When Hearts Collide - By James, Kendra Page 0,8
Gracie and the car seat on the rubber mattress. The nurse did a quick assessment—identical to Molly’s, except she had the proper equipment to take a full set of vitals.
“She looks fine, but I need to get help. We’ll put her on a backboard, get a plastic cervical collar on, and do some x-rays. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Two minutes later, Sarah returned with another nurse and a tall, fair-haired man in operating room greens. “Gracie, this is Doctor Graham.”
“Hello, Gracie. How are you?”
“I want my daddy.”
“Well, let’s get you looked at. The other doctor is looking at your daddy right now.”
“How is he?” Molly heard the tremble in her voice. “No one’s told me yet.”
“The ambulance drivers said you’re a nurse.”
“Yes. I know he has a broken leg, and possibly a subdural hematoma, and maybe abdominal injuries, but...”
“It looks like you may be right on all counts. They’re doing a CT scan on him now, head and abdomen. I’ll tell you as soon as we know anything.”
Molly tried to smile, but with worry over the child and the child’s father, she could barely whisper a quick, “Thank you.”
“Now, let’s make sure this little tyke has no injuries.” He turned to Gracie. “Okay, Missy.”
“I’m not Missy. I’m Gracie.”
Doctor Graham grinned. “Well Gracie, let’s get you out of that car seat and check you out.”
The backboard was readied and in unison the doctor and nurses lifted Gracie out of the car seat and onto the board. Molly’s job was to provide the child with constant reassurance. Whimpering, Gracie’s tiny hand clawed at Molly’s. “Molly Mommy.”
“It’s okay, honey. The doctor just needs to check you.” Molly hovered over the child while the doctor did a rapid exam. Then they were whisked off to x-ray. Chest and neck x-rays were normal, and they were back in the emergency department twenty minutes later. Dr. Graham approached the bed.
Gracie, afraid of more probing, clutched Molly’s hand and started to scream. Molly did her best to calm the child. When the child’s cries had diminished to intermittent sobs, Molly asked, “How is Pearce?”
“He’s back from his CT scan, and they’re waiting for the surgeon.”
Hearing her father’s name, Gracie’s screams intensified. “Daddy. I want my Daddy.”
“Once I check you over, I’ll go see how your daddy is doing. Okay?” Doctor Graham reassured her.
The screaming slowly settled, ending with a loud responding sniff that extended to her abdomen. The cervical collar restricted Gracie’s nod.
After a few more loud sobs, Gracie let Doctor Graham approach. His exam was gentle and took only a couple of minutes. He asked her all the routine head injury questions: can you tell me your name, your age, your address. He checked her pupils and had her squeeze his hand. Satisfied with his exam, he gave Molly a reassuring nod, then turned to Gracie. “Let’s take off this nasty collar.”
Molly let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
The doctor slid the collar off and handed the child to her. Gracie’s small frame fashioned itself into her, her tiny arms fusing like cling wrap to her neck.
“She’s a very lucky little girl,” Doctor Graham said. “I’ll give you a head injury instruction sheet. Bring her back to see me if you have any concerns.” He handed her a sheet of colored paper, then disappeared behind a closed door, the trauma bay.
Nurses scurried in and out of the room, and Molly knew there would be more of a flurry going on inside. She pictured what was happening behind the doors, an intravenous being inserted, drugs being given, tests being completed, and a hundred other things. She wanted to be in there with this man she oddly felt such a connection to. She wanted to be involved in his care, and she wanted to be helping to save his life. Yet all she could do was wait.
When Doctor Graham returned a few moments later, Molly recognized his grim expression and felt a lump form in her throat. How many times had she worn the same one when giving family bad news?
“Where’s my daddy?” Gracie demanded.
“The doctor’s are making him better. Can I talk to your mommy?”
Gracie increased her hold and buried her face in Molly’s chest. “No.”
“If you ask that nurse over there, I bet she’ll get you a Popsicle.”
Gracie peeked at him, then announced, “I’m hungry.” Detangling herself, she trotted over to the nurses’ station and demanded a Popsicle.
Doctor Graham’s voice was terse, low, lacking emotion, just offering the facts.