скачать книгу бесплатно
Everything attached to Jason had to be switched to a portable alternative. Portable oxygen, portable monitor, portable pumps. The process took fifteen minutes. Steve accompanied the bedside nurse to the radiology department, along with the registrar and two wardsmen. Scanning an intensely monitored person was involved and required many hands.
Laura finally got a chance to grab a quick break so she took it gratefully. She sank into the tearoom chair, her mind abuzz with the things still to do.
‘Taking a breather?’ asked Jack, sitting beside her.
‘Jack. Thanks so much for earlier, with Jason. It was good having someone who knew what they were doing by my side.’
Jack smiled and felt the pleasure at her compliment warm his insides. ‘I like being at your side.’
Laura smiled back, their closeness of a decade ago returning. She took a deep breath and blinked. This was neither the time nor the place.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry. You wanted to see me earlier?’
‘Doesn’t matter. I sorted it, thanks.’ He quelled the disappointment he felt as she distanced herself. ‘You’ve had a busy day.’
‘No worse than most. Better than some.’ She smiled.
He smiled back and Laura felt her stomach flip-flop. Damn the man. It had been ten years and she could still remember how good he had felt inside her.
‘This is a normal work day?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Laura.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you know anything about post-traumatic stress disorder?’
The glow from distant memories faded as wariness took over. ‘Probably more than most.’
‘So you know that with the traumatic events of Newvalley, you are in the highest risk group.’
‘I think we’ve been through this already. I can handle it, Jack. I’ve been doing this for a long time. I’m OK.’
‘Just hear me out, Laura, that’s all I’m asking,’ he said, holding up his hands to emphasise the import of his words. ‘I do know what I’m talking about here. You trusted me with Jason, right? Please, trust me on this one.’
Laura shut her eyes and sighed. He was right. She owed it to him to at least listen to what he had to say. His professionalism with Jason and his invaluable help with the emergency compelled her to give his words some thought.
‘OK, I’ll listen.’
‘Thank you,’ he murmured, grateful for the chance to sway her to his way of thinking. But where to start? Now he had his opportunity he didn’t want to blow it.
‘See, the funny thing about PTSD is its ability to rear its ugly head when people least expect it. Sufferers can cruise along for years and then something will happen—doesn’t even have to be very big—and wham! They’re losing it. Big time.’
‘I know that, Jack. But it won’t happen to me.’
‘No.’ He nodded knowingly, ‘Of course, you’re OK. You’ve dealt with it.’
‘I have,’ she sighed, rubbing her eyes.
‘Well, if that was true, going to the memorial service wouldn’t be a problem for you. But it obviously is. I suspect that’s because there are still some demons lurking. The effects of PTSD can be quite debilitating. Some people can’t even get out of bed, let alone hold down a job. Who was the Einstein that recommended you take up this kind of nursing?’
‘I didn’t ask anyone’s permission, Jack. I kind of just stumbled into it and loved it and stayed.’
‘Didn’t your therapist advise you not to?’
‘I didn’t start working here until after my therapy finished.’
‘Well, that’s just as well because anyone worth their salt would know there are two important factors to decrease the risk of PTSD. One…’ he held up his finger ‘…deal with your issues. Two…’ he held up another finger ‘…reduce life stressors. Not hold hands with them, Laura. Reduce them. But you…’ he jabbed his finger at her ‘…go and choose the world’s most stressful job!’
‘Actually, I think air traffic controller holds that honour.’
‘Laura,’ he groaned, exasperated. He had to make her see that she could be setting herself up for a real fall.
‘Jack.’ She sprang up, a frustrated laugh escaping. I’ve given you a fair hearing but enough already! I am not going to crack up on the job! I’m fine. I’ve been fine for a long time now and you dragging it all up again is not going to help me. Obviously this is more your issue than mine!’
‘Laura—’
‘Butt…out…Jack,’ she whispered loudly, emphasising each word, and left the room without a backward glance.
Great, he thought, contemplating the empty room. That went well!
CHAPTER THREE
TWO days later, Laura was on her seventh day of a nine-day stretch. It was Saturday. She loved weekends in hospitals. Even though it wasn’t necessarily quieter on the unit, there was still less hierarchy floating around making life miserable for those at the coalface. The entire atmosphere was relaxed.
She yawned as she came back from lunch. It was almost two o’clock. Today she was the runner and Marie was team leader. Marie didn’t usually work weekends, but when they were this short-staffed she did what she could.
So much for the spare beds! Two had filled by the next day. Miraculously one bed still remained empty and it was Laura’s fervent hope that it would still be so at the end of her shift. Only an hour and a half to go!
Thankfully Jack had backed off. In fact, she hadn’t seen him at all after their tearoom conversation. It did surprise her, however. The memorial service was on Monday and he had seemed so determined to get her there. Hopefully he had heeded her words.
Jenny Dexter put down the phone as Laura approached.
‘I’m going down to Casualty. They want me to look at a guy who’s just come in. Sounds serious. I’ll let you know.’
‘Sure,’ said Laura. So much for the empty bed!
Ten minutes later the consultant was on the phone. She gave Laura a brief rundown on the patient, who she’d be bringing up immediately. Mr Gordon was a forty-year-old with a rapidly deteriorating condition. Suspected meningococcal septicaemia.
Marie and Laura prepared the bedspace for the man’s arrival in record time. They’d just finished when the stretcher pushed through the heavy swing doors of the unit. Laura took one look and knew that the situation was grave. Two women accompanied the stretcher.
While the medical team took over, Laura ushered the reluctant women into the quiet room.
‘My husband’s going to die, isn’t he?’ his frantic wife demanded as the other woman placed a comforting hand on her arm.
Choosing her words carefully, Laura said gently, ‘Your husband is gravely ill.’
‘Don’t let them give up on him. Please, don’t let them. Don’t let him die.’ She clutched at Laura’s arm.
She searched for a shred of hope to give to the woman.
‘Those doctors out there are the best there is, Mrs Gordon. I know they’ll do everything they can.’
When she returned to the bedspace Mr Gordon was already intubated and had a central line inserted. Fluids and drugs were being poured into him. His blood pressure was dangerously low and his heart rate very fast, with multiple erratic beats. The area was littered with discarded packaging and used equipment. It looked chaotic but was actually very controlled.
Laura pitched in, passing things hastily requested, often even before they were asked for. The heart trace on the monitor changed to a life-threatening rhythm and what blood pressure there was totally collapsed.
‘Start cardiac massage,’ Jenny commanded. Marie climbed up on the bed and began compressing Mr Gordon’s sternum. One of the doctors disconnected the ventilator and commenced hand-bagging.
Laura charged the defibrillator. She quickly assembled an ampoule of lignocaine. The machine pinged its readiness and she handed the paddles to Jenny, sending up a quick prayer. All eyes watched his chest jump as the joules of electricity tried to jolt the erratic rhythm back to normality. The trace remained the same. Lignocaine was administered as the machine was charged again.
Mr Gordon had been in full cardiac arrest for twenty long minutes when the futility of the situation called for a reluctant end to the proceedings. The atmosphere, which had been charged with pure adrenaline only moments before, was suddenly hollow and heavy. Solemn introspection replaced frenetic activity.
Laura, who had taken over the cardiac massage, stilled. Her shoulders ached from the effort of compressing such a big man’s sternum. And her heart ached for another life they couldn’t save. She stared down at the gloved hands that formed a barrier between her and the bright purple rash covering the patient’s body—the hallmark of the presence of meningococcus.
‘Laura? You’ve been dealing with the family?’ asked Jenny.
‘Yes,’ said Laura.
‘Shall we?’
They de-gloved solemnly and washed their hands at the sink. Jack approached as they were drying their hands.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Laura, not even her surprise at seeing him managing to shake the gloom from her voice.
‘I was paged. The social worker is dealing with a crisis on another ward and it was felt that Mr Gordon’s family might need some grief counselling. Has he passed away?’
‘Yes,’ said Laura
‘Oh, dear. How awful.’ Jack voice was quiet as he watched Laura intently. He saw the sadness and disbelief etched on her face and had an inkling of how she was feeling.
He had felt similar emotions at Newvalley. How quickly someone could die was always startling. And it didn’t matter how many times you’d seen it before, it was always shocking.
The fact that Mr Gordon was a complete stranger to Laura would only make it harder. It just wasn’t right that people died among strangers. Surely, in the most desperately dire time of his life, Mr Gordon should have been surrounded by people who knew and loved him?
Such was the nature of the work on an intensive care unit. But Jack knew it didn’t make it any easier and as he continued to watch Laura he could see she was having trouble reining in her emotions. Perhaps she wasn’t the best candidate to be present when the dreadful news was given to the family. Maybe she’d had enough emotion for one day?
Jenny excused herself to answer a page and Laura found herself waiting for Jenny’s return with Jack beside her.
‘Do you think it’s a good idea that you be the one to break the news to Mrs Gordon?’
‘Jenny will do that,’ she said, staring straight ahead.
‘Yes, but do you really need to be there, too?’
‘I’m the only one here who the family vaguely know. Her husband is dead. I think that she deserves to have at least one familiar face around when she’s told. Don’t you?’ Laura’s voice was terse. Her body tense.
‘You’re looking a little shaky at the moment. You’re going to need to be a lot more detached than this,’ Jack pushed.
‘Don’t tell me how to do my job,’ she snarled, turning to look at him. ‘I am a professional. I’ve been sitting in on awful conversations for years. I haven’t broken down in front of a client ever. Ever! And I’m not about to start. When I go into that room I will be perfectly in control.’
‘OK, OK. Calm down. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘When you question my professionalism it upsets me!’ she said in an angry whisper. ‘You think I want to be part of what’s going to be said in that room? Because I don’t. Every part of me rebels against the idea.’
Laura took a breath and tried to calm her racing pulse and seesawing emotions. Yes, the swiftness of Mr Gordon’s deterioration was having an effect on her, but she had to make Jack understand why he was wrong.
She softened her voice. ‘But I am a nurse, I don’t have a choice here. I am compelled to be there because it’s the right thing to do. The only thing to do. I’ve made a connection with them. I can’t just break that connection in their neediest hour because it’s emotionally challenging.’
Jack nodded. He understood what she was telling him but was worried about her nonetheless. At least he would be present during the talk. He had been paged for Mrs Gordon’s emotional journey but as Jenny rejoined them he knew that Laura’s needs took first place.
‘Mrs Gordon.’ Jenny addressed the woman, her face grim, introducing herself and Laura and Jack.
‘No.’ Mrs Gordon shook her head wildly, looking from one to the other, knowing from their faces what they were about to say.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Gordon. We did all we could but…your husband died a few minutes ago.’
‘No,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘He can’t be dead. He was fine four hours ago.’
Jenny nodded solemnly. ‘Mrs Gordon, what we think your husband had, meningococcal septicaemia, it probably got into his bloodstream. Its onset is very quick…’
The woman wasn’t listening. She came closer to Laura and grabbed her by the forearms, her eyes accusing. ‘You said they were the best. You said they’d do everything they could.’ Her voice rose hysterically and she began to shake Laura.
Laura looked into the woman’s eyes, wild with grief, and was paralysed by her disbelief and anger. Even the bite of the woman’s fingers as they dug into her skin didn’t register. She opened her mouth to say something but the words just didn’t come.
She had witnessed many emotional moments, working in this field, comforted many grieving people, but most were surprisingly quiet, reserved in their mourning. To feel the full force of such raw emotion directed right in her face was shocking.
Laura could feel the neutral mask she had slipped on start to fall away. She blinked. Anything to shut out those strangely compelling anguished eyes. Mrs Gordon’s friend was trying to drag her away and Jenny was talking calmly so Laura could be released.
‘OK, now. Come along, Mrs Gordon.’ Jack’s soothing but authoritative voice broke through the woman’s hysteria. He gently prised her fingers from Laura’s arms and held her as she sobbed.
‘Go to the staffroom, Laura,’ he commanded.
‘Wh-what?’ She looked at him, puzzled. She stared at him like she’d never seen him before, her mind refusing to function.
‘Jenny, get her out of here,’ he ordered.
Laura followed Jenny blankly, sitting in the indicated chair in the staffroom, her body on autopilot as she accepted the cup of tea Jenny placed in her cold fingers.
Laura’s brain tumbled over and over, like a clothes dryer. The staff television prattled as she stared at the images on the screen before her, but all she could see was Mrs Gordon’s utter wretchedness and hear her accusing words.
She felt…overwhelmed. Helpless. Just like those immediate months following the building collapse. Laura tried not to panic. She couldn’t go there again. It had taken too long to claw her way back to a semblance of normalcy. What was happening to her? She’d told Jack she was over it and, damn it all, she was!
She drew in a ragged breath and tried to calm her galloping thoughts. I am a professional. I am a professional. The chant helped her retreat from the edge. She felt she’d gained back some control when Jack found her half an hour later.
‘Laura,’ he said gently. ‘Are you OK?’
Laura dragged her gaze to his face. She felt her control teeter and stumble at the concern written there and echoed in his words. She shook her head and he pulled her into his arms.
‘It’s OK. I’m here.’
