Some Spaced Out Dame

I can't believe it! We get called out in the middle of the night for some spaced out dame. A SPACED OUT DAME! I wonder if Cap will let us enter that into the log book…probably not, but it might be worth the hollered "you twits" from the office. I'm seriously contemplating this when Roy asks about the MICU Forms. We've been running all day, they could be anywhere. But I'm sure he has them. As I set the drug box on the squad, I hear the squealing wheels as a car careens around the corner. I stand there like a fool watching this car speed towards me, flip me onto the hood, then the windshield, and then dump me unceremoniously onto the ground. I lay on the ground, stunned and not sure what to do. I'd better get up, and quickly. I'm sure Chet has a full set of jibes about my acrobatics across the car ready to taunt me. It's been a long day and I don't want to hear them. So I roll onto my side. Only all I want to do is curl up into a ball, because something is not right. I hear feet running towards me, I hear anxious shouting. Hands reach me, turning me on my back, holding me down. Suddenly I feel pain and it's more I can bear. Roy is shouting at me but I can't make sense of what he is saying. I better tell him what I am feeling-"my hip, my back, my leg"

Johnny…Johnny?

I hear urgency in Roy's voice that pulls me from my self-imposed trance, my escape from the pain. I blink and look at him. Boy, he looks worried. I've seen that face before…it was when I woke up from the snakebite. The look is haunting, so I try to say something reassuring. All that comes out is a moan, which only serves to deepen the creases in his forehead as his eyebrows try to become one. My eyes catch his and understanding passes between them. I know what he has to do and he knows it will cause me more pain. I nod and let him know it is okay, then recede back into my trance.

Johnny…Johnny?

Roy again...I don't know how much time has lapsed but I realize that I'm "packaged"—backboard, cervical collar and cocooned in plastic blankets. The guys are standing at the corners of the backboard waiting to lift me onto the stretcher. They are looking for reassurance, reassurance I'm not sure I have. Roy senses their need as well and asks me how I'm feeling. I'm sure somewhere inside me is a smart remark but it's buried beneath the pain. So I respond honestly…"I'm trying to think of something funny to say, but I hurt too much". The guys are pretty quiet as they lift me into the ambulance, worry permeating the air. Roy tries to save the moment and tells me to "hang in there". I'll do the best I can…

Johnny…Johnny?

A new voice is calling my name. Dr. Early? How did I get to the exam room? Probably a good thing I don't remember since I seem to be half naked and IV's have been started. The stick of a needle in my left arm gets my attention. I still feel the backboard and cervical collar. Wish I could lose those…Dr. Early is asking me questions and I can't get my mouth to work. I never knew what it felt like to have my blood pressure tank. I'll tell you, it feels awful. The room is grey, there is a roaring in my ears and no matter how hard I try, I can't get my brain and mouth to coordinate. I try to focus on the overhead lights, but they just keep fading in and out. Someone is manhandling my left leg, moving it around, hitting it with a reflex hammer. It has to be Morton. Dr. Early is trying to ask questions, but I can't answer him because I'm focused on what is happening with my legs. If Morton tries to maneuver my right leg, I swear I'll kick him. I'd better remind them—"my leg hurts"

The IV fluids are helping. My head is a little clearer and I can follow what is going on around me a little better. The greyness and roaring have abated some. Dr. Early seems concerned about my shoulders. I guess they hurt a little, I mean everything hurts really. The lights start to fade again, as pieces of conversation swirl in my brain…bruising on my belly, shoulder pain, ruptured spleen or liver. Drew…those were his injuries and he died. Am I in the same boat? I need to know I am not headed for the same fate. The cervical collar restricts my head, but I try my best to look for Roy. He's off to the side, chewing his lip and looking as scared as I feel. He must be thinking the same thing. As he catches my eye, he gives me a small smile. At that moment I feel a little better. The door opens and the bang of the portable x-ray machine hitting the door startles me. The movement causes a new wave of pain and the greyness creeps back. While trying to get my breathing under control and not pass out again, everyone disappears. It's just me and Malcolm, and I know I'm not going to like what he is about to do. He tries to be gentle, but the jostling causes too much pain and I let the greyness turn into blackness…

Johnny…Johnny?

I open my eyes and I can barely stand the pain. I feel a cold sweat all over my body. Dr. Early wants to talk about my leg, but I don't even feel pain there now. My belly is being torn apart and I can feel my pressure dropping again. "Doc, my belly is really hurting, it's really beginning to kill me." Dr. Early wants a MAST suit on. That will help with my pressure but I'm not sure about the pain. I'm hyperventilating. It is making me dizzy and the room starts to fade again. As the darkness closes in, my thoughts drift to Drew again and I wonder if this is how he felt….

Awareness creeps back. I still am in a cold sweat, but my belly feels a little better. Dr. Early and Morton have left to scub, leaving just me and Roy. I don't know what to say. The fear is consuming and I see it in his eyes too. He tells me to hang in there again. This time I have the witty comeback—"oh yeah, both hands". The orderlies arrive and move me to the gurney. Somewhere along the way, I lost the backboard. For a brief moment, I wish it was still under me, because the transfer almost brings back the blackness. As I am being push out of the room, I feel Roy's hand in my left hand. He picks up my arm and places it over my eyes. He knows I am scared and he knows I find comfort with my arm in that position. He believes I am going to be okay. All too quickly I am on the OR table and the anesthesiologist is preparing to put me under. As the world fades in a drug induced haze, I think of Roy's strength and I decide to "hang in there". I will be okay….