Chapter 26
“I know the feeling.”
Kat
It’s just another December Saturday shift. Loud. Fluorescents humming. One trauma is already prepped, two drunken injuries are waiting for scans, and I’m halfway through a tea that’s long gone cold.
Then, a call crackles through the radio.
“Male, late twenties, blunt abdominal trauma from a sports injury. Suspected internal bleed, possible ruptured organ. En route, vitals unstable. ETA three minutes.”
I set my tea down and get ready.
They wheel thepatient in faster than usual, blue lights still flashing outside. One of the paramedics jumps down from the ambulance and jogs alongside me, rattling off vitals. “Pulse was 110 en route, now 135. BP dropping. Abdomen’s rigid, distended. We administered fluids, but he’s crashing.”
I step forward, reaching for a pair of gloves. And then I see his face.
Archie.
The air is sucked from the room.
Blood is spattered on his shirt, spilling from his mouth. His skin is far too pale.
I freeze, my eyes locked on him.
The registrar clocks it. “Doctor?”
My voice catches in my throat, but I manage to mutter, “I—I can’t take this one.”
Someone else steps in instantly, already gloved and calm. “We’ve got him.”
I stumble back. One pace. Then another. My hands are still suspended in the air, as if I forgot how to lower them.
The paramedic, who’s young and twitchy, lingers by the side of the trolley. I reach for his arm.
“What happened?” My voice doesn’t even sound like mine.
“He took a knee straight to the abdomen,” he says, his words coming out in a tumble. “Went down hard. He was conscious at first, then collapsed a few minutes later. Vomiting. Low temp. BP tanked in the ambulance. They think it might be a ruptured spleen or a mesenteric tear.”
My stomach drops.
Ruptured spleen.Or worse. That’s litres of blood he could be losing.
I know all too well how fast someone can go from upright to… gone.
I can’t breathe.
My knees buckle, and I slide down the nearest wall, the cold of the tile biting through my scrubs. My back hits hard. My arms are braced on my knees, head in my hands, fingers locked tight enough to lose circulation.
How could this happen?
As I huddle there, our last conversation replays in my head. He told me everything I’d dreamed he would say, and I pushed him away, no matter how much I knew it would cost me. But what if he never wakes up? What if this love is really lost forever?
I want to scream, but no sound comes out. Tears are rolling down my cheeks as a familiar scent pulls me into a tight hug.
“So sorry,” the voice says.
“Is he in surgery?” another one adds.