Page 81 of Doc Hollywood

CHAPTER 22

Clara had been on high alert as the ambulance screamed along, running every traffic light in their rush to get to the hospital, the lights and sirens clearing their way.

They had only stayed long enough in the emergency department to perform a formal ECG and call upstairs to the cardiac catheterisation lab before they were on the move again.

Clara had gone as far as the doors, watching the director being wheeled out of sight, then she sat down on the hard plastic chairs in the corridor outside and waited.

While she sat, the cold of the air conditioning was seeping through the thin t-shirt and jeans she had on. Rubbing her arms, she tried to get some warmth back into them. But exhaustion dragged at her, making her more sensitive to the chill.

Her stomach chose that moment to make a loud gurgle of hunger, and she reached down for her handbag. It wasn’t there; in fact, she knew exactly where it was. It was back on the movie set. All her stuff was in there: phone, wallet, car keys and the sandwich she had shoved in there that morning. She had her watch, but that was analogue, so it didn’t help her at all.

Pushing down her discomfort, she resigned herself to waiting and hoping that someone from the movie would turn up and that they could give her a ride.

Clara leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She might as well take a nap while she waited. It wasn’t long before her exhaustion dragged her into unconsciousness.

“Dr Upford?”

Clara jolted awake at a woman’s voice close to her, and she swiped a hand over her face, trying to push away the remnants of sleep.

“Yes,” she answered groggily, blinking up at the nurse standing in front of her.

“Great. I wanted to let you know that Mr Atrosky’s procedure has been successful. He’s remained stable, and we’re moving him to the intensive care unit,” the nurse informed her. “Did you want to go and see him?”

“Yes, that would be great.” Getting to her feet, she followed the nurse along the corridor and through another set of doors that led into the intensive care unit.

“Do you have any details on his next of kin?” the nurse questioned as they walked.

“No, sorry. I don’t.” Clara shook her head. She hadn’t even been able to tell them his date of birth. “He’s a film director. I’m the medical adviser. We were working when this all happened.”

“No problems. And is what they said true?” the nurse asked.

“Is what true?” Clara wasn’t sure what the nurse was talking about.

“That you had fully resuscitated him, including intubation and cannulation, before the ambulance arrived?” The nurse swiped her name badge over a sensor, and the doors to the intensive care opened.

Clara nodded. “Yeah. I’d set up a full operating theatre for the movie. We were in there.”

“He’s a very, very lucky man that he had his heart attack when he did,” the nurse said as she pointed to the bed Mr Atrosky was in.

Clara agreed, “Yeah, it was.”

Standing beside the bed, her eyes scanned the equipment and infusion pumps. They had him on sedation but nothing to support his blood pressure, so that was good.

His colour looked better, no longer the pasty grey of a dying man but instead the pink skin of someone who had been given another chance to live.

“Thanks. It’s always good to see people with your own eyes. I’m sure someone from the movie will be here soon, so you can contact his next of kin,” Clara said to the nurse who stood quietly beside her.

“Could you call one of them? You can use our desk phone,” the nurse offered.

Clara shook her head. She had no idea of anyone’s phone numbers. “I’m sorry. I left everything behind, even my phone, and I don’t know anyone’s number. I don’t even know how I’m going to get back there.” Shrugging, she turned away from the bed to leave.

“Oh.” Sympathy shone on the nurse’s face. “If you go and wait outside, I’ll see if we can sort you out a taxi voucher. They’ve got them in the emergency department.”

“That’s so kind of you. Thanks, I appreciate it.”

The nurse escorted Clara back to the door, making small talk as they went. When the doors swung open, a tall man in asurgical mask with a baseball cap pulled low down over his eyes stood there, about to press the buzzer to the intensive care unit.

“Can I help you?” the nurse enquired, stilling his hand.

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