The Nurse's Brooding Boss by Laura Iding

Author:Laura Iding
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2010-12-17T05:00:00+00:00

Twenty-two-year-old male pedestrian struck by a car, BP 62/30, pulse 144 and irregular, coded once and intubated in the field.

Didn’t sound promising. Brock must have gotten the page too, since he joined them in the trauma bay a few minutes later, his expression grim.

When the ambulance doors burst open, she noticed their patient was covered in blood from head to toe, bleeding from various sites. In the battle between pedestrians and vehicles, the pedestrians were often the losers. From the very beginning, Elana knew this patient’s outcome wasn’t going to be much different.

But Brock was just as determined to do everything possible to prolong the inevitable outcome.

“Eric, get more plasma and blood running now,” he snapped. “Elana, I need a chest tube tray: he’s bleeding into his lungs.”

She nodded, setting the chest tube tray on the over-bed table, opening the tray while keeping the contents inside sterile. Brock expertly inserted the chest tube, and almost instantly blood poured through the clear tubing, filling the plastic receptacle at an alarming pace.

“His pressure is dropping, only fifty-four systolic,” Elana said.

“Get more blood. I want four units on the rapid infuser at all times,” Brock ordered. “Get me the thoracic surgery team stat. This kid needs the OR.”

She briefly met Eric’s gaze, both silently acknowledging there was no way this kid was going to make it to the OR. But pushing her instinctive beliefs aside, she made the phone call and then hurried over to help Eric hang more blood, working in tandem on the rapid infuser.

Their patient’s blood pressure continued to fall. And then, when the thoracic surgeon walked in, the young man lost his heart rhythm altogether.

“Start CPR,” Brock demanded.

Elana jumped up on a stool so she could reach the patient and began doing chest compressions. The image of Brock doing this for Felicity, with a broken collarbone sticking out of his chest, flashed in her mind. Eric took over with the breathing, using the ambu bag to provide deep breaths. She kept up a steady stream of compressions, checking the heart monitor overhead to make sure she was getting good circulation from her efforts.

“He’s gone, Brock,” the thoracic surgeon said. “I wouldn’t take him to surgery in this condition anyway. He’s bleeding from everywhere, likely into his head and his abdomen as well as into his chest. There’s nothing we can do.”

Elana continued to do CPR, after Eric gave epinephrine through the IV, until Brock said, “All right, stop CPR.”

She paused, glancing up at the monitor. Flat-line pulse. Completely absent blood pressure. She let out a heavy sigh.

“Time of death, ten forty-five p.m.” Brock’s voice was hard, tense, as he stripped off his bloody gloves and grabbed the death notice out of the chart. He scribbled his name on the bottom and then stalked away.

Elana helped Eric clean up the patient, whose family had yet to be notified, but she kept looking for Brock, wondering where he was. She tried to tell herself Brock’s issues were none of her business, but she couldn’t seem to shut off her concern.

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