Life Support: Escape to the Country (5 page)

“Are you on any medication for your heart?” Cath asked.

Jeff shrugged. “You’ll have to ask my wife.”

“We would if we could get hold of her.”

“She’s—” Jeff’s eyes rolled upward and his head flopped back against the pillow.

Emma’s jaw dropped and her chest tightened. “You have
got
to be kidding me.”

How dare he collapse on her again. Emma went through the same checks as before. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Nothing. She hit the emergency buzzer as Cath clambered onto the narrow bed ready to start CPR. Staff rushed in for a repeat performance. They attached new defibrillator pads as Bridget and the doctor in charge arrived in time to watch the same wide shockable rhythm scroll across the screen. Emma removed Jeff’s oxygen and everyone stood back as the machine delivered a second shock. His body convulsed again before his heart started beating.

“Take him to cath lab.” the doctor in charge yelled. “Bridget, ring one of the cardiologists. I want him out of our department now.”

*

Four hours later, the shift was mercifully over. It had been a brutal, drama-filled night from start to end. Her neck hurt. Her head hurt. Her feet hurt. Climbing into her car a little after seven thirty, she rolled her head forward and backward and forward again. The bright morning sun and cloudless blue skies promised another perfect winter day, but she was too tired to care. Her pillow was calling her name. Loudly. Bone deep weariness and exhaustion settled on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. The entire night had been filled with people and their problems, but they were nothing compared to what was facing Emma at home.

“… Trauma team to the emergency department. Trauma bay one. Attention all staff. Trauma team to the emergency department.”

Emma heard the call over the loudspeakers but dismissed it. Today it wasn’t her problem. She was working at the other end of the department, well away from the four resuscitation bays. Ever since the incident at the conference, her mind was still in turmoil, her nerves jangled.

After talking with her mum two weeks earlier, she’d gone to bed that night and woken the next morning expecting to see Lleyton, but he never came home. Her hopes they would talk and sort things out between them never eventuated. She’d spent her entire annual leave shopping, reading and catching up with friends and in the end didn’t give his absence too much thought. It had been nearly three weeks since she’d seen him and although he hadn’t answered any of her texts or calls, she wasn’t worried, just annoyed.

Then last night, unexpectedly, she had received a text message from him, letting her know he’d arranged a meeting with his solicitor to discuss the divorce. She would have liked to see him first before they faced off against each other in front of a five-hundred-dollars-an-hour lawyer, but he wasn’t giving her that option. The meeting was for four o’clock that day.

“It’s not even seven thirty,” Helen complained, striding past. “I hate early morning trauma calls. Wonder what it is?”

Emma answered Helen’s disappearing back. “No idea. And I don’t care to be honest. I’m just glad I’m not working in resus today.”

“I overheard them at triage. MVA,” Cath said, sticking her head out from behind a curtain.

Motor Vehicle Accident.

“What else did they say?” Emma asked.

“Single car. One occupant. They’re airlifting him in.”

“Not good,” Emma said.

“No,” Cath agreed.

Emma felt the familiar tingle of foreboding race up her spine and said a quick prayer for the poor family of yet another road accident victim. She then got on with her job, taking care of her own patients. She and Cath had seven patients between them, and judging by the first half hour of their shift, they were going to be run off their feet. At least it meant Emma didn’t have time to wonder what was happening up the other end of the department when the patient arrived. And being busy kept her mind off Lleyton and their meeting with the lawyer.

As usual, when there was a trauma call in the department, everyone knew about it. The noise levels increased as more people flooded the department. Fewer doctors seemed to be available as they gravitated toward the critically ill patient to see if they could help. Emma couldn’t blame them. She was an adrenaline junkie herself and usually a trauma call caused a burst of excitement within her. Not today. Today she was counting down the hours until her lunch break.

On her way to radiology with one of her patients, Emma snuck a look behind the curtain into the main trauma bay. She glimpsed the soles of a man’s shoes, the toes pointing skyward. Emma usually loved the organized chaos of resus, but she heaved another sigh of relief it wasn’t her turn today.

Helen was bustling around, barking instructions in her distinctive gruff voice. She was in charge and in her element.

“Set up for a CVC and art line. We need x-ray here now. And can someone stick in an IDC?”

Another voice called above the din. “BP’s down to eighty on thirty. Heart rate one-twenty-five. Resps forty and shallow. Pupils non-reactive.”

Emma shuddered. By the sound of it, he was in a bad way. She couldn’t see much of the man on the trolley, but what she saw didn’t look good. A deep laceration to his thigh would need serious suturing, but that was the least of his worries. Spinal injuries and internal injuries were the biggest concerns. Or if his pupils weren’t responding properly, he undoubtedly had a brain injury. Low blood pressure? Probably bleeding out somewhere. Liver? Spleen? Emma’s mind raced through all the possibilities. All of them bad.

Voices called backward and forward while nursing staff moved around the room quickly and purposefully. It must look like a war zone to an outsider.

Helen caught sight of her. “Want to swap places?” she shouted above the din.

“Nope. I’m off to x-ray with my patient,” Emma said with a wave. “Simple fractured NOF I reckon.” Emma’s patient was an old lady from a nursing home. She had fallen from her bed and most likely broken her femur neck, a common hip injury in elderly people.

As she took off after the orderly, Emma heard the familiar anguished sound often heard in the emergency department. A raw choking cry. The sound of agony mixed with terror and pain. It would have torn at her heart if she hadn’t heard it countless times before. All that registered was if the man was making noises, at least he was still alive. For now.

Ten minutes later Emma returned to the main department from x-ray. The noise within the department had increased tenfold. The number of doctors standing guard outside the resuscitation bay also seemed to have doubled. They stood, arms to their sides, waiting for further instructions. Among them would be different surgical teams as well as ICU staff.

“Emma.”

She turned and saw Rory, her unit manager, barreling toward her. Irish, redheaded and hot-blooded, if Emma had to choose another brother, she would have chosen him. He was frowning.

A chill chased up her spine. “What’s up Roar?”

“Hell needs you in there now. They need an extra pair of hands. I’ll take your patient back to her cubicle.”

Emma groaned. “Really? Why me?”

“They need to intubate him. He’s not going to make it but we have to go through the motions until we can find someone who knows who he is.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have no idea who he is. He’s got no ID on him. No phone. Nothing. Police are still at the scene, but the car’s a mess. Tiny sports car was found wrapped around a tree down a ditch in the Dandenongs. They’re still checking the car rego and trying to find out who he is.”

Emma swore softly as she shook her head sadly. “What do the cops think happened?”

“Not really sure. At this stage they assume he fell asleep at the wheel. The car was smashed head-on into a tree. Could have happened late last night. The car wasn’t spotted until first thing this morning. You know how thick the bush is up there.”

“Poor bugger.”

“Get in here now Emma,” Helen yelled. “I need you to bag him.”

Emma grabbed a pair of gloves from the box on the wall and moved to the head of the bed where she got her first real view of the man on the narrow bed.

He was undoubtedly once a handsome man, but the impact with the tree had smashed his once smooth face beyond recognition. Sandy blond curls were matted with blood from where he’d scalped himself. His eyes were closed. Tiny shards of glass covered much of his blood-streaked face. His lightly freckled nose was off center and his right cheekbone was most likely shattered, judging by the misshapen face.

Emma was about to brush away the glass when time stopped.

She made a strangled sound as her knees gave way. Grabbing the side of the trolley, she made herself stay upright. Bile forced its way up her throat and she knew she was going to be sick.

“Lleyton.” The name came out in a wavering, high-pitched scream. “Oh my God, it’s Lleyton. It’s
Lleyton
. It’s my husband. Lleyton—”

Hands grabbed her as her legs buckled and she collapsed to the ground.

“RORY!” Helen screamed.

Emma heard more shouting before she fainted.

*

The intensive care waiting room was empty, but it felt cramped, as though the walls were closing in on her. This was the room where families received bad news. Emma knew that because she’d helped doctors deliver bad news to people in rooms like this. She’d held hands and provided tissues and a shoulder to cry on while the doctors gave families the news they never wanted to hear.

Sorry, the biopsy showed the cancer cells have spread.

Sorry, the treatment hasn’t worked.

Sorry, we did everything we could, but he hasn’t made it.

Emma was used to dealing with trauma patients, but until today they had usually been faceless, nameless strangers. Huddled in the corner, she sat waiting as wave after wave of emotions washed over her. After seeing Lleyton lying on the trolley in the resuscitation bay, she realized she was unprepared for his death. She might not love him anymore but that didn’t mean she wanted him to
die
.

The cloying scent of lilies reminded her of a funeral home and made her feel sick again. Patients in intensive care weren’t allowed flowers, but visitors didn’t know, and brought them anyway. Rather than sending them back with the relatives, the flowers were left, forgotten, in the visitors’ lounge until they wilted and died. Sooner or later a cleaner or someone else would throw them away. It was such a waste. In Emma’s opinion, if families felt the need to bring something, they should bring chocolates – for the nursing staff.

Emma felt a trickle of sweat run down between her shoulder blades. She lifted her scrub top away from where it clung to her skin. Why was it always so stuffy in hospitals? And the smell. Even the lilies couldn’t cover it. Why had she never noticed it before?

She slumped down on the uncomfortable couch and stared at the six matching chairs opposite her. They were arranged in a straight line and she noted the scratches in the beige paintwork where the chairs had scraped against the wall. A small lamp in the corner was supposed to soften the room and provide an ambient atmosphere, but the overhead fluorescent lights ruined that idea. A low-line laminate coffee table was shoved into the corner. On it sat a pile of outdated magazines, a Gideon’s Bible and a box of tissues. She’d already emptied half the box and was still clutching a balled-up wad of used tissues. Cups of coffee appeared as if by magic as the hospital chaplain periodically stopped by to check on her, but they remained undrunk on the table, and a thin skin of milk had formed on the surface of each one.

It had been six hours and Lleyton was still in theater.

After she’d recovered from her faint, Emma had felt like a fraud when they’d asked her to sign the consent papers for the surgery needed to save her husband’s life. They asked her, because as far as everyone knew, she was his next of kin. His wife. There was no way she was going to admit they were separated, about to get a divorce.

Thankfully, Rory had stepped in and saved Emma further pain by contacting Lleyton’s parents. They were flying back from Queensland. Emma dreaded their arrival. Her eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall. Two o’clock. Where had time gone? How long had she been sitting there waiting? Hadn’t it been just after seven o’clock that morning when the paramedics had brought him in?

The image of Lleyton, broken and helpless, flashed across her mind again without warning and she stifled another sob. Surely he couldn’t die.

A short, plump nurse with silver hair stopped at the doorway. Emma jumped up, placing a calming hand to her churning stomach. The older nurse’s weathered face held a sad expression. Emma knew that face. The “bad news” face she called it. She’d used it herself.

Emma felt paralyzed, yet with an effort she forced herself to stay standing. Tenting her hands in front of her chest like a prayer, she stared at the other nurse.

“Is he—?” she stammered.

The woman didn’t smile. “He’s made it through surgery and he’ll be back here shortly. Ten minutes or so.”

“I want to be in the room when he gets back.”

“I’m sorry, you can’t. It’s against protocol. When he’s sorted we’ll come and get you.”

“Please.”

The nurse raised her eyebrows, then sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.” Spinning on her orthotics, she left Emma alone again. She returned moments later. “You can come in, but you have to stand and watch. You’re not there to help, okay?”

Emma nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She mouthed her thanks.

“Come on then.”

Emma squared her shoulders. “What about Lleyton’s parents? They should be arriving soon. Someone should be here for them.”

“I’ll call pastoral services.”

Emma nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

On shaky legs, she followed the other nurse into the intensive care unit. It was different from the emergency department, which was constantly full of rushing movement and vibrant color, of sounds and of people. Here the atmosphere was calmer, more controlled. And there wasn’t a visitor in sight.

Machines beeped and pinged around her as they passed the main nurses’ desk and headed toward the one empty room in the unit. A nurse in scrubs was inside, checking equipment and getting ready for Lleyton’s arrival back from surgery.

“Jenni, this is Dr. Chirnside’s wife, Emma.”

Jenni appraised her, taking in Emma’s scrubs and nametag.

“She works downstairs in ED. She knows she has to sit in the corner and watch,” the older nurse explained.

Jenni nodded and greeted Emma. “I’m sorry about your husband.” Her warm voice brought instant calm to Emma’s racing mind.

“Thank you. And thank you for letting me stay.”

“Just don’t get in the way.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Five minutes later, they wheeled Lleyton into the unit. Watching them, an ache formed in the back of Emma’s throat. Two nurses, a surgeon, and a woman Emma presumed was the anesthetist accompanied Lleyton. They were all dressed in matching sets of pale blue theater scrubs and wore bright-colored bandanas over their hair. Their facemasks hung loosely around their necks, revealing pale faces with dark shadows under their eyes. No one smiled. Words were spoken in hushed tones and once again, Emma noted how different everything was from the emergency department.

Jenni disconnected Lleyton from the bag valve mask and attached the tubing to the ventilator she had already set up in the room. The machine alarmed and Emma clenched and unclenched her fists as she willed Jenni to press the button to silence it. Everyone was still for a moment, watching the machine. Soon two green waveforms chased their way across the screen and they visibly relaxed. The machine was doing its job – breathing for Lleyton. Keeping him alive.