Page 70 of Prognosis Bad Timing

She strode closer. ‘What’s his pressure?’

‘Eighty systolic,’ Angela returned quickly. ‘Heart rate one-twenty. Sats ninety-eight per cent.’

Carrie nodded. ‘I’ll get some lines in.’

Angela nodded as she pushed the IV trolley towards her. Carrie snapped on a tourniquet. Her hand trembled as she attempted and gained access to a vein in the crook of the teenager’s elbow.

In trauma situations these veins were the most commonly used. They were big, allowing a decent-sized cannula to be placed for rapid infusion of large amounts of fluid, and were generally easy to find.

Angela taped it in place while Carrie moved around to the other side and placed one in the opposite arm. In a few minutes they had two litres of fluid running into the patient. ‘Pressure?’

‘Ninety systolic.’

Improving, but there was no way of telling just how much blood their patient had lost or was continuing to lose. Carrie turned her attention to the wound. There was a large hole in the abdominal wall, with loops of bowel protruding. Blood oozed out continuously. Where exactly it was coming from was anyone’s guess.

In all probability there could be multiple sites.

Bowel, kidney, liver, stomach. And that wasn’t even counting the threat to major blood vessels.

‘He needs a laparotomy,’ Carrie said. There could also be spinal complications although, given the boy’s powerful thrashing, everything appeared intact.

Angela nodded. ‘In the meantime, let’s put some moist packs in the hole to protect the exposed bowel. The ambulance should be here in a couple of minutes.’

She opened a pre-packaged trauma pack and poured sterile saline onto the large white hanky-sized sponges. Carrie snapped on the sterile gloves Angela opened and placed two of them over the hole, gently tucking them inside.

‘Pressure?’ Carrie asked as she watched the packs turn red instantly.

‘Holding at ninety,’ Angela confirmed. ‘Here, put this towel over the wound.’ Angela passed her a sterile green towel which Carrie draped over the hole and Angela taped to the skin.

‘Pity we don’t carry any S8s. He could do with some pain relief,’ Angela commented over the loud moans of the patient’s distress.

Carrie nodded. That was one of the many proposals in Charlie’s expansion plans for the centre. The ones she was going to dash. ‘His blood pressure’s probably a little dicey anyway.’

The wailing of a siren grew louder and Carrie realised she’d been so focused on stabilising the teenager that she’d tuned everything else out.

She’d been like a machine.

Like she’d been doing this all her life. Like she’d never stopped.

‘I’ll direct them in,’ Angela said, removing her gloves.

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Charlie was a hundredmetres away when the ambulance whizzed past him, its siren blaring, and braked outside the drop-in centre. He threw his sandwich in a nearby bin and ran.

What the hell had happened?

He skidded to a halt as Angela emerged from the centre. ‘What happened?’ he demanded.

‘Gunshot wound to the abdomen,’ Angela told him calmly.

‘Carrie?’

Angela nodded. ‘Handled it like a pro.’ She turned to brief the paramedics walking with them inside as she spoke.

He burst into the treatment room. Carrie had her back to the door and a stethoscope in her ears and didn’t hear him enter.

Charlie touched her shoulder. ‘Carrie?’

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