Emergency At Inglewood. Alison Roberts
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more than a split-second glance at Kathryn but it was enough to absorb the impression of a white face and fingernails buried in the unforgiving upholstery of her seat. She was being thrown in the deep end here and Tim didn’t like the tiny flash of satisfaction it gave him.
He was in control again and it felt like the first time since the sight of her diminutive figure in its smart new uniform had assaulted his senses. He had been the one out of his depth then, and he had really thought he’d been drowning when she’d said she’d been disappointed he hadn’t kept his promise to ring her.
It should have been easy to lie and say the number scribbled on that empty syringe packet had been mislaid, or that they just got incredibly busy and he had forgotten. But he hadn’t forgotten, had he? That moment of panic when he’d thought he’d lost the damn packet, the relief with which he’d fished it out of his pocket, and then the crushing disappointment as Laura had pointed out that both Kathryn and her dinner partner had been wearing wedding rings were burned into his memory with astonishing clarity.
The woman of his dreams, he’d confessed to Laura. And he’d been too late. Someone had got there first and claimed the kind of commitment that was sacrosanct as far as Tim was concerned. He should have been able to put any attraction in the rubbish along with that phone number, but that had proved impossible. As impossible as sounding casual enough to make a lie convincing.
It might have been OK if he’d had a little warning, but the change in Laura’s replacement had only been decided that morning and Kathryn had arrived before he’d had time to collect any messages. He had still been trying to come to terms with the fact that he would be working closely with Kathryn for the next six months when she’d reminded him of precisely why that was going to be so awkward.
Tim pushed his foot down on the brake and Kathryn shot forward into the clutch of her safety belt.
‘This is Rawlston Street. What number do we want?’
Kathryn sat back and fumbled for her pager.
‘You should write that information on the case report form as soon as we get a call,’ Tim told her. ‘You can’t afford to waste any time if it’s an emergency response.’
‘Sorry.’ Kathryn was pushing the button on her pager. ‘It’s number 257 and it says ‘‘Fresh’’.’
‘Fresh Is Best. It’s a supermarket up the end of the road.’ Tim turned off the siren but left the beacons flashing as he slowed the ambulance. ‘It’s a chest pain,’ he reminded Kathryn, ‘so we’ll take everything. Throw the life pack onto the stretcher along with the oxygen and suction kit. I’ll get the kit. Let’s move.’
ANXIOUS-LOOKING people wearing hats and white aprons over striped uniforms were waiting. Tim jumped out from the driver’s seat and strode to the back to open the doors. Kathryn stayed inside the vehicle, sliding between the front seats into the back and struggling to unclip the safety belt on the life pack quickly. She could hear snatches of the information Tim was being given.
‘Lifting sacks of flour. They’re as heavy as…’
‘Looks awful. All grey and sweaty…’
‘Fifty-six. Never had a sick day in his…’
By the time Kathryn had the life pack on top of the stretcher, Tim had added all the other equipment they needed, unhooked the end of the stretcher and was pulling it free. Kathryn made a lunge to catch the handle on her end so it wouldn’t crash down the steps. Then she had to trot to keep up.
Their patient did look awful. The middle-aged man was slumped against a wall near the massive ovens in the supermarket bakery.
‘Get some oxygen on him,’ Tim instructed Kathryn. ‘Fifteen litres a minute with a non-rebreather mask.’
An easy enough task. Kathryn unzipped the pouch attached to the portable oxygen cylinder and ripped open a plastic bag containing a mask, only to find it was a standard acute mask. She reached into the bag again and this time found the one with the reservoir bag attached. She hooked it up to the cylinder and remembered to keep her finger over the hole at the base of the mask until the reservoir bag was full.
Tim had cut away the apron and uniform shirt of the man and was attaching the sticky electrodes on the ends of the life-pack leads.
‘Have you got any history of heart problems?’
Their patient couldn’t speak. Clearly in agonising pain, he clutched his chest and shook his head as he moaned incoherently.
Kathryn moved closer. ‘I’m just going to put a mask on your face, sir,’ she said. ‘Is that OK?’
Patient consent was not forthcoming but Kathryn found her nervousness vanishing as she touched the man. She could do this. Without being told, she picked up the blood-pressure cuff and wrapped it round the man’s arm. She listened with a stethoscope as she let the pressure in the cuff down but could hear nothing. Frowning, she caught Tim’s gaze as he reached into the kit for a tourniquet.
‘Unrecordable?’ Tim mirrored Kathryn’s quick nod. ‘I’m not surprised. I couldn’t get a radial pulse.’
That meant the man’s systolic blood pressure was less than 80. Kathryn looked at the screen of the life pack and felt a chill of premonition. The trace looked far from normal with the spike of the QRS bizarrely wide.
‘Complete heart block,’ Tim said quietly. ‘Draw me up a flush, would you, please, Kathryn? And give him an aspirin.’
Kathryn found her brain was moving far more quickly than her hands. Her fingers shook as she followed Tim’s calm directions but she managed to draw up the morphine and other drugs he requested. There was no time to do anything more than absorb the impression of urgency after that as bakery staff helped get the man onto the stretcher and load him and the gear into the ambulance. Within a matter of minutes Kathryn found herself driving the ambulance towards the hospital with Tim in the back, caring for a very sick cardiac patient.
Driving such a large, heavy vehicle had been a challenge in itself during her training and it would be months before Kathryn would be allowed to drive under lights and sirens, but she was confident enough at road speed and far happier leaving Tim to care for the patient this time.
By the time they got back to the main road she was almost enjoying herself. Her first job with Tim had gone well, all things considered. Maybe she had been a bit slow drawing up the morphine and adding the saline, but she just wasn’t used to doing things under such pressure of time. She’d get used to it soon enough. Pulling out the wrong oxygen mask had wasted valuable seconds, though. She’d have to—
‘Pull over!’ The shout from the back cut through any satisfaction enveloping Kathryn.
She checked the side mirrors and indicated that she was pulling onto the shoulder of the road.
‘Now, Kat!’
She jammed on the brakes and heard a curse from Tim as he had to catch his balance.
‘Get in the back,’ Tim said tersely, as he reached for the radio microphone. ‘Get the gel pads and charge up the defib. He’s in VF.’
Oh…God! This was her worst nightmare. Her first job and she was expected to defibrillate someone. Kathryn could feel the prickle of perspiration break out down the entire length of her spine as she ripped open the foil packet and slapped two rectangles of spongy orange material onto the patient’s chest.
‘Charge it,’ Tim snapped as a response to his radio signal came through. ‘We need back-up,’ he told the control room. ‘VF arrest.’ He was watching Kathryn as he spoke.
She held a paddle in each hand. The crescendo of sound that depressing the charge button had elicited stopped with a loud beep. The paddles were charged.
‘Do