equipped are you?’
‘I can do surgery in the middle of the road if I need to, and I might just need to,’ he said grimly. ‘We nearly lost him last time.’ Then he visibly braced himself, and she could see he was slipping into a mode where he could work. She’d seen surgeons do this before a dicey operation. Push away the negatives. Go in full of confidence, even if their hearts should be in their boots. ‘But, hey, it’s daylight so I don’t need lights. I have the gear I need and another doctor with me—even if her footwear does leave a bit to be desired. Who needs theatres and theatre staff?’
Then, as if on cue, another car came into view. It had to be the people they were meeting, Erin thought. The car came over the hump of the hill at such high speed the rear appeared airborne.
Dom pulled off the road, fast. Well off. The Sutherlands’ carwas beside them in seconds, brakes screeching, a cloud of black smoke and burnt rubber left in its wake as it skidded dangerously onto the verge. Dom was out of his car and pulling open the back door of their car almost before it stopped. Erin followed. And saw their patient.
On the back seat, cradled in his mother’s arms, lay a child, limp and blue—desperately ill. Erin only caught a fleeting glimpse—enough to make her catch her breath in dismay—before Dom was blocking her view.
She wasn’t here to look. She was here to work. Dom had his medical case on the back seat of his car. She hauled it out, laid it on the grass and tugged it open. Searching for what she needed. Seconds later Dom was laying the little boy down beside her. His hand was on Jamie’s neck, trying to find a pulse.
‘Yes,’ he said.
So there was hope. If there was still a pulse…A little air must have been getting through until now.
But no longer.
The child’s face was swollen. His mouth was open as if he’d been gasping for breath. Even without putting her fingers in his mouth—as Dom was doing now—she could see his tongue was so swollen his airway must be blocked.
His chest didn’t move.
‘Trache,’ she said into the stillness, and Dom nodded. A tracheotomy was the only way they’d save him now.
‘Scalpel and trache tube,’ he snapped.
That was what she was here for. She had what he needed out of the case, ready, before he finished the words, and was tugging a swab package open with her teeth.
Dom felt the little boy’s throat, slowing a little, acting with care. The need was urgent but not urgent enough to risk cutting in the wrong place.
Erin’s fingers held the swab, waiting for Dom to lift his hand. Behind her, Jamie’s mother started sobbing. His dad had sunk tohis knees on the verge and was pleading simply, over and over, ‘Please, please, please.’
How many tracheotomies had Dom performed? She’d done them—but, then, Dom only had her word that she was who she said she was. This was no time to verify her credentials.
If Dom had looked unsure she’d offer, but Dom’s bearing was of grim intent, a man who knew what had to be done and wasn’t about to hesitate—or offer the procedure to someone he didn’t know—when hesitancy could mean Jamie’s life.
So she swabbed. She set her hands on the sides of Jamie’s head, making sure he kept motionless.
And Dom didn’t falter. He made a small, neat slit in the central neck, down to the trachea. Into the trachea.
He pressed the tube in—and the thing was done.
But this was no guarantee of life. Jamie’s body was shutting down. It had been two minutes, maybe three, since they’d arrived and she hadn’t seen any sign of breathing. He’d ceased struggling.
Dom leaned over and blew gently into the airway. Again.
And then, magically, Jamie’s chest heaved all on its own. Air sucked into the tube without Dom’s help, sucked involuntarily by lungs that knew what they needed.
Again.
And then the little boy’s eyes fluttered wide. He stared up at Dom in confusion, and the start of panic.
Dom
‘I can do surgery in the middle of the road if I need to, and I might just need to,’ he said grimly. ‘We nearly lost him last time.’ Then he visibly braced himself, and she could see he was slipping into a mode where he could work. She’d seen surgeons do this before a dicey operation. Push away the negatives. Go in full of confidence, even if their hearts should be in their boots. ‘But, hey, it’s daylight so I don’t need lights. I have the gear I need and another doctor with me—even if her footwear does leave a bit to be desired. Who needs theatres and theatre staff?’
Then, as if on cue, another car came into view. It had to be the people they were meeting, Erin thought. The car came over the hump of the hill at such high speed the rear appeared airborne.
Dom pulled off the road, fast. Well off. The Sutherlands’ carwas beside them in seconds, brakes screeching, a cloud of black smoke and burnt rubber left in its wake as it skidded dangerously onto the verge. Dom was out of his car and pulling open the back door of their car almost before it stopped. Erin followed. And saw their patient.
On the back seat, cradled in his mother’s arms, lay a child, limp and blue—desperately ill. Erin only caught a fleeting glimpse—enough to make her catch her breath in dismay—before Dom was blocking her view.
She wasn’t here to look. She was here to work. Dom had his medical case on the back seat of his car. She hauled it out, laid it on the grass and tugged it open. Searching for what she needed. Seconds later Dom was laying the little boy down beside her. His hand was on Jamie’s neck, trying to find a pulse.
‘Yes,’ he said.
So there was hope. If there was still a pulse…A little air must have been getting through until now.
But no longer.
The child’s face was swollen. His mouth was open as if he’d been gasping for breath. Even without putting her fingers in his mouth—as Dom was doing now—she could see his tongue was so swollen his airway must be blocked.
His chest didn’t move.
‘Trache,’ she said into the stillness, and Dom nodded. A tracheotomy was the only way they’d save him now.
‘Scalpel and trache tube,’ he snapped.
That was what she was here for. She had what he needed out of the case, ready, before he finished the words, and was tugging a swab package open with her teeth.
Dom felt the little boy’s throat, slowing a little, acting with care. The need was urgent but not urgent enough to risk cutting in the wrong place.
Erin’s fingers held the swab, waiting for Dom to lift his hand. Behind her, Jamie’s mother started sobbing. His dad had sunk tohis knees on the verge and was pleading simply, over and over, ‘Please, please, please.’
How many tracheotomies had Dom performed? She’d done them—but, then, Dom only had her word that she was who she said she was. This was no time to verify her credentials.
If Dom had looked unsure she’d offer, but Dom’s bearing was of grim intent, a man who knew what had to be done and wasn’t about to hesitate—or offer the procedure to someone he didn’t know—when hesitancy could mean Jamie’s life.
So she swabbed. She set her hands on the sides of Jamie’s head, making sure he kept motionless.
And Dom didn’t falter. He made a small, neat slit in the central neck, down to the trachea. Into the trachea.
He pressed the tube in—and the thing was done.
But this was no guarantee of life. Jamie’s body was shutting down. It had been two minutes, maybe three, since they’d arrived and she hadn’t seen any sign of breathing. He’d ceased struggling.
Dom leaned over and blew gently into the airway. Again.
And then, magically, Jamie’s chest heaved all on its own. Air sucked into the tube without Dom’s help, sucked involuntarily by lungs that knew what they needed.
Again.
And then the little boy’s eyes fluttered wide. He stared up at Dom in confusion, and the start of panic.
Dom
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