OK? Do you think you can do that?’
Carrie nodded mutely.
‘Come on, Carrie, like this,’ he said, breathing deeply in and out himself. ‘Breathe with me, like this.’
Carrie forced herself to slow her breathing. It was hard at first, she didn’t feel like she was getting enough air into her oxygen-starved lungs. But following Charlie’s calm voice, mimicking his deep steady breathing—in and out, in and out—had an affect. His hand on her shoulder was immeasurably comforting. The tingling slowly subsided.
‘OK, now. Good. This is good. Much better. Well done.’
He smiled encouragingly at her. Carrie was aware somewhere inside her jumbled thoughts that he was talking to her like she was a frightened child, the way she spoke to Dana during a thunderstorm. And she was also aware that behind his calm façade his eyes kept flicking down to check the inert man on the ground. Their patient was in bad shape and she had to pull herself together.
‘I need to keep going here. Will you be OK? Just keep breathing, OK? In and out. All right?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m g-good now. I’ll breathe.’
Charlie searched her face. She still looked scared but the panic was gone. ‘OK.’ He nodded and turned his attention back to his patient.
What first? He needed a collar to stabilise the patient’s neck before he manipulated it to improve the airway. He didn’t have one. He made a mental note to put a collar in the kit for future use and moved to plan B. He knelt so that the patient’s head was between his legs, his knees and thighs providing support for the head and neck.
He experimented with some gentle jaw support and chin extension and was relieved to hear the breathing become much less noisy. He reached for his portable suction unit, pushed the mask aside and placed the sucker inside the man’s mouth. Blood slurped into the tubing.
Carrie startled at the loud mechanical noise. She saw the red fluid track down the tubing and looked away quickly. Nausea roiled through her intestines again and for an awful moment she thought she was going to vomit. Her heartbeat surged and she coughed on a rising surge of bile.
Charlie looked up quickly. ‘You OK?’ The look on her face was worrying. He could hear her fear in her tortured breathing as she struggled to get herself back under control. ‘In and out, Carrie. This is nearly over.’
Carrie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Charlie felt his conscience prick at what this experience was doing to her. First she’d nearly lost her life and second he was forcing her to do something she was clearly unsuited to. She was obviously one of those squeamish people who didn’t like the sight of blood, who flicked the channel over when a medical show came on television. It had to be hard for her. This sort of scene could be difficult for even hardened professionals.
She nodded, still not trusting herself to speak. ‘Do…do you think he’s going to d-die?’
Charlie was surprised to hear her talk. She looked mute with fear and her teeth were chattering loudly. 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.
Carrie shut her eyes again.
‘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 seized thought processes she knew these were significant, life-threatening injuries.
‘But it’s OK, I’m a doctor.’ He grinned despite the circumstances, knowing she needed assurance. ‘I’m not giving up yet.’
Carrie felt relief wash 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. They both cocked their heads.
‘See? Not much longer.’ Charlie smiled.
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, 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. He hooked some fluid up to it and ran it wide open as another fireman held the bag aloft.
‘She OK, Doc?’ The human IV pole nudged Charlie.
Charlie looked down at Carrie, who had her eyes closed and was rocking her body slightly. Not really.
‘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 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. I’m proud of you.’
Carrie looked at him, stunned by his praise. Amazed even more that it seemed to matter so much. She was a mess and she shouldn’t have been. She should have been a professional. She could have been really useful. Formed a vibrant 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.
Charlie contemplated splinting the man’s fractured legs but discarded the idea instantly. He knew they’d probably want to put some special haemorrhage control trousers on the patient for his trip to hospital and splints would only hamper that process. He went back to managing the airway and keeping an eye on his unwilling assistant.
The road ambulances arrived five minutes later, one carrying an intensive-care paramedic, and the 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 and out of the way.
A paramedic shepherded her away 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 persisting. 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. She admired his confidence. His self-assuredness. She had 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. Carrie got her out of her car seat and snuggled her against her chest, wrapping the blanket around both of them.
‘What happened, Mummy?’
‘There was a car accident, sweetie.’
Dana yawned. ‘It looks like a disco, Mummy. Can I dance?’
Carrie smiled. Dana was right. The scene did look like a roadside discotheque. Flashing lights