Rescue - By Anita Shreve Page 0,63
home. Bathroom down the hall. A probie’s salary is grim. “You ever had a code ninety-nine before?”
“Just in training.”
The house is at the end of a driveway badly in need of a regrade. Powell has to slow down for a massive bump.
The probie takes the backboard and his jump kit. Webster has the med box and a flashlight. They walk straight in and find a middle-aged woman sitting forward on a kitchen chair, a large cooking pot by her feet. Webster can smell the vomit.
“You take the vitals, I’ll do the history,” he tells the newbie.
Webster has a pen and pad in hand. “Ma’am, can you tell me your name?”
“Susan.”
“Susan, we’re here to help you. How old are you?”
“Fifty-one.”
“Can you tell me where your pain is?”
Webster watches the rookie take the pulse as the woman vomits into the pot again.
“Susan, on a scale of one to ten, can you tell me how bad the pain is?”
“Eight.”
“Can you show me where your pain is?”
The woman pats her chest. “Heavy,” she says.
Elephant on the chest.
Webster puts an IV line in. He can see that the newbie is having trouble with the blood pressure cuff. “Probie, what’s your problem?”
“No problem.”
“What’s the BP?” he asks.
The newbie hesitates. “One-eighteen over eighty,” he says.
“Other vitals?”
“Pulse, a hundred twenty-four. Respirations, thirty-six,” he snaps out.
The patient seems confused by Webster’s presence. More confused than when Webster entered the house. “Probie, we need another light. The switch over there,” he says as he points.
Powell turns on the overhead while Webster checks the woman’s airway and listens to the lungs. He slaps on the non-rebreather mask. Webster examines the cardiac monitor. “Let me see that cuff,” he tells the probie. “Watch for vomit.”
Webster takes the blood pressure. “Eighty-six over fifty-eight,” he says aloud.
Webster hands the cuff back just as the cardiac monitor signals V-fib. Webster catches Susan, and he and the probie lay her on the wood floor.
“I’m going to shock her,” Webster says.
Webster checks to see that the pads are securely in place. The probie has done something right. He removes the oxygen. “Is everybody clear?” he calls out.
Before he can administer the shock, he sees, from the corner of his eye, Powell reaching for the IV bag.
“Don’t touch that!” Webster shouts.
The probie freezes, his hand six inches over the bag.
“Sit back,” Webster says. He waits a second. Powell looks like he wants to swallow his arm. “Is everybody clear?” Webster repeats. He administers the shock.
“Keep the compressions going,” he tells the probie. And then, after a minute, he adds, “I’m going to shock her again. Is everybody clear?”
This time, the probie scuttles backward so fast, Webster thinks he’ll fall over.
Webster turns up the joules and shocks Susan again.
“Let’s get her onto the stretcher and into the rig. Keep up the CPR.”
They slide Susan into the rig. Webster goes with her, taking over the CPR. Still V-fib on the monitor. Webster wants to bring her in alive. He removes the oxygen and administers another shock, this time a hundred fifty joules. He gives her one milligram of epi, shocks her at two hundred joules, and then delivers one hundred milligrams of lidocaine.
He radios the hospital. “Hartstone Rescue to Mercy. “
“Go, Hartstone.”
“We are en route to your facility with a fifty-one-year-old female. Patient was conscious initially, but arrested shortly after our arrival. The monitor is showing V-fib. Patient shocked and defibrillated a total of four times. We’ve administered a total of two migs of epi and two hundred migs of lidocaine. Patient is intubated.”
“What’s the down time on this patient?”
“Four minutes.”
“Continuous CPR?”
“Yes.”
“Per MD number twenty-three, administer one amp sodium bicarbonate. ETA?”
“Five minutes?”
“We’ll be waiting for you.”
“OK, Susan,” Webster says to his patient, who looks as dead as a person can be. “You and me, we’re going to do this together.” Webster removes the oxygen. “I’m clear, you’re not.” Webster shocks the woman again. He replaces the bag valve mask and administers the sodium bicarbonate.
“You married? Your husband at work? Kids? You a smoker?” Webster stops the CPR, removes the oxygen, turns up the joules, and goes through the procedure again. “Hey, Susan, seriously, you gotta do your part.” He starts the CPR again.
“OK, Susan, we got nothing to lose. Hold on to your eyeballs.” Webster repeats the routine and turns the joules up to two hundred fifty. “I’m clear, and you’re dead if this damn machine can’t do the job.”
The woman’s body rises right off the stretcher. Webster’s eyes are locked onto the monitor. He watches as Susan converts to