Page 2 of Holiday Love
“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” He shakes his head, scoffing. “Don’t you ever get tired of it? Having to pull people out of the fire they deliberately threw themselves into?”
I bite down on my first instinct, the defensive one. Because I get it, at least part of it. EMTs are the first ones on the scene. They see the worst of it—the blood, the panic, the hysterical families. By the time patients get to me, they’ve been cleaned off, stabilized, and wrapped in white sheets. It makes sense that Larry’s jaded.
Still. It’s a choice, to let the work get to you, strip you down until there’s no compassion left.
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “It’s our job.Literallywhat we’re paid to do,” I remind him, sharper than I mean to. “Can we please just stick to the facts?”
Color rises on Larry’s neck as his eyes dart away. The silence that follows makes my stomach pinch.
Crap.
Even if he deserved it, I was too harsh. I didn’t mean to embarrass him. Sometimes I feel like everyone but me got a set of instructions on how to interact with each other. Like it was the “learn social cues” day in school, but I was home sick.
“Sorry,” I mumble, not sure if it’s too late for my apology to count.
Larry either doesn’t hear me or ignores my words. I’m guessing the latter. Voice flat, he intones, “Mid-twenties white male found washed up on shore by tourists. He was shallow breathing and bradycardic when we arrived. Now steady heart rate.”
“Hypothermia. The Pacific Ocean definitely got him.” Having grown up in California and now having worked here for the past ten months, I’ve seen quite a few cases like this. Surfers who stayed out too long without their wetsuits or people who fell off boats, and it took a while for the Coast Guard to rescue them. I pull latex gloves from a rectangular box on the wall. They’re mediums, too big for my hands, which Larry, to my annoyance, once called dainty. The hospital is always out of size small.
I make my way toward the head of the stretcher, asking questions as I go. “Any sign of drugs? Alcohol?”
Larry chews his lower lip while he flips through sheets of paper. “We gave him Narcan just in case, but no response.”
“So, no opioids.” I pull my stethoscope out and unwind it.
“Smells like a brewery, though.” Larry casts a judgmental eye toward the man. “Also, I think his leg’s broken. Must’ve gotten hit by his surfboard, or maybe he had one of those Velcro ankle ties that keep you connected to the board and it snapped the bone when he fell.”
Lindsey rushes into the room with her clipboard pressed to her chest like a shield. Wide-eyed, she asks, “What can I do, Dr. Chu?”
“We need to raise this guy’s body temperature slowly. Can you get me some warm blankets, please?”
“You got it.” Without stopping, she makes a U-turn and strides back out.
I stick the rubber-tipped earpieces of my stethoscope into my ears, and the world muffles instantly. As I stand at the head of the bed, I glance back at Larry, who’s rattling off vitals from the ambulance run. I pull back the sheet, revealing bare skin. Per protocol, Larry and his partner cut off the man’s clothing en route. The patient’s chest rises and falls with short, shallow breaths. I place the stethoscope over his heart. Normally, I’d take the time to blow on it, warm it up, but this man is already cold and clammy. He’s not going to know the difference.
I close my eyes to concentrate and listen.
Thump…thump…thump.
His heartbeat is a reassuring sound, strong and steady, like the tide rolling in and out. Judging from his toned and muscled chest, this guy’s in good shape. Lucky for him. That probably helped him survive the inky pull of the water. Leaning close, I listen to his lungs, which have a distinctive crackle and wheeze. He’s inhaled water. It’ll take a few days for that to clear.
I’m already compiling a list of tests and treatments in my head. It’s all muscle memory by now, the protocols, the order sets. I don’t even need to think to know the next steps.
I lift my gaze to the patient’s face, and my stomach drops, a sickening free fall. A million thoughts crash through my mind, but only one sticks.
I know this man.
I had sex with him.
Chapter three
Dr. Helen Chu
One Year Ago
New York City
Helen
