Michael’s voice came through. ‘Coms couldn’t tell me times or numbers. She said it’s absolute chaos out there. Because we’re closest we get the first, most urgent cases, then they’ll start feeding out to other hospitals.’
‘First we need to clear as many beds as we can. Michael, what’ve we got?’
‘One lad about to have his arm put in plaster. A woman with unidentified head pain awaiting lab results. There are also two stat five patients in the waiting room.’
‘Kelli, take the boy, get him fixed up and on his way home. Michael, see if the general ward can accommodate the head-pain patient and let them follow up on her blood results as they come in.’
‘Onto it.’
‘Tamara.’ When had she come to stand next to him? Like she was offering support? He should’ve felt her there, but he wasn’t used to looking to someone else for comfort or sharing. He looked into that steady dark gaze and knew he was glad she was with him. For now they were on the same page, despite the chasm yawning between them. A baby. Longing unfurled slowly deep inside. Family. The thing he’d denied himself for life. Even when he’d desperately wanted one. Was this the universe’s way of saying he was wrong?
An elbow nudging his arm reminded him of what he was meant to be thinking about. Nothing to do with babies. ‘Right, Tamara.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked, clearly weighing up all that had to be done before their first little patient came through those wide doors from the ambulance bays.
‘In the waiting room, those stat fives. Send the man with the possible sprained ankle straight to Radiology. I’ll let them know he’s coming and why the hurry.’
‘Right.’ She made to move away.
She was obviously not as distracted as he was, then. This woman was the ultimate professional, hiding behind that impenetrable façade, letting nothing personal affect her work. He’d only once seen her mask come down completely. Whoa. Do not go there. ‘Wait. The man with a constant bleeding nose can go over the way to the emergency doctors’ clinic.’
‘He’s going to love that,’ Tamara muttered as she reached to pick up the patient notes.
‘Explain the situation. He’ll get just as good care there, and certainly a lot quicker. Tell Reception to send people to medical centres where possible after the triage nurse has assessed them. Once those kids start arriving no one else is going to get a look in unless they’re stat one.’
‘Give me the easy job, why don’t you?’ There was no acid in her retort. Maybe it wasn’t a retort, considering the lift of those full lips into something resembling a tentative smile. A Tamara smile—rarely given, and never over-eager—was something to hold onto.
Warmth flooded him because of that smile. Warmth that only Tamara seemed capable of giving him at a deeper level than just fun and enjoyment. He found her a smile in return, and drank in her surprise. Hopefully she didn’t know how she affected him when he wasn’t being careful, which around her was becoming more and more difficult. Hence why he’d applied for a job in Sydney, hopefully starting next month.
Staff from the next shift were wandering in one at a time. A low hum of whispers told the newcomers what they were about to deal with. Conor looked at Mac, who said, ‘Pretty much everyone’s here so carry on. You’ve started the process.’
Facing the eager faces, Conor told the nurses and registrars, ‘All of you, double check we’re ready and prepared for every eventuality. You know what to do. Treat this as you would any stat one coming through the door, but know there’s going to be a seemingly endless stream. It will come to an end, I assure you, but there’ll be moments when you doubt that.’ He paused to let his words sink in, then said, ‘I’ll be on the phone, putting people around the hospital on standby, but interrupt me if you find there’s a problem anywhere. There are going to be double ups amongst you but, believe me, you will all be required.’
Mac took over allocating jobs while Conor punched in the direct dial number for the theatre manager. ‘Sister, we have a situation.’ He quickly brought her up to speed and then left her to get on with cancelling surgeries and getting theatres prepared for the influx due any moment.
Theatres, done. Running through a mental list of who he had to notify, he punched in the next number. Radiology, then surgeons and other specialists, blood bank.
‘Everyone’s busy so I can take some of those calls.’ Mac stood in front of him, phone in hand. ‘Who’s next?’
‘Orthopaedics.’
Together they worked systematically through the list, the whole time Conor watching the minutes ticking by, feeling the tension building in himself and the department as the doors from the ambulance bay remained firmly shut. He slammed the phone down on his final call. ‘Come on. Where are these kids? The odds aren’t great if they don’t get here now.’
Mac shook his head. ‘We’re organised, ready and waiting. But, yeah, where the hell are those children?’
The buzzer screamed, cutting through the air, sounding louder and more urgent than normal. Instant silence fell across the department and every head turned towards those doors.
Conor drew a breath. ‘Okay, everyone, good luck. I know you’ll do your damnedest.’ And then some.
As he took a step his gaze slid from the doors to Tamara. She was pale, but ramrod straight, and her nod in his direction was assured. Then she was moving to let in their first patient, and Conor was right beside her.
‘Jamie Johnson, eight years old, severe concussion.’
Then the flood started.
‘Carole Miller, facial injuries, nine years old.’
‘Toby Crawford, eight years old, unconscious, suspected skull fracture, internal injuries.’
Once it began the line of trauma victims was continuous and the severity of the cases presenting mind-numbing. A brief gap ninety minutes in gave everyone time to nearly catch up before the second wave of children arrived. These kids were in worse condition than the initial ones because they’d taken longer to be extricated from the wreckage that had once been a bus.
‘We need blood here.’ Tamara was beckoning to the lab technician to take a sample for cross-match from her patient prior to his surgery for a severed foot.
‘And here,’ Kelli called from the next resus unit, where a tiny lad with a broken kneecap and torn artery lay whimpering in a fog of morphine.
Conor called to Tamara, ‘Get the orthopaedic surgeon in here.’
The phone was at her ear immediately as she hadn’t put it down from her last urgent call. For a brief moment they locked eyes and he felt a surge of adrenalin. It was like she was his other half. The calm, self-assured nurse who now had him under control and as calm as she was. The woman carrying his baby. Conor’s gut clenched. Baby. Child. Accidents. Death and destruction. Forget calm. What if something like this happened to their child? What—?
‘Here.’ Tamara shoved the phone at him and instantly replaced his hands with hers on their small patient’s leg to continue pressing on a pad staunching the blood flow that had restarted while they’d been investigating his injuries.
Conor swallowed down the fear and said into the phone, ‘Kay, we’ve got a lad whose left foot has been severed.’ As he rattled off details he refused to think about how the loss of a foot would affect a young child. Instead he concentrated on Tamara as she bent over the boy, whispering sweet nothings to him even when there wasn’t a chance in hell the boy heard a word. This was Tamara at her best. Calming.
That