Page 12 of Under Southern Stars
Rodriguez: Ready for another shift in paradise, Kiwi?
Paradise. Right. Medic 402 runs through some of the roughest neighborhoods in the city. Gang violence, overdoses, domestics gone wrong. Yesterday alone we had two stabbings and a jumper from the bridge.
Still better than sitting in a boardroom, pretending to care about profit margins.
I grab my gear and head out. Two days since Sophia Mitchell said my name over the public radio channel. Two days of replaying that “Uhh…Jack?” and the way her voice caught on it.
Time to see if she’s still blushing about it.
Rodriguez is already at the station, checking the rig. “Alright, Romeo McKenzie, you ready to get back out there? Maybe get to see Sophiaaaaa?”
I tried to stifle a grin, unsuccessfully. “She was just being polite. You know. Professional courtesy.”
“Right. That’s why you transferred to 402, huh? ‘Professional courtesy’?”
I don’t answer, but Rodriguez laughs anyway. “Well, did she shut you down? Mitchell doesn’t exactly have a reputation for being…approachable.”
“Haven’t asked anything to be shut down from.”
“Yet.”
Fair point.
Our first three calls are routine—elderly fall, anxiety attack, minor MVA. But the fourth…
“Medic 402, respond to 1542 Oak Street, apartment 3B. Thirty-four-year-old male, reports severe abdominal pain, states pain medication isn’t working.”
Rodriguez groans. “That’s Thompson. Third time this week.”
I know the type. Chronic pain patient, probably legitimate originally, now caught in the cycle of seeking stronger meds. Doctors won’t prescribe, so they call 911 hoping the ER will cave.
“Sweet as,” I say, flipping on the lights. “Let’s go help Mr. Thompson.”
“Help him find a new dealer, maybe,” Rodriguez mutters.
But when we arrive, Thompson’s genuinely in distress. Sweating, clutching his stomach, rocking back and forth on his couch.
“G’morning, Mr. Thompson.” I kneel beside him, voice calm. “Tell me about this pain.”
“It’s…different. Not like usual. Sharp. Here.” He points to his belly, right lower quadrant.
Rodriguez rolls his eyes, but I’m already doing the assessment. Rebound tenderness. Guarding. Slight fever.
“When did you last eat?”
“Two days ago? Maybe three? The pain…”
“Right. Let’s get you to hospital, yeah? This might be more than your usual.”
We load him up, and I’m thinking appendicitis, maybe early perforation. Rodriguez drives while I establish IV access.
