Just One of the Guys
Page 32

“Who cares? They’d be surprised, that’s all.” I pause. “So. An English teacher. Is that what you really want?”
“I don’t know, Chas. Maybe. Shit. I wish I hadn’t brought it up.” He concentrates on scratching Buttercup’s left ear as she licks her chops and wags, turning so he can reach her belly, the trashy hound.
Obviously, I’ve felt on the outside many times in my family, but it’s a bit of a revelation that Matt could feel that way, too. “Matt,” I say carefully, “I thought you liked being a firefighter.”
“I do,” he admits more calmly. “Just…I don’t know, Chas. I don’t want to do this forever. That’s all. Guys like Trevor and Dad—and Mark, God knows—it’s like their destiny. Like they were put on Earth to do this. I don’t think of it that way.”
I nod, tracing the satin edge of my duvet cover. “So teaching might be your destiny?”
He shrugs, embarrassed. “We were at the middle school in March, you know? Fire prevention and all that. And it was great. The kids were asking all these questions, and…well, I’ve been thinking about maybe becoming a teacher. I was talking to Angela about books and stuff the other day when you guys were at the firehouse, and…” his voice trails off “…I kind of loved it,” he admits. “Shit, Chas, don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“I won’t. I think it’s great, Matt,” I say earnestly. “You shouldn’t feel stuck in a career when you’re thirty-three years old, buddy. Going back to school would be great, however you do it. Part-time, full-time, whatever. Good for you, Matt!”
“Really?” he asks, and I love him so much just then, not because he’s the most considerate of my brothers, or the closest in age, or someone who shares his food, but because he trusts me to give him a good answer.
“Really,” I say. “But now I’ve got to run, buddy. Help yourself to my books.” I gesture to the long, low bookshelf that carries seven years’ worth of higher education.
“I already have.” He grins.
I ARRIVE AT THE E.R. AND CHECK in with the triage nurse, a tight-faced woman named Gabrielle Downs. She sighs dramatically when I present myself. “Just what I need today,” she mutters. “Fine. Stay out of the way. If I’m not totally swamped the way I am now, I’ll see if I can find something for you to do.”
“Are you any relation to Lucia Downs?” I ask.
Another dramatic sigh. “Yes. My sister.”
Of course. Melodrama like this can only come through genetics. “I work with Lucia at the Eaton Falls Gazette.”
Gabrielle raises an eyebrow disdainfully. “Where she’s the receptionist?”
There is such contempt dripping from that word that I can’t help feeling defensive of Lucia, however much she doesn’t deserve it. “Lucia is much more than the receptionist,” I return coolly. “The paper wouldn’t run without her.”
“So she tells me every single time I talk to her.”
Gabrielle walks away, leaving me to wonder just what I’m supposed to do. Well, no harm in looking around, I suppose. In the first curtained-off area, optimistically named Evaluation Room 1, an elderly man is sleeping. In the second, a little boy, about seven, is sniffling on the bed, his mom sitting next to him, holding his hand. There’s a nearly palpable bond between them, and an unexpected wave of maternal envy and admiration surges through me.
“Hi,” I say, smiling.
“Hi,” the mom answers. “Are you the doctor?”
“No. I’m an EMT,” I say. “Well, I’m becoming an EMT. Can I ask your son a few questions?”
“Sure,” the mom says. “He has a really bad sore throat.”
And clearly, no health insurance, or they’d be at the pediatrician’s right now, instead of forced to spend half the day or more here. “Sorry to hear that, buddy,” I say. “You feel yucky?”
The boy’s name is Nate, he tells me, he’s six and three-quarters years old and wants to be a firefighter when he grows up. Perfect. I tell him about my brothers and dad, smiling as his eyes grow wide with awe. “Do you like the Yankees?” I ask.
“Of course,” he answers, swallowing with a grimace.
“I got to go to a game last week,” I tell him. “They won. Who’s your favorite player?”
We chat amiably until a nurse (not Lucia’s sister) comes in to do a strep test, and I’m shooed out of the cubicle.
“Bye, pal,” I say. He waves and smiles, then gags as the nurse sticks a swab in his throat for a culture.
“Thanks. You really helped pass the time,” the mom says.
Flushed with pride, I turn away and bump squarely into Ryan Darling, trauma surgeon.
“Uh-oh,” I say. There’s only one reason Ryan would be here.
“Hello, Chastity,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my E.R. day, remember?” I answer.
“Oh, of course. How’s it going?” He smiles, causing a nearby conversation to halt. Imagining that they’re admiring my extremely handsome boyfriend, I smile back.
“It’s going okay, Ryan,” I say. “I just got started, really. I don’t think I get to do anything much. What about you? Are you here on a consult?”
“Just waiting for the ambulance,” he says nonchalantly. “Bike versus motorcycle. Possible splenic rupture. Stick around. You can see me in action. When I’m called down, the excitement starts.” One of the orderlies overhears and rolls his eyes.
I raise an eyebrow. “How humble you are, dear,” I murmur. He shrugs as if to say, Can’t help it if it’s true. “Anyway,” I continue, “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to hang around watching trauma surgeons.”
“Oh, if I say you can, you can.” He smiles reassuringly, but I cringe inwardly, for two reasons. One, I don’t want to see someone who’s really hurt. My palms are already slick. Second, Ryan is being really arrogant, even for a surgeon.
“Well?” he asks.
“Um…sure,” I mutter.
“Great!” Ryan turns to Gabrielle, who is approaching with a clipboard. “Nurse, where the hell is that ambulance? I was paged five minutes ago and they’re not even here. I have better things to do than come down here and watch paint dry.”
“Yes, Doctor. I’m sorry.” Gabrielle shoots me a resentful look.
“You’d better get it through your head that a surgeon doesn’t have time to burn. I’m not some baby catcher, you know.”
Gabrielle bows her head and scurries away.
“Jesus, Ryan. That was harsh, don’t you think?” I ask Ryan in consternation.
He grunts. “It’s all true, Chastity. And there are some people you have to deal with in a certain way if you want to get results. It’s just part of the job.”
Another doctor approaches Ryan, describing something about the case in medical shorthand. Ryan gives a slight nod, but doesn’t say anything else. Several other staff members are wheeling carts and bustling around in anticipation for this case. My knees buzz with adrenaline and fear.
Just then, the doors to the trauma bay burst open. A gurney is wheeled in, the patient so covered that I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman. Bev Ludevoorsk is the EMT on duty. She’s running alongside the gurney, holding an IV bag.
“Thirty-four-year-old male bicyclist, hit by motorcyclist. Helmeted. A and O on the scene, but fading fast en route. Abdominal pain, right upper quadrant. Breath sounds equal. Road burn on arms and legs, possible broken collarbone and facial fracture. On insulin for Type I diabetes.”
Her voice is its usual brisk, all-business tone. To my untrained eye, it seems like she’s done a fantastic job. Ryan doesn’t even look at her, just strides over to the patient’s side. He palpates the guy’s abdomen, causing the guy to scream in pain. Unfazed, Ryan makes his pronouncement. “CT scan and chest X-rays, stat. Type and cross, and start four units. Call the OR. It’s the spleen, all right.” He whips out his stethoscope and listens to the patient’s chest. “Possible punctured lung. Breath sounds are not equal. Call Pulmonology.”
Then the patient is being moved again, literally run down the hall, Ryan following behind.
“Hey, there, O’Neill,” Bev booms, slapping my shoulder. “Your shift?”
“Hi, Bev,” I answer. “That was great! You were amazing!”
“Well, thanks, kid. How’s it going? Was that doctor chewing you out? He’s a prick, that one. Stay out of his way if you see him again.”
“Um…well, okay, I will. But he’s my boyfriend.”
Bev’s grimace is comical. “Shit! Sorry!”
I laugh. “That’s okay, Bev. I guess he’s a different person in the hospital, because he’s really sweet, actually.”
“Hard to believe, O’Neill, hard to believe. Hey, here come paramedics from the fire department. They’ll have the motorcyclist from this accident. Isn’t that your brother?”
The Eaton Falls Fire Department ambulance pulls up outside the doors. Another patient is unloaded, but not by my brother. By Trevor. He’s laughing, talking to the patient, who clearly isn’t that bad off.
“Hey, Chas,” he says, his eyebrows rising in surprise. But he doesn’t stop, just helps Jake wheel the patient into a treatment area.
Gabrielle appears at my side. “If you need to do something, go take that guy’s blood pressure, and then I’ll have to do it again to make sure you did it right. Okay? God, I hate these stupid EMT days.”
“Thank you,” I say sweetly. “See you, Bev.” I go to the cubicle where the motorcyclist was just taken.
“What’s up, Chastity?” Jake asks, giving me his customary once-over.
“Hey, guys. Um…well, I’m doing a shift here. I’m in an EMT class. Hi,” I say to the patient. He’s about sixty, five foot nine, with a grizzled beard and bald head. His left arm is in a splint. “I’m Chastity. Can I practice on you?”
“You can do whatever you want on me,” the man says, grinning to reveal gold-capped teeth.
“A little respect, Jeff,” Trevor says. “She’s one of ours.”
“Cool,” the guy says with a lecherous wiggle of his eyebrows.
“So what happened here?” I ask.
Jeff tells me about how the bicyclist veered out from behind a parked car and how they both went ass over handlebars. “I think I broke my arm,” he says, frowning.
“Oh, you broke you arm, all right,” Trevor says. “Compound fracture, pal.”
“Which means I’m one brave sonofabitch,” Jeff comments.
I smile and take his blood pressure on the good arm. The wounded arm is packed with ice, and if Jeff is a little pale, he does seem quite brave.
“Could you bend a little lower so I can see down your shirt, honey?” he asks.
“Is it all right if I smack him, Trev?” I ask.
“Of course,” Trevor answers. Jeff smiles and I grin back. Jake checks messages on his cell phone.
“One-sixty-three over ninety,” I announce. “But that might be from the pain. Do you have a history of high blood pressure, Jeff?”
“Only when I’m looking down your shirt, honey,” he answers. We all laugh, just as Gabrielle bustles up.
“What’s going on here? Chastity, flirting with the patients is something you can do on your own time. In the E.R., we don’t have time for things like that! Did you even manage to do what you were told?”
“Hi, Gabby,” Trevor says.
She melts. “Trevor! I didn’t see you! What are you doing here? How are you?”
“Just bringing in a patient,” he says. “I see you know my friend Chastity.”
She shoots me a suspicious glare, looking so much like Lucia that it’s spooky. “Yes. Well? What’s his BP?”
“One-sixty-three over ninety,” I say.
“And his temperature?”
“Um…I didn’t take that,” I answer.
“Why?”
“Because you didn’t tell me to?” I suggest.
She sighs. “Oh, this is such a waste of time.” She bustles to the cabinet, whips out one of those little paper strips that pass as thermometers and sticks it under Jeff’s tongue. I notice that he doesn’t flirt with her. Instead, he makes a pained face and looks at me for sympathy. Then Gabby takes his blood pressure. “One-sixty-two over ninety-one,” she announces. Rather brusquely, she whips off the ice pack and looks at Jeff’s arm. It’s swollen and clearly deformed, an odd lump sticking up between his wrist and elbow. My mouth goes instantly dry, my legs are tapioca, my vision starts that graying thing it does so well.
If I faint now, I’m done. I’ll fail my class. I swallow, take a small step back and hit something solid. Trevor.
“Hang in there, Chas.” His voice is so low that I can barely hear it, but there’s warmth there, and reassurance. He knows. He thinks I can make it. I take a deep breath and stand a little straighter.
“Fuck me, woman!” Jeff yelps. I blink. Gabrielle is feeling his arm, not tenderly, then slaps the ice pack back on.
“Broken!” she crows. “I’ll schedule an X-ray.” With that, she leaves a considerably grayer Jeff lying on the bed.
“You okay, Jeff?” I ask, feeling less than well myself.