The taller paramedic with blond hair looked up. “Hey, Dr. A. Long time no see.”
“Hi, Ernie.” During her ER on-call days she’d run into Ernie and Brent regularly enough. “How is he?”
They stepped back for her to take a look, and she stopped dead in her tracks, her stomach moving beyond churning to roiling. Houston was unconscious, his face an unnatural white, and his lower leg was saturated with blood.
Ernie clapped her on the shoulder. “He’s stable. Only wounds are the right hand, calf, and shin, but he’s bleeding like a stuck pig. Good luck with him.”
Brent read off heart rate and blood pressure as she swallowed hard and stepped forward, pulling on latex gloves. Her instincts and training took over. Quickly she peeled back a T-shirt from the leg that was soaked with blood. The wound was still bleeding, though sluggishly.
It was encouraging news that the lower leg was the only wound, and there didn’t seem to be significant tissue loss that she could see at first glance. Josie relaxed her shoulders, not even realizing until that moment how tense she had been. She hadn’t been sure she could handle a more severe injury, but she could deal with these wounds.
“Put a line in him, please, Shirley. He needs an IV and blood typing. We’re going to need to do a transfusion once we stop the bleeding.”
Assessing the pallor of his face and the blue tint to his lips, she added, “Get some blankets.”
She tossed the soiled shirt in the biohazard bin and told theparamedics, “You guys can head out. We’ll take it from here. He looks pretty stable, all things considered, and it sounds like you got him here in record time.”
“Hope he does all right,” Brent said as they left the room. Josie hoped he did all right as well. One minute he’d been so cool and in control, teasing her, and now he looked pale and vulnerable. The woman in her, the one who had gone and forgotten they were nothing to each other, just co-workers who’d had a one-night stand, wanted to brush her fingers through his hair and trace those blue lips.
Which would look real professional. As soon as the nurse was done inserting the IV, Josie straightened her shoulders. “Grab those blankets and I’ll get some saline to wash out the wound.” She listened to Houston’s uneven breathing and allowed herself to rub his arms rapidly, rationalizing she was working to prevent shock. But it made her feel better that he was warm to the touch, his heart rate strong and steady.
“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, no longer caring if she sounded professional or not. She didn’t feel professional when he was bleeding all over her shirt.
Pulling out her penlight, she pulled back his eyelids and checked his pupils for dilation.
Houston focused on her and blinked. “Josie?” His voice was faint, but determined.
Her hand shook a little as relief surged through her. She was mortified to realize that tears had welled up in her eyes—tears she bent over and viciously wiped away so he wouldn’t see what an emotional dip she was being. “Shhh. Yes, it’s me. Just relax while we get you cleaned up.”
The nurse came back and draped a thick, heated blanket over him and murmured to Josie, “I sent his blood for typing, and the saline is right behind you.”
“Great.” She turned to grab it when his hand pulled weakly at her, trying to stop her.
“What is it?” she asked, giving in to her sudden tender urge and tucking the blanket tighter around his chest.
“Where’s Tim Sheinberg?”
Her relief turned to hurt. He wanted to know if a more senior orthopedic surgeon could be brought in. He obviously didn’t trust her to know how to care for his injury. Even injured and half-unconscious he could insult her.
She spoke as lightly as she could manage. “Probably at home watching TV. He’s not on call tonight.”
“So call him anyway. You’re not ready to do this on your own, or to stay detached.”
If he hadn’t been bleeding, she would have smacked him. It was his fault she wasn’t ready to handle major cases, and his fault she was emotionally involved. Sleeping together had been his stupid idea, one he had pursued heavily if she remembered correctly.
Josie tried not to let her irritation show, especially since Shirley was watching and listening with interest. “I am certainly qualified to give you stitches, which is all you need.” Her sympathy and tenderness evaporated, she changed the subject before she told him exactly what she thought of his attitude. “How much pain are you in? We’ll give you some diamorphine.”
Maybe it would improve his disposition. Permanently.
He groaned.
She took that to mean the pain was severe. “Shirley, would you get that, please?” He would need it for when she dug around in those wounds checking for debris.
Unfortunately, there was no time to wait for the drug to take effect. She flushed out the wounds with the saline and grimaced when sand and other foreign objects came out in a rush. Now that the blood flow had slowed considerably, she could see there were eight puncture wounds in a crescent-shaped pattern on his calf, consistent with the teeth of a shark, as well as vertical lacerations on the shin and foot.
Closer examination of the largest wound revealed a tooth fragment. She removed it and tossed it on the table next to her.
“What are you doing?” His eyes were watching her, his words slow and thick. The immediate effect of the painkiller Shirley had injected into his IV was evident in the relaxed grin on his face and the way his eyes struggled to focus.