In Sheets Of Rain - Nicola Claire Page 0,31

as they caught the sun’s rays in the early morning light. It looked like they were winking. One window was open, curtains billowing out as though possessed.

There was already a crew on scene. A 5-1. North Shore e-car. Obviously cleared from Auckland Hospital and sent straight here. Ted pulled the Life Support Unit up, bracketing the scene; attempting to shield the patient from rubber-neckers.

I hopped out of the ambulance and glanced up at that open window, knowing what we’d see when we approached the patient. I grabbed my gear, straightened my back, and attempted to use Gareth’s breathing technique.

The e-car crew had a bag-mask over his mouth. The defib and a c-collar lay discarded to the side. The paramedic was attempting to get an IV line established.

“He just walked through the door and straight to his office,” someone nearby said. “Then out the window,” they whispered.

I crossed the carpark to the scene, my eyes drawn again to the open window high, high above. The curtains curled like fingers beckoning me.

“Status one,” Mike the e-car paramedic announced.

“I’m surprised he’s still breathing,” Sheryl the e-car ambo added.

“Attach those electrodes,” Ted ordered, and she scrambled to obey his order. “Line established?” he asked Mike.

“Having trouble getting a vein.”

“Leave it,” Ted advised. “Load and go.”

“I’ll grab the stretcher,” I said. Ted nodded.

I rushed back to the ambulance, frantically trying to count to three in my head as I inhaled. I realised after several seconds that the numbers were running together inside my mind.

Onetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothree.

I was sure that was not how it was supposed to go.

“He got diagnosed with cancer,” someone said. “Couldn’t face the chemo,” they added. “He’s got a wife and three kids.”

I pulled the stretcher out, throwing a scoop on top of it from the side cupboard, and rolled it back toward the scene. It clanked and groaned as it lowered toward the ground, taking longer, I was sure, than the cancer-stricken patient had to reach it.

“You want that c-collar on?” I asked Ted. He nodded.

I slipped around Mike and put the collar in place as Sheryl held the patient’s head immobile. I tried not to stare at the guy’s eyes. My gloves came away soaked in red.

A pool of it seeped out around the patient’s skull. I noted things on his face and the side of his head I knew would revisit me in my dreams. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, tainting the bag-mask pink.

Scoop stretcher. Rolled up towels taped down either side of his head. O2 bottle between the legs. Defib across his shins. One. Two. Three. Stretcher up. Slower than my resps.

“Follow us, Kylee,” Ted said. “I’ll jump in the back of A 5-1.”

“OK,” I managed, moving toward our truck.

They pulled out, lights and sirens flashing. I sat in my ambulance and watched the crowd slowly disperse. Back to their day. Back to their lives. The patient’s face, if even acknowledged, forgotten.

He got diagnosed with cancer.

He just walked through the door and straight to his office. Then out the window.

He’s got a wife and three kids.

And the blood came down in sheets of rain all around me.

22

Marriage Is Made Up Of Compromises, Kylee

“So, you’re a paramedic,” Suit Guy said as I tried to choose between a generic brand name washing powder and a popular, more expensive one.

I looked down at my uniform and realised it was the first time he’d seen me in it.

“How did you guess?” I asked, smiling.

“Always did like a woman in uniform.”

“I think that’s meant to be my line,” I said. “Except, you know, about it being a man.”

Suit Guy laughed.

“Can’t be easy,” he said, grabbing the popular brand of washing powder and placing it in his basket.

“What can’t be? Admitting my sexual preference?”

He smiled. His eyes sparkled.

“No. I’m fairly certain I can tell what that is.”

I arched my brow at him.

“The job,” he explained, still smiling. “Saving lives.”

I turned away, placing the generic brand of washing powder in my trolley. People always assumed that we saved lives every single day. Our job wasn’t that heroic. Or horrific.

Then why couldn’t I stop the dreams?

“It must be lonely,” Suit Guy said, walking briskly to catch up to me.

“Lonely?” I asked, despite myself.

“Yes,” he said. “Lonely. It’s not like you can discuss what you see at the dinner table at night.”

I paused at the end of the aisle and stared at nothing.

“You’re right,” I said, surprised a stranger could understand my life so accurately. Even if he’d seen my reality from a different angle than