Sleep Softly by Gwen Hunter

Author:Gwen Hunter
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I was between patients when the girl’s mother raced in. I watched as the woman I recognized from the TV screen was instantly surrounded by law enforcement, both federal and local. Though she was distraught, she seemed the type to hold her own against pushy cops, and I heard her say, “Well, it looks to me like you have the wrong man in custody. Unless she drove herself to the monument.” Which made a lot of sense to me, but seemed to irritate Emma Simmons. I had to admit that pleased me immensely.

At eight-forty, just as we got the last of the diverted patients admitted or sent home, a call came in about a gang shooting. There were three males down, all with multiple GSWs—gunshot wounds. And all three were coming here.

The night shift had come in and the day shift was still on duty. No one had gone home. The ED was more than double staffed and we needed every hand. The nurses and techs who had food ate it fast, and the rest of us raced to the nearest vending machine, taking a chance on the day-old sandwiches or making do with a candy bar. I was feeling righteous and went for the sandwich.

I was finishing up the last bite of a slightly stale turkey-and-cheese when the first ambulance reported in. “This is unit 428,” the voice called over the loudspeaker, “transporting a male, approximate age nineteen, with four large-caliber GSWs, one mid-center chest, the others in limbs. CPR’s in progress. Patient is nonresponsive, BP seventy-five, palpated with chest compressions. Patient is intubated and has two IVs, running Ringer’s Lactate and O negative. Request a surgeon available upon arrival.” All the jargon meant that the patient was close to dead. It would be up to us to get him back among the living and to stabilize him for surgery.

Dr. Farley called up to the OR for a surgeon. Dr. Christopher handled the EMT call. “O2 sat?” he asked, referring to the oxygen saturation as measured by a fingertip oxygen monitor.

“O2 sat is eighty-eight and falling.”

“What is patient’s heart rhythm without compressions?”

“Patient is asystole without compressions,” the paramedic said.

Which was bad. No rhythm at all. The teenager was flatlining.

“Pupil contractions?” Christopher asked, his voice controlled and as sterile as an operating room. His questions were right on target, taking over for Farley who had been on duty for over fourteen hours.

“Pupils are equal and reactive, but sluggish,” the paramedic said. Which meant that the patient still had some brain function, but it was vanishing.

“Do we know what caliber of weapon was used?” Christopher asked.

“Cops stated they have military-style, two-and-three-quarter-inch brass and shotgun-shell casings on the scene.”

Someone cursed. Two nurses shook their heads. We all knew what that meant. He’d get the best medical care we could give, but the paramedic had just told us that the holes in the patient were too big to plug. The kid was a goner.

Just before the gunshot victim arrived, I caught a glimpse

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.