1
Derek
“Blood pressure?” I pressed hard on a bleeding wound and glanced up at the nurses rushing to get two large-bore IVs and additional monitors fitted to the patient.
“Eighty over forty, Dr. Carlisle.”
“Shit. Touch and go. Get that infusion in now. Saline, point nine percent.”
“Yes, doctor.” A nurse handed me a fresh wad of gauze. I ditched the bloody wad I’d been using to compress the stab wound, and the patient rolled his head and let out a pained groan before slumping back into unconsciousness. He’d stumbled into the ER with an abdominal wound bleeding through his shirt, collapsed in front of the intake desk, and was now on the verge of going into hypotensive shock if I couldn’t get him stabilized.
It wasn’t the first trauma case of my twelve-hour shift, but I prayed it would be the last. Judging by the violent injuries I’d seen, it had been a nasty night in Washington, DC, and while I thrived working on the frontlines in the ER at Georgetown University Hospital, there was only so much blood I could see in one shift without exhaustion setting in.
“IVs are in, administering crystalloid infusion.”
“Thank you, Nurse Harris. Mask fitted?”
“Yes, doctor. Oxygen running.”
I lifted the gauze and found the entry wound still spurting deep red, way too much for me to even begin to think about stitching up. “I’m worried about this hemorrhage, Shae.”
My favorite nurse clicked her tongue and quickly rushed to get the antifibrinolytic drug ready for injection. “Yes, doctor!”
Two hours later, the patient was stabilized and transferred to surgery, I’d washed the last of the blood off my arms, and my shift was almost over. Heavy with fatigue, I stopped short in the break room and held my breath as a nurse fed dollar bills into the haunted candy machine. “It’s not going to work, Shae. I’m telling you, you’re wasting your hard-earned cash.”
Her braids swayed as she shook her head and punched the number pad with a short, manicured fingernail. “Uh-uh, Dr. Carlisle. I’m telling you, tonight’s the night. That candy bar is mine. I’m feelin’ lucky.”
“You’re dreaming if you think it’s going to fall clean—”
“Ha!”
Astonishingly, the confectionary in row D-4 dropped into the tray without getting snagged on its way down, and Shae shot me a smirk as she peeled back the wrapper with a flourish.
“Damn. I stand corrected, Nurse Harris. Doesn’t hospital lore say that you get a wish for that little miracle?”
“Mm-hmm. You want it?”
“The candy bar? More than life itself.”
She snatched it out of my reach as we walked to the triage desk. “Dream on. You want the wish, though?”
“Nah, I’m good. You have to make your own luck.”
“Oh, c’mon.” She slapped my shoulder as we came around the corner to the triage station. “You’re what, thirty? Too young to be so damn cynical.”
“Thirty-three. And if you insist, then I wish for a bite of that candy bar.”
She flicked crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “Uh-uh. There are rules to wishing! You can’t wish for more wishes, and you sure as hell can’t wish for my hard-earned chocolate.”
“This is getting more and more complicated, Shae.” I was about to waste the wish on something like true love when my phone dinged with a text from one of my brothers. Eli worked search and rescue with the National Parks Service in Maryland and Virginia, and he was gone as much as he was home, but he was currently at the Tower and cooking breakfast, if the photo he sent through was anything to go by. An overflowing plate of Eli’s special chicken waffles were apparently waiting for me once I got home…if the horde of brothers didn’t get to them first. There were seven brothers, my foster family, and all of them were experts at sniffing out Eli’s incredible cooking.
I groaned. “How about I wish for no new trauma cases this shift? I’m thirty minutes from clocking off and there’s breakfast waiting for me at home.”
Shae looked me up and down. “We’ve got to get you out of emergency, Derek.”
“Hey, you’re worried about me? Think I’m going to burn out? Or has it already happened?”
“You? Oh, hell no, you’re strong as an ox. But you never think about moving up in the world?”
“Up? There’s no hierarchy when it comes to saving people’s lives. We’re a team, aren't we?”
Shae howled like I was telling a joke. “Let’s compare your paycheck to the head surgeon’s, and then we can talk about Georgetown University Hospital’s so-called ‘flat hierarchy,’ okay?”
Nurse Carter, scowling