Marion Lennox - Midwives On Call - Stealing The Surgeon's Heart

‘I’m OK,’ Harriet said, pushing on the large chest, but though her words were brave she needed help. This guy was big. It took a huge physical effort to effectively massage his chest and all her breath was taken up giving him the kiss of life. She could feel the pull of her incision, knew she couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

‘Where the hell’s the ambulance?’ Harriet called, between expirations.

‘It’s coming,’ someone shouted. ‘I can hear the sirens.’

But Harriet couldn’t hear anything except the sound of her own pulse pounding in her temples, the scorching sting of every breath as she worked on. Even though he was nowhere near ready, Ciro must have recognised her desperation because he knelt down beside her and pushed her hand away, not wasting a single precious breath to tell her he was taking over, just extending his arms and pushing down hard on the man’s chest. Harriet moved up to the head, her eyes trained on Ciro’s hands, watching for the tiny pause so she could push in her exhaled air.

‘Stop.’ Feeling a shudder of resistance, Harriet pulled her face back, placed her hand on Ciro’s arm and they both leant back on their heels. Ciro’s fingers palpated Vince’s neck, concentration etched on every feature as he strained to find a pulse, but it seemed useless. Just as Harriet was sure she must somehow have imagined the tiny shift in tone she’d felt in the young man, suddenly his chest moved and he spluttered, his whole body convulsing in spasms as Harriet and Ciro swiftly rolled him onto his side, Ciro pushing on his back to force out the salty water that was choking him.

‘OK, guys, help’s here.’

Harriet didn’t know the paramedics who had arrived, but relief flooded her at the sight of the bright green uniforms, the shiny boxes they dropped silently onto the sand. She noted with a wry smile that Ciro didn’t waste time stating the obvious. He just gave a very brief handover and introduction as the paramedics set to work assessing the patient and attaching him to monitors and blood pressure equipment. Harriet silently assisted.

‘He was in full arrest by the time we got him to shore.’ Ciro gestured over to the other rescuer, still lying on the beach, his mates now surrounding him. ‘He needs to be seen at the hospital—that guy must have swallowed half the ocean.’

‘How long were you giving CPR before he responded?’

‘Unfortunately I’m not wearing my watch, but five, maybe seven minutes.’ Ciro looked at Harriet for confirmation and she nodded. Happy to hand over, but still willing to participate, she unravelled the oxygen tubing and slipped the mask over the man’s face as Ciro took the paramedics’ stethoscope while one inserted an IV bung, shaking his head as he listened to the patient’s chest.

‘Poor air entry, he’s making only minimal respiratory effort.’

And there was a decision to be made—to scoop and run and take him to the hospital, which was a few minutes’ drive away at breakneck speed where skilled help and equipment was waiting, or to intubate the patient here, knowing that at any time Vince could arrest again or suffer another seizure.

‘His oxygen saturation is only eighty-five per cent,’ one of the paramedics called. ‘What do you want to do, Doc?’

‘Intubate,’ Ciro said after only the briefest of hesitations. Clearly the paramedics agreed with his decision and wasted no time in handing Ciro the necessary equipment as Harriet applied crico-thyroid pressure—pressing on the patient’s neck to allow for easier insertion of the tube.

‘His air entry is better now,’ Ciro said, listening to the chest again. ‘I think we should get him to Emergency now. Do you want me to let them know?’

‘We can do that. Are you coming for the ride, Doc?’ the paramedic asked. But another ambulance was pulling up now, more assistance arriving with each passing minute. The emergency was under control now and Ciro finally relaxed, a rueful smile appearing on his exhausted face.

‘Preferably no!’ He gestured to his drenched boxer shorts and now bare feet. ‘I’m sure you guys can take it from here.’ Standing up, he took a moment to shake the paramedics’ hands firmly. ‘You’ve done a great job. Thank you for your prompt assistance.’

‘No worries,’ one of the paramedics answered, lifting the stretcher, the wheels not exactly designed for the soft sand. ‘It’s going to be nice working with you, Doctor.’

The other team was tending to the rescuer, wrapping him in blankets, reassuring Vince’s friend as the police arrived and started to make their enquiries, taking statements from the witnesses.

‘Here you go!’ A thick blanket was being placed around Harriet’s shoulders. Still kneeling on the sand, she was too tired even to offer her thanks and shivered violently, vaguely aware of Ciro talking to police officers as a paramedic knelt down beside her. ‘Are you OK?’

Harriet nodded, her teeth chattering too violently to attempt an answer, shock and fatigue starting to set in.

‘You’ve cut yourself,’ the paramedic observed, shining his torch down her legs. Harriet vaguely recalled the sharp pain that had shot through her as she’d knelt down. She stared down at her leg as if it belonged to someone else as he carefully examined it. ‘Looks like it was glass, there’s a few broken bottles lying around. Let’s get you into the ambulance and get you to the hospital…’

‘I don’t need to go to hospital,’ Harriet managed, but something in her voice must have alerted Ciro. He swung around, forgetting the conversation he was having with the police officer and coming straight over.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ Harriet coughed, wishing they would all leave her alone. ‘I’m cold, that’s all.’

‘She’s got a laceration on her leg…’

‘I’ve got a small cut on my leg,’ Harriet corrected him, but Ciro was dropping down on his own knees now, running a concerned, trained eye over her.

‘She had an appendicectomy last week,’ Ciro said to the hovering paramedic.

‘She can speak for herself,’ Harriet retorted.

‘She’s also a terribly uncooperative patient.’ Again he spoke over her, but there was a hint of humour that softened it, his eyes narrowing in concern as he eyed her more closely. ‘What is wrong, Harriet?’

And he said it so softly, so gently she felt a sting of tears in her eyes. The night’s events, the week’s events, the entire wretched last few months finally catching up with her. ‘I’m cold and I’m tired and I just want to go…’ The tears came then, tears she had held back for so long now, tears she had sworn no one would ever see. But sitting on a beach, wrapped in an ambulance blanket, at two a.m. only compounded her sudden chaotic existence, only served to enforce her desolation.

Ciro thankfully understood, realised that her tears and overwhelming lethargy were more emotional than physical, that the very last thing she needed right now was to be hauled back to hospital, to fan the flames she was so desperately trying to put out.

‘Let’s get you home.’ He said the last word very deliberately. His strong hand gently guided her up and he pulled her into his chest, he held her closely as he addressed the police officer.

‘I have told you all I can. If you need anything more from me you can contact me at the hospital.’

‘If you can just tell us when you first became aware—?’ the young officer started, but Ciro wasn’t listening.

One strong arm around Harriet, he guided her slowly along the beach towards the apartments and called over his shoulder, ‘This can all wait until tomorrow.’

They took the lift in silence, Ciro’s arm still wrapped around her, still holding her tightly against him. Somewhere between the second and third floors he wasn’t just someone to lean on, somewhere around the fourth the heart pounding in her ears was Ciro’s, not hers. As he held her to his chest, she could feel the quiet masculine strength of him, the smooth velvet of his chest against her cheek, the slight scratch of hair as he pulled her even closer, and she knew without looking that they were bypassing her floor, that they were going back to Ciro’s apartment.