"Semi Conscious"

Chapter Seven

DeSoto backed their rescue squad up to Rampart General's Emergency Receiving. He put the truck in park and quickly killed its engine. "Let me get the door for you," he requested.

Gage reluctantly allowed his partner to run around the front of the Squad and pull his passenger's door open for him. "I still can't see why we had to come here," he groused and climbed slowly and stiffly out of the vehicle.

His pal slammed the door and then stood there, pretending to look pensive. "Let's see…You got hit by semi. You wrecked a semi—rather spectacularly, I might add. You were in full respiratory arrest—twice! Once, to the point of being semi-conscious. Once, to the point of being unconscious—and you damn near died! All within a span of about fifteen minutes. And you still can't see 'why' the docs should examine you?" The paramedic studied his unbelievably dense friend for a moment. "I've obviously overlooked a serious head injury."

"There's no need to get sarcastic. I was merely stating an opinion."

DeSoto gave his 'opinionated', stalling partner a not too gentle push in the direction of the ER's sliding glass doors.

"Ou-ouch! Watch it. Will yah. I told yah, I hurt—"

"—Everywhere but your fingernails and your hair," his impatient partner finished for him. "Yet another reason 'why' we are here," he added and pointed toward the ER's entrance.

"I'm goin'. I'm goin'."

Twenty minutes later…

Dr. Kelly Brackett entered Exam Three and found John Gage seated—shirtless—on a treatment table.

The paramedic's entire upper torso was one big mass of contusions.

Kel winced. "Sheesh! No wonder you 'hurt everywhere but your fingernails and your hair.'"

The fireman frowned. "I see you've been talking to Roy."

"No-o," Brackett quickly corrected, and began his very thorough examination. "Roy's been talking to me. He tells me you had a 'close encounter' with a semi."

"What else did he tell you?"

"Oh-oh, nothing much. Except that you were involved in a 'rather spectacular wreck' and 'damn near died'."

It was Johnny's turn to wince.

"Did you hit your head?"

"That's about the only part of me that didn't get hit."

"Guess that explains why your hair doesn't hurt," Kel lightly remarked and finally succeeded in coaxing a grin from his extremely unhappy, apparently pained patient. "Beth, bring me a bottle of Demerol and a syringe, please…"

The RN nodded and left the room.

The on-duty paramedic panicked. "Uh-uh…Doc, I don't need a shot. I was sort a' hopin' to finish the shift," he tacked on, a bit more truthfully.

The physician finished his neurological exam and began probing his patient's black and blue abdomen. "You've bruised your transducers and your obliques."

"Tell me somethin' I don't already know," Johnny sarcastically requested, from between gritted teeth.

"You've bruised your ribs and your intercostals, as well," the sadistic doctor calmly continued and proceeded to press his fingertips into his patient's black and blue ribcage.

Johnny inhaled sharply and then swore beneath his breath. "Believe me…I know."

"You sure you don't want that pain shot?" Kel innocently inquired.

Gage gave his sadistic doctor a definite nod—closely followed by an irritated glare.

"From what Roy tells me, you have also managed to bruise your diaphragm—again."

"I already knew that, too."

"I'm gonna be recommending a medical leave of absence for you."

The fireman's pain-filled eyes widened with surprise. "Now, that I didn't know. How long?"

"Four to six weeks—at the very least."

The paramedic's entire face took on a pained expression. "Why so long? I thought it only takes about two weeks for a bruised diaphragm to heal."

"That's only if there's been no subsequent re-injury. How many times would you say you've had your 'wind knocked out of you'—just in this past year, alone?"

His extremely unhappy patient gave his sore shoulders a slight shrug. "I dunno. I guess I sort a' lost count."

"Five. Seven—counting today's two." Brackett folded his arms across his chest and assumed his best lecture stance. "As you already know, your diaphragm is made up of muscle tissue, rather specialized muscle tissue, actually, since it works in both the autonomic—or smooth—and voluntary—or striated—methods.

A slight spasm of the diaphragm muscle results in a case of the hiccups. A mild spasm produces a painful side-ache—the kind runners often experience. Blunt force trauma to the ribcage, or abdomen, can cause a moderate to severe spasm, resulting in temporary respiratory arrest—which very rarely lasts longer than twenty to thirty seconds.

According to Roy, you stopped breathing for close to two minutes. The fact that you damn near 'blacked out' the first time you had your 'wind knocked out', and did 'pass out' the second time it happened, tells me that your diaphragm has suffered some serious damage. It's going to take some serious time, in order for it to heal—properly." The physician flashed the frowning fireman a sympathetic smile. "There's a new Paramedic Class starting on Monday and I could really use your help. The next six weeks will fly by so fast, you'll be back to work with Roy before you know it."

Johnny looked extremely dubious. "Can I at least finish the shift?"

"Sorry, Johnny. But we just can't risk it. I don't want you driving, either. Any blow to your ribs, or abdomen, could put you back into full respiratory arrest—again."

"Do-oc', what are the odds that I'd get the wind knocked out of me three times—in one shift?"

"This is you we're talking about. Right?"

Gage's shoulders sagged in defeat. "I think I'll take that shot, now."

Almost as if on cue, Beth returned with the requested Demerol and syringe.

Brackett had everything he could do, to keep a straight face. "Don't worry about how you're going to get here for the classes. I'll personally drive you to and from the hospital, everyday," the doctor promised, and promptly filled the hypo with a potent dose of painkiller.

"Ri-ight," his fellow instructor less than enthusiastically acknowledged.

Kel held up his fully loaded syringe. "Where do you want it? In your gluteus maximus? Or your left bicep?"

The unhappy paramedic climbed carefully down from the treatment table…turned around…unbuckled his belt…and dropped his pants.

"How's Tony doing?" Johnny anxiously inquired, a few minutes later, as he came limping stiffly up to the counter at the Nurses' Station.

Dixie's pretty head popped up from the medical chart she'd been studying, and she flashed the questioner a warm smile. "He didn't have a scratch on him. Joe just took him down to the cafeteria, to get a burger. His parents'll be here in a half an hour, to pick him up."

"Well, all-righty!" Gage exclaimed with a grin. "That is great news!"

The nurse grinned back in agreement, and then returned all of her attention to her medical chart.

"Yah know, I came through the crash without a scratch, too. It was what happened after the crash, that damned near killed me."

"What happened after the crash?" the RN inquired—without bothering to raise her eyes from the chart.

"This 300lb dead guy fell on top of me. That's what happened."

The nurse's head suddenly shot back up. "You're kidding!"

"Dix, who—in their right mind—would ever 'make up' something that morbid?

The RN's right eyebrow arched in thought. "Good point."

"And, of course, I couldn't breathe with him lyin' across my chest like that. Passed right out."

"He damn near died!" Roy clarified, as he came stepping up to the counter, to stand beside his understating buddy. "Cap is trying to scrounge up a replacement for you. Since the Squad's gonna be 'out of service' until he finds somebody, he gave me permission to drive you ho—"

"—Oh-oh no. No. No. No. I bought in, and I ain't goin' home until after I've had my lunch. I've been trying to eat it—all afternoon! And—dang-nabbit—I'm gonna eat it!"

"Forget about lunch. We're waaaay past lunch. Our 'lunch' has now become our 'dinner'."

"Call it what you will. As long as it's still edible, I fully intend to devour it. Ma-an, I am famished!"

Roy couldn't help but smile. It was pretty apparent that his previously hurting partner was now 'feeling no pain'. "C'mon, Evel Knievel. I'll give you a lift back to the Station, so you can…devour something."

Gage grinned. "Bye, Dix."

"Bye, Johnny."

DeSoto took his still grinning, pain-free friend by the elbow and began escorting him off down the corridor, in the direction of the ER's exit.

"What did you just call me?"

"Evel Knievel. It's a perfect fit. Don't yah think. I mean, since you both seem to be so fond of pulling crazy stunts!"

"Bye, Doc!" Gage called down the hall, as Brackett came backing out of Treatment Two.

"So long, Johnny!" Kel called back. "I'll see you—bright and early—Monday morning. Don't forget! And don't drive!"

"Ri-ight…" Gage glumly acknowledged.

51's paramedics rode back to their quarters in complete silence.

But only because one of them was completely 'zonked'.

"Johnny? Johnny! C'mon! Wake up! We're here," Roy announced and began backing their squad into its designated spot in the parking bay.

His 'out of it' friend's eyes fluttered open and he sat stiffly up in his seat.

Chet was waiting in the garage, to razz—er, to greet them, upon their return. "Well, well, well. If it isn't ol' John 'Gear-Jammer' Gage…in the flesh."

Gage slid slowly—and stiffly—out of his seat and then aimed his dazed gaze at Kelly. "Oh. You guys heard about that, huh."

"Even better," Chet assured him. "Thanks to KXLA's traffic helicopter, we got to watch the whole thing on TV."

The paramedics exchanged a pair of mildly amazed glances…and then went strolling into their station's dayroom.

"What's to eat around here?" Roy wondered, as he crossed into the kitchen. "We need some nourishment."

"Yeah," Johnny joined in, and followed his friend over to the stove. "We're starving!"

Their Captain suddenly poked his head into the room. "When you guys finish eating, I'd like to see the two of you in my office," he requested, and then disappeared.

The two 'guys' swapped a couple of anxious, guilty glances.

Kelly caught the exchange and waggled his bushy eyebrows. "Guess it's true what THEY say. The condemned really are allowed a 'last meal'."

Gage gave their taunting chum an annoyed glare. But then nervously repeated, "The condemned?"

Chet nodded.

John looked even more anxious. "Cap's pretty pissed, huh."

"Royally!" Kelly assured him.

Gage groaned and then locked gazes again with his equally anxious looking partner. "I think I may have just lost my appetite."

"Yeah. Me, too. C'mon. We may as well go get this over with."

The condemned men rapped on their upset Captain's open door and then stepped into his office.

"You wanted to see us, Cap?" Roy reluctantly inquired.

Stanley seemed surprised to find the two of them standing there. "I thought you guys were starving…"

"We were," his youngest paramedic glumly replied. "Until Chet told us how…upset you are with us—er, me…us."

Their Captain couldn't help but grin. "Yea-eah. Well…Consider the source."

Gage looked hopeful. "Then…you're not upset with us?"

"The two of you managed to save some lives and property this afternoon. And live to tell about it. Why should I be upset, when you were just doing your jobs."

His paramedics glanced at one another, looking relieved.

"Just, plea-ease, promise me you'll never pull a stupid stunt like that again," Hank ordered, more than asked. "Cuz, I swear, if you do, you're gonna cause me to have a heart attack! And you guys don't want to give your poor, old Captain a coronary. Do you…"

"No-o!" John assured him. "No. Of course not, Cap!"

"Goo-ood! Good. Dismissed."

Gage heaved an audible sigh of relief, and immediately took his leave.

Stanley gazed glumly after him. "He's gonna do it again. Isn't he."

DeSoto turned to stare at the open doorway, through which his impetuous partner had just disappeared. "Eh-yup."

The Captain emitted a mournful moan, and promptly placed a hand over his eyes.

The End