Page 19 of One Step Behind
Gloves on, I step forward to check the ABCs – Airway, Breathing, Circulation – the three things that will kill him the quickest. I put my stethoscope into my ears and then, just as I’m leaning over his body with the sound of his heartbeat racing in my ears, faces inches apart, our eyes meet.
My hand reels back like I’ve been burnt. I jump away, a gasp of air stuck in my lungs.
‘Doctor Lawson?’ Thomas says. ‘Are you all right?’
I nod. I swallow. I carry on. Goosebumps crawl over my skin.
It’s you, but I carry on.
I place my stethoscope back on to your chest and hear the reduced breath sounds the paramedic mentioned. ‘Get the portable X-ray,’ I say. ‘Circulation – pulse rate and blood pressure both raised.’ The heart is working overtime to compensate for your collapsed lung.
I wave my pocket torch in front of your eyes. ‘Sluggish pupil response,’ I tell the team. ‘Call CT. Makesure we get the next space.’ We need to see the internal injuries.
Amie disappears to make the call and Thomas leaves to find the portable X-ray. For a moment it’s just me and you.
I look down at my gloved hands. The tremor seems almost violent. I close my fingers into two fists and will it to stop.
You make a noise. If there are words mixed in with the grunted gargle I don’t catch them. My feet draw nearer despite the terror gripping every muscle in my body. My heart is beating as fast as yours.
When you stare up at me it is with fearful unblinking eyes. You’re scared. The thought causes a bullet of emotion to race through my body. It’s anxiety, it’s fear, but also – and I can’t believe this – there’s a tiny thrill charging with it. How does it feel to be scared? To be trapped? To be completely at the mercy of someone else?
The moment passes and Thomas is back, positioning the portable X-ray machine over your chest.
I should page one of the other senior registrars to take over and call DS Church. The thought is there, but I don’t move. Instead, the X-ray loads. You have two broken ribs. One bad enough to puncture your right lung, just as I expected.
‘Prep for a chest tube,’ I tell Amie.
‘Matthew, my name is Jenna Lawson. I’m a registrar here at Westbury District Hospital,’ I say like you’re any other patient, like you don’t know exactly who I am. ‘Your right lung has collapsed which is why you’re having difficulty breathing. We’re going to place a tube in your side which will re-inflate your lung. You’ll feel a sharp pinch but it’s important you stay still.’
You give a slight nod. I turn to Thomas and motion him forwards. ‘Have you inserted a chest tube before?’
‘Only once,’ he says, his face lighting up. He hides the grin well but it’s dancing in his eyes along with surprise.
‘You do it and I’ll supervise.’ This is not the time for a teaching moment, but my hands are still shaking.
Thomas works quickly, prodding your side and finding the space to insert the tube that will allow your lung to inflate and take the pressure off your heart.
‘CT’s ready for him,’ Amie tells me when the chest tube is in.
‘Good job,’ I tell Thomas and we’re off again, out of resus and towards CT.
There’s another ‘Ready, steady, slide,’ as we move you on to the CT machine.
‘Matthew,’ Thomas says. ‘We’re going to give you a CT scan to see what’s going on inside. A nurse will be right here the whole time and I’ll be in the next room. We can hear you, so if you need anything just make a noise. OK?’
You lick your lips as if you’re going to speak but scrunch your eyes shut instead and give a small nod.
‘Stay very still for me,’ Thomas adds.
I drop into the chair beside the radiographer and watch from behind the glass as you move through the CT machine. It looks like a giant Polo mint, round and white with a hole in the middle that pulls you in inch by inch.
Time drags. There’s an empty plastic cup on the desk in front of me, reminding me of my thirst, my tiredness, the ache in my back. My muscles are tense and I’m terrified you’re going to get up and hurt me somehow, but you’re not. Your injuries are real.
‘Can you get the X-rays done on his leg, arm and jaw?’ I ask Thomas as the CT finishes. ‘I’ll review these scans.’ The consultant radiologist on duty will analyse the scans too, but it could be an hour or more before that happens and we don’t wait with injuries like yours.
‘Gotcha,’ Thomas says, flashing me a wide grin, as we hustle out.
I pull up a stool to a bank of three computers beside the nurses’ station and wait for your scans to load. Nurses reach around me and knock my back, but I barely notice. Space is limited and we’re always on top of each other.
