Prognosis Bad Timing - Amy Andrews Page 0,4

bile.

Charlie glanced up quickly. ‘How you doing?’ He could hear fear in the rattle of her breath as she struggled to keep herself in control. ‘In and out, Carrie. This is nearly over.’

Carrie nodded, forcing herself to breathe, opening her mouth to ask the question burning through her mind. ‘Do...do you think he’s going to d-die?’

Charlie was surprised to hear her talk. But that was good. Maybe she needed conversation to distract her from the grim reality of the situation?

He had two choices. Truth or gloss.

‘Probably.’ He’d never much been one for gloss. ‘He’s got a significant head injury and multiple fractures, including probable facial, which is compromising his airway. His pupils are fixed and dilated. He has a major arterial haemorrhage.’

Carrie nodded. Through the fog of her jumbled thought processes she knew just one of these alone was a significant, life-threatening injury. Combined...?

‘But it’s OK, I’m a doctor. I’m not giving up yet.’

He grinned despite the circumstances, and relief flowed cool and easy through her system. Maybe his confidence was wrong in the face of the severity of the situation but it helped calm her a little.

The wail of a distant siren interrupted their conversation and they both cocked their heads. Carrie had never heard a more beautiful sound.

‘See?” Charlie smiled again. “Not much longer.’

A fire engine arrived a minute later. It wasn’t quite what Charlie was after but it meant more hands. ‘What happened?’ asked a thin young man in a navy uniform, jumping out of the truck.

Charlie filled them in. Within a minute the car was being dealt with, a road block was being set up to manage any traffic and Charlie’s request for light had been efficiently dealt with. He even commandeered someone to assist.

Second rule of triage — the most experienced person on scene managed the airway. But Charlie needed to get a line in and he couldn’t do that from the head of the patient. He let one of the crew take his place, stressing the importance of neck stability while he quickly placed an IV in the crook of the patient’s elbow.

Hooking up some fluid from his supply, he ran the cannula wide open as another fireman held the bag aloft.

‘She OK, Doc?’ The human IV pole nudged Charlie.

Charlie glanced down at Carrie, who had her eyes closed and was rocking her body slightly.

Nope. Not really. Clearly. ‘She’s fine,’ he assured the fireman.

The ambulance would be here soon and she could be relieved, but in the meantime she was doing a great job with the arterial bleed.

‘OK?’ he asked his voice low as he crouched down beside Carrie, squeezing her shoulder. She looked very pale. ‘You’re doing really well. I couldn’t have done this without your help. You’ve been a Godsend.’

Carrie glanced at him, stunned by his genuine praise. She was a mess and she shouldn’t have been. She should have been a professional. She could have been really useful. Formed a dynamic partnership to save the man’s life.

Been an asset instead of a liability.

But he was complimenting her nonetheless and in this nightmare it really meant something.

Two ambulances arrived five minutes later, one carrying an intensive-care paramedic, and a chopper thundered overhead minutes after that, landing on the road nearby.

Carrie was relieved of her duty, her fingers numb from applying constant pressure. Someone took over and she felt several arms lifting her up to her feet and out of the way. A paramedic shepherded her towards his rig but she refused to be looked at until she’d checked on Dana.

Surely she wasn’t still asleep? But she was. Soundly. Her cherubic pout slack, her blonde locks in disarray.

Carrie allowed the paramedic to give her a once-over by her car. Someone thrust a warm drink at her and someone else draped a blanket around her shoulders. She was grateful to be away from it all, her heart rate settling but the feeling of unreality persisted.

Her neck ached and she rubbed each side absently. Her knees ached also. She looked down at her ruined trousers, torn and frayed at the knees.

She watched Charlie work in tandem with the paramedics to help stabilise the patient, admiring his confidence, his self-assuredness. She’d practically fallen apart, almost vomited all over the patient.

But not him.

He had saved the man’s life. His insistence that she help, while difficult beyond words for her, had been the right call. Not that she’d been capable of much.

Thirty minutes later the patient was gone. Dana finally woke up as the chopper lifted noisily from