Page 13 of Stranded with the Surgeon

‘Just a… hobby.’

‘Digger’s a man of many talents,’ Guy said quietly. ‘Sheep shearer, rodeo king, deer hunter, top-dressing pilot, tavern manager and more recently a tour guide. He knows this country better than anyone.’

‘Wish I… knew where… the bloody hell… we are… right…now…’

The difficulty he had in speaking had increased markedly. As Digger forced out the last vehement word, he made a gagging sound and was suddenly silent.

‘Digger?’ Jennifer twisted onto her knees, her head scraping the canvas above her. She had the earpieces of her stethoscope fitted and was pulling away the covering on Digger’s chest as Guy’s shadow loomed behind the bright beam of the torch.

‘We’ve lost any breath sounds on the left.’

‘Digger?’ Guy was unable to elicit any response. He swore under his breath.

‘Help me unbandage this arm,’ Jennifer directed. ‘And then find a needle. I think that pneumothorax has finally tensioned.’

‘I don’t have a chest decompression needle in this kit.’

‘A twelve-gauge cannula will do. And a syringe.’

Unwrapping Digger’s arm from where it was splinting his broken ribs was awkward enough in the cramped conditions. Shifting their patient so he was lying flat took precious seconds and finding the equipment she needed was frustratingly slow.

‘I said a twelve-gauge.’

‘Fourteen’s the best I’ve got.’

‘I can’t see a damn thing.’

‘That’s because you’ve got your head in the way.’

The canvas roof moved and Jennifer could hear a rock or two rolling away from anchoring their shelter as Guy moved further towards Digger’s head and pointed the torch straight down.

Jennifer felt the ridges of Digger’s ribs, counting to find the second intercostal space. Then she moved sideways until the needle tip was exactly where it needed to be.

‘Okay, here we go.’ She let the needle scrape over the top of the lower rib to avoid the bundle of nerves and veins beneath the higher rib. The pop as the tip pierced tissue over the air space could be heard as well as felt. Escaping air that had been trapped in the chest cavity, crushing the lung, came out in a hiss.

‘Got it.’ Jennifer’s tone was one of relief. ‘Let me have that syringe and I’ll make sure I aspirate any more air or blood that’s trapped.’

‘What are you going to do with the needle?’

‘I’ll take it out and leave the catheter in situ. We’ll cover it with an occlusive dressing but it may need aspirating again. He needs a tube thoracostomy as soon as possible.’ Jennifer reached for the stethoscope, but she could see that the lung was starting to function. The window of broken ribs was showing the disconcerting paradoxical movement again.

‘We’d better get his arm splinting that again.’

‘Hang on just a second.’ Jennifer was positioning the disc of the stethoscope below Digger’s clavicle. ‘I’ll listen to his chest and check his abdomen quickly first. How’s his LOC looking?’

‘He’s coming round.’

Digger was conscious again by the time they had him propped back up, leaning towards his injured side. He was also in pain.

‘I’ll draw up another dose of morphine,’ Guy decided.

‘Your turn to hold the torch, Jenna.’

‘Sure.’ Jennifer flicked the beam upwards. ‘We need to hang another bag of saline as well.’

Except it wasn’t justanotherbag. It was the last bag, and it was going to be totally inadequate to replace the blood volume being lost internally if the increasing tension of Digger’s abdomen was anything to go by. With the added stress of lacking oxygen due to respiratory distress, the shocked state Digger was already in would rapidly worsen. It was highly likely to become irreversible. And there wasn’t a damned thing either of them could do about it.

The morphine made Digger a lot more comfortable, but his level of consciousness gradually decreased over the next hour or so. He could speak a little more freely now, but his thoughts were wandering and after a time of bitter self-recrimination for the accident and fatalities, Digger seemed to forget where he was.

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