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She took the phone.
‘How badly hurt? And do we know how it happened?’
‘They’ve come through some bad weather and it’s still a bit rough out there, but he was checking the chains on the containers when one moved and trapped him somehow. We’re thinking crush injuries to his legs and chest, and probable internal injuries.’
She had to go!
She thanked the man absentmindedly, her mind racing as she thought of drugs and equipment she might need. She could already hear the helicopter approaching but by the time it put down she was ready for it, scrambling on board with Mark’s helping hand.
Mark handed her a flight suit and helmet, and she hurriedly pulled them on, replacing the sneakers she wore to work with the sturdy boots, her pair now marked with an E for Emma.
And lastly the helmet.
But she no sooner had it strapped into place than Marty’s voice came blasting through it.
‘Are you up to this?’ he demanded. ‘Have you had marine rescue training? Mark’s a qualified paramedic, he can go down to the boat if you’re not sure.’
Put out by his doubts about her ability, her replies were naturally tetchy.
‘Yes, I am up to it,’ she snapped, ‘and, yes, wonder of wonders, I’ve done marine rescue training, and if you think landing on a small motor boat on Sydney Harbour in gale-force winds is easier than landing on the massive deck of a container ship, then you’ve never tried it.’
She paused before remembering the last bit of his conversation.
‘And although Mark’s a great paramedic, just maybe someone who’s had a container land on him actually needs a doctor.’
A silent clapping from Mark made heat rise to her cheeks. She’d broadcast her conversation to all of them, rather than holding the button that would have taken it only to Marty.
‘Stop it,’ she hissed at Mark, who was grinning with delight.
‘No way,’ he whispered, his mic well away from his lips. ‘The boss needs to be put in his place now and then. He’s far too protective of all of us.’
Which, Emma decided as she tightened the straps on the harness that would hook her to the winch, was probably a good thing.
And another good thing was that it wasn’t personal. Marty behaved protectively towards all his crew, not just her.
They saw the slowly moving vessel within minutes of crossing the coastline, and Emma watched as it grew bigger and bigger. Then it was beneath them, Marty matching his speed to it, holding the chopper at a steady pace above a mark the crew had painted on the deck. Mark clipped her and her bag to the winch before opening the side door, and after a quick prayer to any god that might have been hovering nearby, she sat in the doorway, took a deep breath, signalled she was ready to go and began her careful descent.
The wind wasn’t as strong as she’d expected, but it gusted unpredictably, teasing her with a push or shove every now and then.
The crewmen awaiting her were close now, their excitement rising in their voices. Someone caught her legs and guided them down onto the deck, where Emma unclipped herself and her bag and sent the wire back up for the stretcher.
None of them had had any doubt that it would be needed.
Her patient lay in the shadow of the towers of containers, and Emma could see the one that had moved slightly out of alignment, apparently pushing him against the next, though what he’d been doing between the two she couldn’t fathom.
Not her problem.
One of the crewmen, wearing a uniform that suggested rank, explained what had happened in careful English, then added, ‘He was conscious at first, but then not. I do not think his head was injured, but he is not speaking.’
Even before examining the extent of his injuries, Emma could believe he’d passed out because of pain. Which was better as far as she was concerned. Giving pain relief to a patient likely to be heading straight into Theatre was always tricky.
She knelt to examine the man, lifting temporary dressings off his legs, shuddering at the damage that had been done.
Airway!
His breathing was rapid but shallow and his lips slightly blue. It hardly needed the misalignment of the trachea to tell her the cause.
Tension pneumothorax.
She found the needle she needed and inserted it into the second rib space on the damaged side, drew up some air into the syringe, then carefully withdrew the needle, leaving the cannula in place.
Air rushing out told her she’d done the right thing, although she knew this was only temporary relief for the blood vessels in the man’s chest. She secured the tube, fixed a loose dressing over it, and checked his blood pressure.
Far too low, but the best thing she could do was get him on the stretcher and into the chopper, where she could work on him as they flew him to hospital.
