of PTSD can be quite debilitating. Some people can’t even get out of bed, let alone hold down a job. Who was the Einstein that recommended you take up this kind of nursing?’
‘I didn’t ask anyone’s permission, Jack. I kind of just stumbled into it and loved it and stayed.’
‘Didn’t your therapist advise you not to?’
‘I didn’t start working here until after my therapy finished.’
‘Well, that’s just as well because anyone worth their salt would know there are two important factors to decrease the risk of PTSD. One…’ he held up his finger ‘…deal with your issues. Two…’ he held up another finger ‘…reduce life stressors. Not hold hands with them, Laura. Reduce them. But you…’ he jabbed his finger at her ‘…go and choose the world’s most stressful job!’
‘Actually, I think air traffic controller holds that honour.’
‘Laura,’ he groaned, exasperated. He had to make her see that she could be setting herself up for a real fall.
‘Jack.’ She sprang up, a frustrated laugh escaping. I’ve given you a fair hearing but enough already! I am not going to crack up on the job! I’m fine. I’ve been fine for a long time now and you dragging it all up again is not going to help me. Obviously this is more your issue than mine!’
‘Laura—’
‘Butt…out…Jack,’ she whispered loudly, emphasising each word, and left the room without a backward glance.
Great, he thought, contemplating the empty room. That went well!
CHAPTER THREE
TWO days later, Laura was on her seventh day of a nine-day stretch. It was Saturday. She loved weekends in hospitals. Even though it wasn’t necessarily quieter on the unit, there was still less hierarchy floating around making life miserable for those at the coalface. The entire atmosphere was relaxed.
She yawned as she came back from lunch. It was almost two o’clock. Today she was the runner and Marie was team leader. Marie didn’t usually work weekends, but when they were this short-staffed she did what she could.
So much for the spare beds! Two had filled by the next day. Miraculously one bed still remained empty and it was Laura’s fervent hope that it would still be so at the end of her shift. Only an hour and a half to go!
Thankfully Jack had backed off. In fact, she hadn’t seen him at all after their tearoom conversation. It did surprise her, however. The memorial service was on Monday and he had seemed so determined to get her there. Hopefully he had heeded her words.
Jenny Dexter put down the phone as Laura approached.
‘I’m going down to Casualty. They want me to look at a guy who’s just come in. Sounds serious. I’ll let you know.’
‘Sure,’ said Laura. So much for the empty bed!
Ten minutes later the consultant was on the phone. She gave Laura a brief rundown on the patient, who she’d be bringing up immediately. Mr Gordon was a forty-year-old with a rapidly deteriorating condition. Suspected meningococcal septicaemia.
Marie and Laura prepared the bedspace for the man’s arrival in record time. They’d just finished when the stretcher pushed through the heavy swing doors of the unit. Laura took one look and knew that the situation was grave. Two women accompanied the stretcher.
While the medical team took over, Laura ushered the reluctant women into the quiet room.
‘My husband’s going to die, isn’t he?’ his frantic wife demanded as the other woman placed a comforting hand on her arm.
Choosing her words carefully, Laura said gently, ‘Your husband is gravely ill.’
‘Don’t let them give up on him. Please, don’t let them. Don’t let him die.’ She clutched at Laura’s arm.
She searched for a shred of hope to give to the woman.
‘Those doctors out there are the best there is, Mrs Gordon. I know they’ll do everything they can.’
When she returned to the bedspace Mr Gordon was already intubated and had a central line inserted. Fluids and drugs were being poured into him. His blood pressure was dangerously low and his heart rate very fast, with multiple erratic beats. The area was littered with discarded packaging and used equipment. It looked chaotic but was actually very controlled.
Laura pitched in, passing things hastily requested, often even before they were asked for. The heart trace on the monitor changed to a life-threatening rhythm and what blood pressure there was totally collapsed.
‘Start cardiac massage,’ Jenny commanded. Marie climbed up on the bed and began compressing Mr Gordon’s sternum. One of the doctors disconnected the ventilator and commenced hand-bagging.
Laura charged the defibrillator. She quickly assembled an ampoule of lignocaine. The machine pinged its readiness and she handed the paddles to Jenny, sending up a quick prayer. All eyes watched his chest jump as the joules of electricity tried to jolt the erratic rhythm back to normality. The trace remained the same. Lignocaine was administered as the machine was charged again.
Mr Gordon had been in full cardiac arrest for twenty long minutes when the futility of the situation called for a reluctant end to the proceedings. The atmosphere, which had been charged with pure adrenaline only moments before, was suddenly hollow and heavy. Solemn introspection replaced frenetic activity.
Laura, who had taken over the cardiac massage, stilled. Her shoulders ached from the effort of compressing such a big man’s sternum. And her heart ached for another life they couldn’t save. She stared down at the gloved hands that formed a barrier between her and the bright purple rash covering the patient’s body—the hallmark of the presence of meningococcus.
‘Laura? You’ve been dealing with the family?’ asked Jenny.
‘Yes,’ said Laura.
‘Shall we?’
They de-gloved solemnly and washed their hands at the sink. Jack approached as they were drying their hands.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Laura, not even her surprise at seeing him managing to shake the gloom from her voice.
‘I was paged. The social worker is dealing with a crisis on another ward and it was felt that Mr Gordon’s family might need some grief counselling. Has he passed away?’
‘Yes,’ said Laura
‘Oh, dear. How awful.’ Jack voice was quiet as he watched Laura intently. He saw the sadness and disbelief etched on her face and had an inkling of how she was feeling.
He had felt similar emotions at Newvalley. How quickly someone could die was always startling. And it didn’t matter how many times you’d seen it before, it was always shocking.
The fact that Mr Gordon was a complete stranger to Laura would only make it harder. It just wasn’t right that people died among strangers. Surely, in the most desperately dire
