know.’ Emma Matthews beamed at the triage nurse behind the central desk of Glasgow’s Eastern Infirmary. ‘I’m so excited. What is it about Christmas Eve that can make you feel so much like a kid again?’
She hadn’t felt like this in so long. In all honesty, she hadn’t ever expected to be able to feel like this again, let alone today of all days. These moments of joy that had surprised her in the odd quiet moments of this long shift were something to be treasured—rare jewels in a landscape that, by rights, should have been the bleakest ever.
‘Presents,’ Caroline offered. ‘And being able to go out for drinks knowing that you’ve got a day off to recover. Are you coming to the pub with us after work?’
‘No.’ Emma shook her head. ‘I’ve got a date.’
‘No way...’ A registrar paused as he reached for a set of case notes on the desk. ‘Did I hear you say you had a date?’
‘With my daughter, Alistair,’ Emma said. ‘Don’t you go spreading ridiculous rumours.’
As if she had time to go on any other kind of date.
Or the inclination, for that matter.
‘It’s a date to decorate the tree and hang up our stockings,’ she added. ‘And put carrots out for the reindeer. And some of the shortbread Mum will have been baking has to go out for Santa. You know...the really exciting stuff...’
Alistair rolled his eyes, tucked the notes under his arm as he glanced up at the board and then headed for one of the curtained cubicles that lined the side walls of this area.
Caroline was far more impressed with the date Emma had lined up. ‘Aww...cute,’ she sighed. ‘Lily’s, what...eighteen months old now? Old enough to get excited.’
‘She calls it Kissmas.’ Emma smiled. ‘And yeah...it’s the cutest thing ever.’ A new family tradition had been born—kisses for Kissmas—and Lily was only too happy to oblige. She couldn’t wait to get home and have those small arms wound around her neck as Lily plastered her face with more of the festive affection.
She reached up to erase the name in the space for Curtain Seven. ‘Guess what three-year-old Colin had jammed up his nose?’
Caroline shuddered as she reached for one of the phones on the desk that had started ringing. ‘Do I want to know?’
‘It was a little ball from the top of a Christmas decoration. Like one of those...’ Emma waved at the brightly coloured miniature tree on the end of the desk where some tiny Santas dangled with white bobbles on the top of their hats.
Not that Caroline was listening anymore. ‘But I told you we need a bed urgently,’ she was saying. ‘Now. We’re short-staffed in ED as it is, with this flu going around, and we’re filling up. We don’t have room to hang on to patients who need admission. I don’t care how you do it—just find us some space—’
She ended the call as the radio behind her crackled into life.
‘Rescue Three to Eastern Infirmary. How do you read, over?’
Caroline grabbed the microphone. ‘Go ahead, Rescue Three.’
‘We’re coming to you with a six-year-old, status epilepticus... Vital signs as follows...’
Emma was only half listening to the transmission, her gaze sweeping the department. Thanks to the flu that had been felling staff in the last few days, she had been the only consultant on today. She had two registrars and three junior doctors along with the nursing staff and technicians but many of them were due to finish their shifts when she was—in thirty minutes—at six o’clock. She needed to check how many medics would be here to work with Stuart Cameron, the head of this ED, when he came in to relieve her. As usual, he’d put up his hand to work the Christmas Eve night shift so that as many of his staff as possible could be at home with their families.
Emma’s heart squeezed with another moment of warmth that gave her a lump in her throat. Stuart was not only the best ED specialist she knew, he was also the kindest man in the world. She wouldn’t have got through this last year without him, that was for sure...
And she needed to make sure she was on top of everything going on in here at the moment so she could give him a competent handover. Oh, and she needed to remember to fetch his gift from her locker—that very expensive bottle of aged Scotch whisky that she knew he would love. She’d wrapped it last night and given it a gorgeous, tartan bow.
‘What’s the ambulance ETA?’ she asked Caroline.
‘Ten minutes. And you should know that they haven’t been able to get IV access.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
Would the child with the uncontrollable seizures arrive before Stuart did? If so, Emma would have to handle this case. At least both the resus rooms were empty at the moment. She walked towards one of them, catching Alistair’s eye as he emerged from behind a curtain.
‘Might need you in a few minutes,’ she warned. ‘Six-year-old incoming with status epilepticus. No IV in. I’ll get an intraosseous kit out in case we have problems, too. He’ll need IV meds asap.’
She glanced over her shoulder as she heard the distinctive whoosh of the automatic doors that led to the ambulance bay. Was the paediatric emergency arriving early?
No. Emma breathed a sigh of relief. It was Stuart Cameron, who would have parked in the ‘Consultant On Call’ space beside hers at one side of the ambulance bay. He was bundled up in a thick coat, scarf and hat, looking like he’d come in from Arctic temperatures, and Emma felt another beat of excitement. Was it possible they’d actually get some snow for Christmas?
Not in the city, of course—that never happened these days. But out in the countryside a bit, where she lived with her mother in her tiny whitewashed cottage—well...they might just get lucky...
Stuart was unwinding his scarf and then unbuttoning his coat as he came further into the department. As he got closer, and took off his hat, alarm bells began ringing for Emma.
‘You don’t look so good, Stuart.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Come with me,’ Emma ordered. She led him into the resus room and pointed to a chair. ‘Sit.’
Stuart shook his head, peeling off his coat. ‘I don’t need to sit. I need you to give me a handover so you can get home to Lily and—’
He stopped talking abruptly and Emma could see the way his features froze as he closed his eyes.
Her tone was gentle now, almost a whisper. ‘What’s hurting, Stu?’
He raised his right hand as if to fend her off. ‘It’s nothing. A touch of the flu coming on, maybe.’
But then his hand went to his other arm and gripped it.
‘You’ve got pain in your left arm? Any in your chest?’
Stuart didn’t respond. Emma stared at him, a knot of fear taking root in her belly as she took in the way the colour was fading from his face to leave it looking grey and the beads of perspiration
