TRAPPED (35 page)

Gypsy looked at Tommy who was staring at her. She spoke through her tears. ‘I said nothing to anyone – when Frankie came home a few days later my face and body was so battered and bruised I ended up telling him I’d been hit by a car.’

‘I’m sorry … I’m sorry I didn’t …’

Gypsy smiled at him and spoke in the warmest voice Tommy had ever heard. ‘Tommy, it wasn’t you. If you hadn’t been there, he probably would’ve killed me. You saved my life.’

Tommy put out his hand and touched Gypsy’s face. Together they both closed their eyes, trying to shut away their shared secret memories.

At the top of the stairwell, Lorna backed away. She’d heard everything and for the first time in her life, she felt ashamed; ashamed at what she’d done to Gypsy.

‘He’s lost a lot of blood in theatre but thankfully we managed to stop the bleeding and stitch him up before we exhausted the hospital supply – we’ve had to send off to Colindale for some more, but he should be alright for now, although we’ll monitor him closely. He’s critical, so the first twenty-four hours are what we need to get through.’

The doctor spoke as Johnny lay in the ICU ward, almost obscured by the amount of equipment around him. Gypsy, still in Tommy’s jacket, and Lorna, Frankie and Maggie stood in the office, staring through the glass window at him.

Frankie turned to Maggie.

‘You happy now? None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for you. If something happens to him …’

Gypsy interrupted Frankie angrily.

‘Leave her be, Frankie, it ain’t her fault, none of this is. We’re more to blame than her, the whole lot of us.’

Maggie shook her head but was grateful for the surprise support from Gypsy.

‘I ain’t going to stand here and listen to you lot at each other’s throats,’ Gypsy continued. ‘Hasn’t there been enough damage already?’

She turned to the doctor, fighting back the tears.

‘Doctor, do you think it’ll be okay if I go and get myself a coffee?’

‘Of course, he’ll be unconscious for quite some time.’

The ventilator rhythmically hissed in the side room where Johnny lay unconscious, gentle bleeping from the monitors and flashing from the five syringe driver pumps surrounding him in the dim lighting. From under the crisp white sheet which covered Johnny, drips and abdominal drains left in to catch and draw off any internal bleeding snaked out and hung visibly down the side of the bed.

The nurse, a large Chinese woman who was monitoring Johnny, checked the charts. She began to frown as she saw his heart rate begin to speed up. The monitor alarms started to beep as his blood pressure dropped; slowly at first, then quickly.

It was clear to Frankie and the others that she was getting increasingly anxious. They saw her speak but were unable to hear what she said to the sister in charge.

Frankie, unable to watch without knowing what was happening took it upon himself to go and speak to the nurse, closely followed by the others.

‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yes, it’s fine sir.’

The nurse didn’t look at Frankie and she continued to monitor the drains which were filling up quickly. Within only a minute, the nurse started to empty the blood from the drains into a cardboard bed pan. As the second pan started to fill up with red blood, another doctor and the sister in charge rushed across to the bed space, looking concerned.

‘We need to do an arterial blood gas and if …’

Frankie grabbed hold of the doctor’s arm, interrupting his conversation with the sister.

‘What’s going on with my son?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out; it looks like he’s having another internal bleed.’

The doctor looked down at Frankie’s hand which still held onto his sleeve. ‘And if you’d let us get on with our job, it’d be much easier.’

Frankie let go and stepped back, feeling Lorna’s arm on his as they all watched the flurry of activity. The nurse hurriedly took a blood sample from the drainage pipes but within a couple of minutes came back ashen-faced, speaking to the doctor in medical jargon which Frankie or the others didn’t understand. However, the urgency in the nurse’s voice told them all they needed to know. Johnny was in trouble.

‘His HB is 5.5.’

‘Call the surgeons, get three units of blood, four pools of platelets and two units of FFP.’

‘I will, but I think they ran out of O negative earlier: I don’t know if there is any. I know a call was put in to Colindale.’

‘Well bleep haematology and call the blood bank, try to find out what’s happening. Tell them it’s urgent.’

The activity within the ICU was driven by silent tension and to Frankie it was almost like watching a movie; watching but not being a part of it, unable to do anything to help.

The buzzing on the ICU unit security entrance made everyone turn their heads. The surgeon stood bleary-eyed, waiting to be let in. Once inside he walked straight up to the family and Frankie could almost smell the sleep on him. He spoke to the surgeon aggressively.

‘I hope you’re not going to fob me off and not tell me the score.’

‘No, I’m here to explain. What we really need to do is take Johnny back down to theatre because he’s bleeding again, but we can’t because I’ve been told there’s no more of his blood match to use, and it’s going to be at least two hours before it gets here. And his HB is …’

The nurse answered quickly. ‘5.5’

‘With a HB of 5.5 there’s a serious chance of his heart failing, so it’s certainly not safe to operate.’

‘Where the fuck am I? In a toy hospital? How can you tell me you ain’t got any blood? What sort of place are you running? Just take him down to theatre and save him, ain’t that what you’re trained to do?’

‘If he bleeds anymore, which he will in theatre, there won’t be anything we can do to save his life. The situation is life-threatening so we need to keep him here until the blood comes – we’ll do everything we can but I can’t promise. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this.’

Maggie, who’d looked stunned throughout the whole of the conversation, spoke.

‘So what you’re telling us is if you had the blood you’d be able to operate?’

‘Yes, but we can’t take that risk; without blood we’ve lost him.’

Frankie had started to pace up and down, his face red with anger and his eyes wide with fear. ‘Fuck that; fuck that for a reason for my son to die in front of my eyes. Because you didn’t have the resources ain’t going to be on his headstone.’

‘I’m sorry; it’s got to come all the way over from Colindale.’

‘I’ll go and get it from Colindale, I’ll send one of my men; just tell me how to help save my son.’

The pain dominated Frankie’s voice and he didn’t bother wiping the tears away as they fell and listened to the doctor’s reply. ‘You going to get it wouldn’t be any quicker. I’ve got one of my consultants to bleep Moorlands Blood Bank to see if they’ve got just one more unit of blood to push up his HB a bit. If they have, as long as he doesn’t bleed again until the blood arrives, we could get him to theatre. Then he might have a fighting chance.’

‘What about me, why can’t I give blood? I’m his dad.’

‘It’s not as simple as that sir. It’s a sensible idea but in practice not the way it works.’

‘You’re not hearing what I’m saying. Surely if I’m his dad I can help. It don’t get simpler than that.’

‘Yes, but you’re not necessarily the same blood group, I didn’t have a chance to look at his notes to see what blood type he is and if he gets the wrong blood we’ll kill him and then there are no second chances.’

‘If you don’t know what blood group he is, then how the fuck can you tell me there ain’t any?’

‘Obviously my consultant knows; he’s the one doing
the checking. H
e bleeped me to advise me of the blood situation.’

‘This can’t be the end. I can’t get me head round the fact you’re telling me my son’s not going to make it.’

As Frankie angrily pushed Lorna away who was trying her best to placate him, another doctor quietly thumbed through Johnny’s notes. Almost under his breath he spoke.

‘Actually Johnny’s blood group is AB+ so he could receive his father’s blood.’

Frankie grasping for any hope jumped onto what the other doctor had just said. ‘What? Is that good?’

Frankie started to pull up his jacket sleeve. ‘If there’s something you can do, then do it. Take my blood.’

‘We can’t just take your blood and put it into him just like that.’

‘Why not? You’ve just said I’ve got to be AB whatever it is, so what’s the problem? Would it save him?’

‘Well, there’d be no guarantees, but we shouldn’t even be having this discussion.’

‘But would it improve his chances?’

‘In principle, yes. But as I say, we can’t; there’s screening procedures, HIV and other reasons.’

‘What the fuck are you on about? I don’t have bleeding AIDS. Do I look like some nancy boy to you mate?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything sir, apart from we can’t do what you’re asking us to do.’

‘You’d rather see my son die?’

‘Of course not, it’s just that it’s not the correct procedure; we could get into trouble.’

Frankie defaulted to bellowing and in the quiet of the ICU it sounded as if a bomb had exploded. ‘Trouble? You’re worried about getting into trouble? You’ll let my son die because of trouble? If that happens you will wish you were in trouble because what I’ll put you in will make trouble look like thanks-fucking-giving. I will ask you once again. If you take my blood and put it into him, so long as he doesn’t have anymore internal bleeding, it might save him?’

‘Yes it might, but equally it might not.’

‘Then you better try.’

The doctor, who’d been standing silently spoke up. ‘Okay, we’ll give it a shot.’

The surgeon whisked around in amazement. ‘We can’t do this.’

‘Then I’ll take responsibility for it as his doctor.’

The doctor looked at Frankie with the same calm manner and spoke to him. ‘I’m putting my neck on the line but I want to help your son.’

The nurse who’d been monitoring Johnny and was anxious about the falling numbers on the monitor, helpfully interrupted the doctor. ‘We’ve got veno-puncture sets on ICU, so we can just drain a unit of blood and transfuse Johnny straight away.’

In the side room the doctor ceremoniously washed his hands and put on his gloves whilst Frankie stretched out his arm preparing for his skin to be wiped with the alcohol swab.

‘Ready?’

Frankie was more than ready and he just wished the doctor would hurry up, but he nodded, realising the doctor wanted some sort of response.

A surgical glove was tied around Frankie’s arm and a pink cannula was put into his arm. He caught Maggie’s eye and they exchanged glances, both at that moment calling an unspoken truce. The tape was strapped over the needle and expertly a two foot tube with a flat blood bag at the end was connected. With a quick check the doctor released the tourniquet on Frankie’s arm. Immediately, dark red blood started to drain into the bag.

Everyone in the room stayed in silence as the bag filled up and Frankie began to feel slightly lightheaded. Within what seemed a few minutes, the doctor painlessly pulled the cannula out of his hand and capped off the bag.

With the solemnity of a funeral procession everyone followed the doctor with their heads bowed down and stopped by Johnny’s bed as the bag of blood was placed on the drip stand. Everyone looked at each other knowing what they saw on each other’s faces, was a mirror of their own.

‘Bleeding hell all this drama has got me fit to bursting. I’m going for a wee, if I leave it any longer we’ll be swimming in it.’

Frankie scowled at his sister, wishing that one day she’d learn just to keep it buttoned. He was rewarded by a scowl back as she threw her head in the air and walked off, waiting to be buzzed out of the ICU ward.

Gypsy threw water on her face in the toilets, trying to pull herself together. Her head didn’t seem to be able to process the conversation she’d had with Tommy, nor what was happening with Johnny. Then of course there was the situation with Maggie, Harley and Johnny, and of course not forgetting the events of the night with Max. It was too vast, too high and too horrendous to cope with. The worst part about it all was she had no one to confide in.

Throwing more freezing cold water on her face, the toilet door was opened and Lorna waddled in.

‘Okay, Gyps?’

Gypsy stared at her sister-in-law. The last thing she wanted was a ruck; there’d been enough to last a lifetime. Almost as if Lorna was reading her thoughts, she smiled at Gypsy.

‘I ain’t looking for trouble … I’m …’

The words wouldn’t come out for Lorna, so unused to apologising or exchanging pleasantries was she. Instead she changed tack, reporting on the last half an hour’s proceedings which Gypsy had missed.

‘Friggin’ hell, not sure if me nerves can keep being stretched over the edge like that. Johnny began to bleed again whilst you were gone.’

Gypsy threw the paper towel on the floor and began to run for the door.

‘Don’t panic babe, it’s alright; for now anyway. Cut a long tale, they didn’t have any blood but because Frankie’s automatically the same blood type, he’s giving him some, it’ll …’

Gypsy didn’t stop to listen to the rest. She ran faster than she ever had in her life, heading down the corridor, knocking the tea trolley out of the way. Almost skidding around the corner in her speed, she reached the ICU security door and began banging on it.

‘Let me in. Open the door. Open the fucking door.’

From outside the unit Gypsy could see the others standing around the bed and the nurse turning on the roller clamp of the drip. The red drops of blood splashed down into the gelofusion, mixing together prior to slowly crawling down the giving set.

‘No! Stop, you can’t. Open the door.’

From behind her Lorna came up flustered and sweating as the ICU doors were buzzed open by a worried nurse before Lorna had managed to speak.

Gypsy ran in and across to where everyone was standing.