanted it to stay, at least until after he’d had his referral appointment, because that could change things drastically.

  So he didn’t hug her, not then, but that evening he took her down to the sea front and they ate fish and chips on a bench overlooking the sea, with Millie at their feet looking hopeful, and after they’d eaten they stayed there for a while, and he laid his arm along the back of the bench behind her, not touching her but just there, so that his thumb could stroke the top of her arm without being wildly obvious.