"Between A Rock and A Hard Place"

Chapter Fourteen

At around 09:00 hours, the following morning…

Hank Stanley, and his entire off-duty engine crew, stepped up to the Nurses' Station in Rampart's Emergency Receiving.

"Roy says he's in the Ortho' Ward," the Captain reported. "Why don't you guys go grab yourselves a cup of coffee—before you come up," Hank ordered—er, requested.

"Right, Cap!" his 'guys' simultaneously replied.

Stanley flashed the trio an appreciative smile and started striding off down the corridor.

"Gage is going to the woodshed," Kelly solemnly predicted, in a sing-song fashion.

His crewmates grinned and then started strolling off—in the opposite direction of their disappearing Captain.

Dr. Mike Morton exited Exam Two and nearly collided with Gage and DeSoto's 'other' boss. "Captain," the physician greeted the fireman, "I was hoping I'd see you. As much as I hate to admit it, it turns out that I was wrong yesterday. Are we cool?" he inquired, and extended his right hand.

Hank took and shook the young doctor's proffered appendage. "We're cool," he assured him. "Now, let me ask you something…"

"Shoot."

The off-duty fire officer directed his right index finger toward Treatment Room 2. "Would you ever walk in there, wearing a blindfold and ear plugs?"

"Of course not."

"It's my understanding that paramedics are supposed to act as a doctor's eyes and ears on the scene. When you choose to ignore what Gage and DeSoto are telling you, that is—in effect—exactly what you are doing…going in there 'blind' and 'deaf'. You need to learn to start trusting your 'eyes' and 'ears'…doctor."

"I do trust them."

"To a certain extent, maybe, but not entirely. If you trusted them completely, I guarantee you wouldn't have to do so much 'second guessing'. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's someone upstairs I really need to see," Stanley suddenly announced and started striding off again, in the direction of the nearest elevator.

Mike Morton continued to stand there in the corridor, mulling over the infuriating fire officer's latest chilly—downright frigid—words. Oh, they were 'cool', all right.

Damned if he hadn't just been 'dressed down'—again!

Hank Stanley found 502 and stood there in the room's open doorway.

John was sitting up in his bed. His head—and his hospital gown—were hanging down and Miss McCall was busy changing the dressing on the wound in his back. The paramedic's right leg was uncovered and locked—from his ankle to his hip—inside a brace of stainless steel rods and Velcro straps. His bare arms and shoulders were covered with dark blue bruises. Judging by the expression on his face, 'sitting up' was not the most comfortable position for him to be in.

The pained paramedic raised his wincing gaze and spotted his visitor. The young man's head snapped up and his grimace immediately transformed into a grin. "Hey, Cap!"

The Captain couldn't help but smile. "Jo-ohn…" he warmly acknowledged and stepped the rest of the way into the room. "Roy's filling in for Don Lorey for a few hours, since Don filled in for him. He said to tell you he'd see you later on."

"Say, Cap, speaking of Roy…Thanks for sending him down there yesterday…and for letting him stay with me in the treatment room last night. Are the rest of the guys here? I really need to thank them, too."

"They'll be up in just a bit. I asked 'em to give us a few minutes—alone."

Dixie planned to spend the weekend 'nursing' a certain one-armed doctor. Before heading over to Kel's place, the RN decided to drop by and pay one of her favorite paramedics a brief visit. Since her fireman friend's dressings needed to be changed, and since she was just sitting there, Dixie decided that she might as well make herself useful. She caught the 'alone' comment, glanced up and gave her patient's Captain a questioning look.

"You're fine," Stanley assured the busy nurse.

Miss McCall exhaled a silent sigh of relief and went back to her bandaging.

The expression on his youngest crewmember's face suddenly shifted from 'eternally grateful' to 'extremely apologetic'. "Sorry, Cap. Looks like I lost my helmet—again…and the radio. But I kept 'em both strapped to me, just like you—"

"—Forget the equipment!" Hank quickly admonished and exhaled an exasperated gasp. "You damn near lost your life!" The Captain stopped speaking and started counting…to ten—repeatedly. "I tried to fill out a report, but I wasn't getting anywhere. How could I possibly explain what happened to headquarters, when I don't even understand it, myself? Would you care to explain what the hell went on down there in that canyon yesterday," he ordered more than asked. "You're not allergic to the antivenin. So you knew that rattler wasn't going to kill you. You had no such assurance about the damn rocks. And yet, you chose the slide—anyway…"

John heard the extreme degree of frustration in his boss' voice. At the moment, he was feeling more than a little frustrated himself, because he wasn't at all sure that he could provide his Captain with an answer—leastways, not an adequate one. "You're right, Cap. That rattler wouldn't have killed me. It would have just made me 'wish' I was dead." The paramedic paused. "I'm not allergic to the antivenin, but it seems my body had a rather violent reaction to the snake venom, itself. I can't explain it to you, because, like you said, I don't even 'fully' understand it. It has something to do with the rattler's venom being a neurotoxin. So it affects your nerves. Well, when the antivenin finally started to kick in, and I woke up from the coma, each and every one of my nerve endings was being 'affected'. The pain was excruciating. I tell yah, I never hurt so much—in my entire life."

Hank remained confused. "Certainly, the doctor in ICU must've prescribed something for the pain…"

John managed a bitter smile. "Percocet…10mg."

"Percocet?" his Captain repeated. "That's supposed to be a pretty 'potent' narcotic. Isn't it?"

The patient's smile became even more bitter. "If you can keep it down. It comes in a 'pill' form. At the time, I was vomiting—continuously. When I asked them to give me something else for the pain—like a 'shot', they said it was too soon. I'd just been given 10mg of Percocet. I tried to tell them that I'd puked up the Percocet—about ten seconds after swallowing it—but nobody would believe me. Four unforgettable hours of unbelievable agony later, they brought me…another 10mg tablet of Percocet, which I promptly proceeded to throw up. That went on—all night. I just couldn't go through that again, Cap. I just couldn't…"

Dixie flashed the snakebite victim a deeply sympathetic look. "Dr. Tyler fired that idiot intern."

John returned the RN's smile, but remained adamant in his decision. "No offense, Dix, but there are more 'idiot interns', where that guy came from. And, after what I went through that night in 'I See You', I just wasn't willing to chance it." He paused again, to peer sheepishly up at his Captain. "Even though it meant that I had to disobey one of your direct orders…Sir."

Stanley shifted his stance and cleared his throat. "Yes. Well…due to the 'extenuating' circumstance, I'm willing to disregard that." His gaze shifted from understanding to stern. "Just see to it that it doesn't happen again!"

"Aye, aye, Cap!" the remorseful—not to mention extremely relieved—paramedic readily promised.

There was a slight 'rap' on the room's open portal.

Stanley turned to find his engineer's smiling face leaning around the doorpost. "Is it okay if we come in?"

Kelly's head appeared from the opposite side of the doorway. "Yeah. We're here to visit our 'stoned' crewmate."

Hank winced upon hearing Chet's pun, but then motioned his guys in with a grin. "John, here, was just helping to clear some 'things' up…for my report."

The trio entered the room.

Marco stepped right up to the foot of their badly injured buddy's hospital bed and then stood there, staring down at his straightened left limb. "Your left leg sure looks a whole lot better than it did yesterday."

"Yeah," Chet immediately chimed in. "But the rest of him looks a whole lot worse. Sheesh, Gage! Is there any part a' your body that ain't been bruised?"

"If there is, I haven't found it…yet," Gage tentatively told him. "Thanks for comin' by, guys. And, thanks for getting those damn rocks off of me. You should a' seen 'em, Dix. These guys were incredible! They were down there in that canyon—and had me half dug out—before the dust could even settle."

Dixie finally finished re-bandaging her patient's perforated—and badly bruised—back. The pretty lady glanced up and flashed the young fireman's gallant rescuers an appreciative smile. The nurse then gently lowered John back onto his hospital bed and moved down to begin changing the dressing on the cut on his bruised and broken right leg.

"Whatever happened to Pete?" the paramedic suddenly pondered. "Pete Turner…The drunk guy…" he further explained, upon noting his visitors' totally lost looks.

"His wife showed up—with their lawyer," Dixie rather reluctantly replied. "The lawyer claimed his client got drunk while he was sitting down there in that canyon…waiting to be rescued. The cops couldn't prove otherwise. So Mr. Turner walked—er, staggered right out of the hospital…and went home with his wife…to sleep it off."

For an interminably long time, the RN's audience was too stunned to speak.

Mike was the first fireman to find his voice. "Yah know, what that lawyer said just might be true."

His shiftmates stared silently—and disbelievingly—back at him.

"I mean," Stoker quickly continued, "you guys saw all those hairpin twists and turns. When you stop and think about it, that is about the only thing that would possibly explain how Mr. Turner could ever have managed to make it so far into the canyon, before finally leaving the road."

His fellow firefighters glanced at one another, this time looking thoughtful. The engineer had presented a pretty valid point. But sti-ill…

"So…Pete walks away—scot-free," their bed-ridden buddy pouted, sounding more than a little peeved—and pitiful. "And I'm stuck in here…flat on my back…for one whole week—and in a wheelchair for another two to three weeks. I tell yah," Gage exhaled a resigned sigh and then flashed his fellow firefighters a glum grin, "it's enough to drive a person to drink."

The Captain and his engine crew couldn't help but chuckle at their glum chum's witty, and all too accurate, comment.

The End

EPILOGUE

Dr. Kelly Brackett spent the entire weekend with his useless right arm in a sling. Well, maybe not the 'entire' weekend. ;)

Both the brooding doctor—and his right arm—returned to work bright and early Monday morning.

The eternal skeptic proudly and loudly proclaimed to his fellow colleagues—and anybody else who was willing to listen—that, for the first time in over three loooong years, his right arm and shoulder were pain-free.

Kel was extremely grateful to his chiropractor, Dr. Byron J. Franks, but the 'healed' physician felt even more indebted to Dixie, for reminding him to keep his big mouth shut…and his 'umbrella' open.

Who says 'You can't teach an old doc' new tricks'? ;)

Author's note: Yeah. I know. Really ba-ad pun. What can I say? I have obviously been hangin' around the engine crew too long. lol

Finished raking and baling 40 acres of straw and refilling one of the 70-foot silos. I'm so sore and tired, I can't even see straight. lol

Thanks for sticking with the story. Hope you enjoyed the ending? *fingers crossed*

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:)Ross7