Page 10 of The Heart We Guard
“Brave…little…soul.”
“Or foolish.” I look up at him. Our heads are way too close for two people who barely know each other. But then, he’s about to trust me with his life.
His eyes are hazel, and he’s clearly still a handsome man, who I’d guess is around his late thirties. “Just…keep me…living,” he says. “Nothing…will hurt…you.”
I manage to wrangle my key into the door. “Yeah, well—this all might hurt you.” Once I’m in the house, I execute the plan I’ve been considering. I run and grab a tarp from the garage and quickly cover the kitchen table. “I need you to perch on the edge of the kitchen table for a second while I go grab what I need.”
Butcher grunts when he does as I ask, and I spare him a quick glance before I run outside to bring in my bag of medical supplies.
Another example of how I just blew up my life. I broke every single rule and protocol to take the things I did.
When I return, Butcher has done us both a favor and removed his T-shirt, but he’s leaning forward and looks like he’s about to puke. I lay a sterile sheet over the tarp.
“You got any allergies I need to know? Any medication you’re taking?” I ask, helping him by lifting his feet onto the table and encouraging him to lie down.
His entire body shakes as he moves. “None.”
“Stay there. I need to wash my hands.”
I run to the sink and catch sight of my reflection in the kitchen window. I look more shaken than I feel. But I can’t think about that now. I scrub up my arms vigorously with the antibacterial soap I keep in a white ceramic container on the counter.
When I’m done, I realize I’m going to have to do it again after I’ve opened all the instruments and laid them on a tray.
I wish there were a scrub nurse with me, someone to share this load.
Using my elbow, I click on the ceiling fan and lights, then set up the instruments on a sterile pad on one of the chairs.
As I stole the supplies, I thought about how portable they were, how sterile I could make the whole thing, and how effective they would be at emergency trauma management. They range from my preferred scalpel with multiple sterile blades, needle drivers, and hemostats, to retractors and portable suction and surgical scissors. I’ve got a large number of sterile gauzes, Betadine swabs, sterile saline IV bags, and drapes. I have local anesthetic with and without epinephrine, and syringes and small concentrated doses of drugs like fentanyl and morphine and drugs for mild sedation like Midazolam.
My choices were solid and contained, but what I should have been considering was that I was committing a felony whilewalking through the hospital confidently, like I hadn’t been fired, while keeping a keen eye out for any sighting of Bulldog.
I just stole from a not-for-profit hospital I no longer work at, but I’ll make another donation to the hardship fund that will more than cover the cost of what I’ve taken. And I’ll blame exhaustion, stress, and the distress of seeing someone so like my brother on why I did what I did. I’m sure Mendez would be willing to tell the police how I lost my head in the moments before I ran outside.
I made better decisions than I remembered, covering all the key things I need for bleeding control and basic life support.
When everything is ready, I wash my hands again.
“You got something…for the pain…doc?” he says.
“I’m getting to it. Didn’t want to give it to you too soon, as this is gonna hurt, no matter how much I use.” But I fill a syringe with some high-quality pain medication before placing the ampule neatly on a second chair so I can count everything up afterward. “Just a quick needle.”
He sucks in a breath when I put the needle in his arm. It’s a humanizing moment for the burly man with two holes in his body.
“Damn, doc,” he says.
“It’ll all feel a whole lot better soon. I’m just going to apply some local anesthetic and do some disinfecting.”
“Whatever you…need to…do. Fuck, I’m hot…but shaking.”
“I’ll set up a drip.” He doesn’t need to know all the details, but hypovolemic shock is a real risk.
“Thought you said you were…brilliant. Stop…pricking me.”
“It’s been a while since I had to do one of these on my own. By the time I arrive in the operating room, my patient is usually out for the count and ready.” It takes me three tries. “Sorry.”
He turns his head to look at me, eyes open. “Everything is…fuzzy.”
“That’s the drugs. Enjoy them. Sleep if you can. This will get rough.”
