“I’m telling you, Elana, he’s hot. And he’s single. At least, I’m pretty sure he is—Suzette was pumping him for personal information.”
Their trauma pagers went off simultaneously, interrupting Raine’s story. Elana read the text message.
Motor vehicle crash, 23 y/o female trauma victim ejected from the car, intubated on the scene. ETA two minutes.
Motor vehicle crash. Female trauma victim ejected from the car. Just like Felicity had been.
Elana swallowed hard and clipped her pager back onto the waistband of her scrub pants. Even after nine years, any reminder about her sister’s tragic death made her feel sad. With her mother’s emotional collapse and her absent father, Elana’s life had spiraled downhill. Thank heavens for Chloe, who’d rescued her before she was too far gone.
“I wonder if he’s working today?” Raine asked.
It took her a minute to figure out Raine was still talking about the new doctor.
“How do you know he’s single?” Elana asked.
“Because Suzette talked to him. Weren’t you listening? He’s young, just turned thirty, and he’s hot. Like, steamy hot.”
No, she hadn’t been listening. Elana shrugged again and crossed over to the supply cabinet, opening drawers and ensuring the day shift staff had restocked everything after the last trauma patient had been transferred up to the medical ICU.
“There he is,” Raine hissed.
Before she could turn to look, the double doors of the ambulance bay burst open. Two paramedics wheeled in the young female trauma patient. Elana took her place at the right side of the patient, while Raine took the left. Trauma resuscitations were not as chaotic as they were made to look on television. Every person had their role to play, and predesignated responsibilities, depending on where they stood. Elana tended to take the right side because she liked doing the vital signs and initial assessment.
“Two liters of Ringer’s lactate are going into respective antecubital eighteen-gauge IVs. Suspected cervical fracture, limbs flaccid at the scene, C-collar in place. Intubated in the field with a seven-point-five endotracheal tube.”
Elana connected the patient to the heart monitor, listening as the paramedics rattled off the pertinent information. The new doctor stood at the foot of the bed, but Elana’s attention was riveted on the patient. This young woman was older than Felicity had been, but only by a couple of years.
A suspected cervical fracture. Possibly paralyzed for life. How awful. Felicity had died at the scene of her accident, but, really, which fate was worse? Staring down at the young woman’s blood-streaked face, Elana wasn’t sure.
She did a quick assessment, getting the first set of vital signs and doing a quick listen to the patient’s heart and lungs. When she finished, she flipped her stethoscope around her neck. “Vitals are low, BP 76/40, pulse tachy at 122, pupils sluggish but reactive and equal in size. Lungs coarse but bilateral breath sounds noted.” She glanced up at the new physician and froze.
Brock Madison.
Her chest tightened, and she had to remind herself to breathe. No, it couldn’t be. She had to be mistaken. She hadn’t seen him in years. Maybe this guy just looked like an older version of the Brock Madison she remembered.
“Do you want to continue the Ringer’s lactate solution, Dr Madison?” Raine asked.
“Yes, although we may need to transfuse a unit of blood too.”
The room spun, and Elana had to grab onto the side rail to keep herself upright. Dr Madison. Brock Madison was the new doctor on staff.
And he was also the driver of the car that had hit her sister’s vehicle nine years ago. The man who’d caused Felicity’s death.
Brock hid his surprise at seeing Elana Schultz again, although the shocked expression on her face mirrored the turmoil in his gut. With an effort, he forced himself to ignore his personal problems and concentrate on the young trauma victim before him.
“Start with two units of O-negative blood,” Brock ordered. “We need to get her stabilized before we send her to the CT scanner to evaluate the extent of her injuries.”
Raine did as he asked, but Elana simply stood there, hanging onto the side rail and staring down at the patient, clearly in shock. As much as he appreciated what she must be going through, at this critical juncture he needed the entire trauma team to be working together. He moved closer, keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “Elana, if you can’t do this, please find someone to take your place.”
She snapped her head around to look at him. The fierce expression flaring in her eyes nearly made him take a step backward. After a moment’s hesitation, she glanced away, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, unclasping her tense fingers from the side rail. “I’m fine. Do you want a full set of labs?”
“Yes. We need to know if she’s bleeding internally.” Brock couldn’t help admiring the way Elana jumped back into the trauma resuscitation. He’d known she’d graduated from college with a nursing degree because he’d kept tabs on Felicity’s younger sister over the years. But he hadn’t realized Elana had taken a position here at Trinity. Ironic that she’d chosen to work in the emergency department, providing care to trauma patients. Like her sister.
And yet hadn’t he gone into emergency medicine for the same reasons?
He watched as she drew a set of blood gases and then filled another four lab tubes with blood. Reassured that Elana was doing all right, he turned his attention back to the patient. He was somewhat worried about the young woman’s lung function, but, even more, he needed to know what her hematocrit and hemoglobin levels were.
“Get me those H & H results stat. In the meantime, let’s make sure there are no other obvious sites of bleeding.”
Elana and Raine worked well together, he noted. Since arriving at Trinity Medical Center, he’d been impressed with how well the emergency and trauma center staff gelled, from the techs to the nurses up to and including the physicians. A true team approach. Things hadn’t been quite this cohesive in his former position.
Within a few minutes, Elana reported new vitals. “BP up to 84/42, pulse a little less tachy at 117. We’re making some headway.”
He nodded, agreeing with her assessment. If they could get this patient’s blood pressure up to the nineties, he’d be satisfied enough to send her to the CT scanner. If she needed emergency surgery on her spine, he didn’t want to delay care. On the other hand, he didn’t want her to crash in the CT scanner, either.
“We have the H & H results,” Elana announced. “Hemoglobin is 7.8 and hematocrit is 29.”
“Give another two units of O-negative blood, Raine,” he ordered. “Keep running the fluids too; I’d like to see her systolic blood pressure over ninety. I’m going to call Radiology to make sure they’re ready for her. One of you is going to need to go with her to the CT scanner.”
“I’ll go,” Elana volunteered.
He gave a brief nod, turned on his heel and walked to the nearest phone. Within moments he had everything arranged with the radiologist on call.
His gaze settled back on Elana, watching her as she worked. With her jet-black hair pulled into a long ponytail, her high cheekbones and olive-toned skin, a gift from her Hispanic mother, she was stunningly beautiful. She’d grown up from the gangly teenager she’d been nine years ago.
And she had every reason to hate him.
The