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CHAPTERONE
Dr. Jillian Davis kept her head high, hopefully portraying a confidence she didn't feel as she strode through the emergency department at Trinity Medical Center.
“You're late.” Dr. Wayne Netter, one of her colleagues, glared at her from his arrogant stance behind the nurse’s station.
She ignored him, refusing to explain she was late because her MRI scan had been delayed. Her personal problems were none of his business. Impervious to his glare, she eyed the list of patients displayed on the large electronic census board. “I see we have a full house.”
“There are a couple of trauma victims on the way in,” Lacy, the charge nurse, piped up. “Multiple gunshot wounds. ETA less than two minutes.”
“Maybe I should stick around, in case you need help.” Wayne Netter suffered from delusions of grandeur, acting as if he was the backbone of the emergency department, which is why he could barely tolerate knowing Jillian had been chosen for the role of interim medical director over him. Mostly, she knew, because of his less than amiable personality.
She raised a brow. “Sure, if you like. Although it's Friday night, and I wouldn't want to hold up your plans.”
Wayne's gaze narrowed and she imagined he was internally debating with himself. Was it more important she believed he had big plans on a Friday night or that she needed his dubious expertise for two simultaneous trauma victims?
Decisions, decisions. She fought a smile, especially when Lacy comically rolled her eyes from behind Wayne's back. Neither of them particularly cared for the guy.
Clearing her throat, she turned her attention to Lacy. “Any other patient care issues I need to know about?”
“Nope.” Lacy shot a quick glance at Dr. Netter and Jillian belatedly realized Wayne might take her innocent remark as something derogatory. The guy’s ego was a bit much. She stifled a sigh as Lacy hastened to reassure her, “Everything's fine. Hospital beds are still pretty full and we have a few patients waiting on discharges upstairs.”
“Great. I'll head over to the trauma room, then.” Jillian walked away, feeling Wayne's piercing gaze boring into her back. To make a bad situation worse, she'd also once turned down his offer to go out for dinner, and he'd been impossible to deal with ever since. He just couldn't believe she wasn't interested. As if he were the ED’s most eligible bachelor. Of course, he didn't realize she hadn’t dated many men in her lifetime. At first because her mother had been ill and later because she just hadn't found anyone interesting enough.
Wayne did not come close to tempting her. When he didn't follow her into the trauma room, she figured he'd decided not to stick around.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she focused her attention on the nurses and techs scurrying around to prepare the rooms for the incoming trauma patients. Sirens wailed from the ambulance bay and moments later the double doors burst open, spewing chaos into the room.
“Anchor Doe, male, approximately sixteen-years-old with a gunshot wound to the belly, normal saline running wide open through two antecubital peripheral lines.” A paramedic called out the pertinent information as the patient was wheeled into the first trauma Bay.
“Evergreen Doe, male approximately the same age at sixteen, was shot in the chest. We intubated him in the field, but his vitals are deteriorating rapidly. Fluids going wide open through two peripheral IVs.”
Of the two unknown males, identified by names other than John since that became far too confusing, Evergreen Doe’s chest wound was by far the most serious and required immediate attention. Jillian raised her voice to be heard over the din. “Call for a cardiovascular surgery consult, STAT.”
“We already did, when the first call about a gunshot wound to the chest came in,” Bonnie, one of the trauma nurses, quickly explained. “They were finishing up in surgery and planned to send a surgeon down.”
“I don't see anyone yet. Call them again,” Jillian ordered.
A nurse stepped away from the bedside to make the call.
“Blood pressure barely 70 systolic and heart rate irregular and tacky at 120,” Bonnie called out.” Looks like he may be trying to go into a wide complex cardiac rhythm.”
Jillian wasn't surprised to see one of the paramedics kneeling on the gurney beside Evergreen Doe, keeping pressure on his chest wound. As the trauma nurses fell into their respective roles on each side of the gurney, she donned sterile gloves and moved closer to examine the severity of the wound.
“Thanks, I have it now.” She nodded, indicating he could let up on the wound. A flash of silver on a badge caught her eye and belatedly she realized the man holding pressure wasn't a paramedic at all but a cop.
He released pressure and immediately blood pooled in the center of the young man's chest. The cop slammed his hands back down, covering the gaping wound and leaning his weight over the area. “He's going to bleed to death before the surgeon gets here!”
Jillian couldn't argue—the brief glimpse she'd had of the injury told her it was bad. Really bad. She snapped out orders. “I want four units of O negative blood running through both IV's for a total of 8 units, using the rapid infuser. Get this kid's blood pressure up before we lose him. I also want suction here so I can examine this wound.”
Marianne, another nurse, reached up and connected a long clear tubing from the wall suction machine, then handed her the other end. Grabbing a pack of sterile gauze off the instrument table, Jillian turned back to the patient. She glanced up at the cop, registering a flash of recognition as she met his intense green eyes. “Let up on the wound again and this time stay back.”
With a grim expression, he nodded.
When he lifted his hands she shoved the sterile end of the suction catheter into the area to clear most of the blood. Using the gauze to soak up the remaining blood, she examined the wound.
“The bullet has torn through the pericardial sack and injured his heart.” The injury to the boy's chest was bad, but he had youth on his side. The young could survive a lot more than your average older adult. “Where is the surgeon?”
“He's on the way,” Bonnie responded.
