Free Dr. Campbell's Secret Son by Anne Fraser Page B

examining the abdomen and chest of the patient lying motionless in front of her. ‘Let’s get some more fluids into him while we’re waiting for blood to be cross-matched. A bag of Hartmann’s stat, please, Lizzie.’ Frowning slightly, Sarah placed her stethoscope on the left side of Tom’s chest.
    ‘Need a hand?’ Jamie asked, his eyes intent through his protective visor. ‘He’s intubated, airway patent and clear. His pupils are responding to light but nothing further to be done regarding his head injury until we get that scan.’
    Sarah nodded at Jamie. ‘He’s got a left-sided tension pneumothorax—he needs a chest drain now! Elspeth, can you pass me a kit, please?’ Lizzie and Elspeth exchanged worried looks. They knew how serious this condition could be, and there could be other hidden injuries, too.
    Swabbing the area over his left side with antiseptic to sterilise the skin, Sarah took the scalpel from Jamie with steady hands. Before she could make contact with the skin, however, the heart monitor emitted a warning bell.
    ‘He’s in AF!’ Keith called out urgently.
    ‘Carry on, Sarah, we’ll keep ventilating him,’ Jamie calmly responded, attaching an ambu-bag to the tube he had inserted earlier.
    Too focused on her patient to be aware of the mounting tension in the room, she made the small incision into the intercostal space without hesitation. Glancing up she caught Jamie’s almost imperceptible nod of encouragement, both knowing how one wrong slip could be catastrophic. But there was no time to waste. They had to get the young man’s circulation going again and the insertion of the drain was crucial. Taking a long, thin plastic tube, she pushed it with an equal amount of strength and gentleness between Tom’s ribs and into his chest. Suddenly the tube filled with frothy red blood, pouring into the container that it was securely attached to on the floor. Immediately the heart monitor stopped its shrill warning and was replaced by the reassuring beeps that indicate a steady heart rhythm.
    ‘Right, folks, he’s stable. Let’s get him to Radiology for a CT scan to determine the extent of his head injury.’ As Sarah and Jamie rushed the gurney through the bay, Lizzie cleared their path, pushing the resus equipment trolley to one side and sweeping away the discarded debris of dressing packs and empty syringes scattered on the floor with her foot. They were just outside the swing doors of the X-ray department when they were intercepted by one of the triage staff nurses. ‘Mrs Kennedy, the patient’s mother, has arrived. Can one of you speak to her?’ she asked.
    ‘Off you go, Sarah. Keith and I will stay with Tom,’ Jamie offered.
    ‘Thanks. Staff Nurse, I’ll be along in a minute. In the meantime, can you put Mrs Kennedy in the relatives’ room, please?’
    Sarah peeled off her gloves and removed her blood-splattered theatre gown, using the brief respite to compose herself. Breaking bad news to relatives was one aspect of her job she found extremely difficult, but at least this time she was confident Tom would survive his injuries. There was every chance he would make a full recovery, although there would be an anxious few hours ahead for all of them. Once Tom had recovered sufficiently, the police would wish to interview him. She wondered what tragic set of circumstances had led to Tom’s broken body being found at the foot of the bridge.
    After leaving a tearful but grateful Mrs Kennedy a short time later, Sarah went to join Jamie in X-Ray. She found him in discussion with the radiologist, both studying the images displayed on the computer screen.
    ‘What’s the verdict?’ she asked, peering over Jamie’s shoulder.
    He glanced back at her, a smile dimpling his cheek. ‘Good news—no fracture or evidence of brain swelling. In fact, he’s just beginning to regain consciousness. This is one lucky young man, wouldn’t you say, SJ?’
    ‘Thank goodness for that,’ she said.