he’d applied for a job in Sydney, hopefully starting next month.
Staff from the next shift were wandering in one at a time. A low hum of whispers told the newcomers what they were about to deal with. Conor looked at Mac, who said, ‘Pretty much everyone’s here so carry on. You’ve started the process.’
Facing the eager faces, Conor told the nurses and registrars, ‘All of you, double check we’re ready and prepared for every eventuality. You know what to do. Treat this as you would any stat one coming through the door, but know there’s going to be a seemingly endless stream. It will come to an end, I assure you, but there’ll be moments when you doubt that.’ He paused to let his words sink in, then said, ‘I’ll be on the phone, putting people around the hospital on standby, but interrupt me if you find there’s a problem anywhere. There are going to be double ups amongst you but, believe me, you will all be required.’
Mac took over allocating jobs while Conor punched in the direct dial number for the theatre manager. ‘Sister, we have a situation.’ He quickly brought her up to speed and then left her to get on with cancelling surgeries and getting theatres prepared for the influx due any moment.
Theatres, done. Running through a mental list of who he had to notify, he punched in the next number. Radiology, then surgeons and other specialists, blood bank.
‘Everyone’s busy so I can take some of those calls.’ Mac stood in front of him, phone in hand. ‘Who’s next?’
‘Orthopaedics.’
Together they worked systematically through the list, the whole time Conor watching the minutes ticking by, feeling the tension building in himself and the department as the doors from the ambulance bay remained firmly shut. He slammed the phone down on his final call. ‘Come on. Where are these kids? The odds aren’t great if they don’t get here now.’
Mac shook his head. ‘We’re organised, ready and waiting. But, yeah, where the hell are those children?’
The buzzer screamed, cutting through the air, sounding louder and more urgent than normal. Instant silence fell across the department and every head turned towards those doors.
Conor drew a breath. ‘Okay, everyone, good luck. I know you’ll do your damnedest.’ And then some.
As he took a step his gaze slid from the doors to Tamara. She was pale, but ramrod straight, and her nod in his direction was assured. Then she was moving to let in their first patient, and Conor was right beside her.
‘Jamie Johnson, eight years old, severe concussion.’
Then the flood started.
‘Carole Miller, facial injuries, nine years old.’
‘Toby Crawford, eight years old, unconscious, suspected skull fracture, internal injuries.’
Once it began the line of trauma victims was continuous and the severity of the cases presenting mind-numbing. A brief gap ninety minutes in gave everyone time to nearly catch up before the second wave of children arrived. These kids were in worse condition than the initial ones because they’d taken longer to be extricated from the wreckage that had once been a bus.
‘We need blood here.’ Tamara was beckoning to the lab technician to take a sample for cross-match from her patient prior to his surgery for a severed foot.
‘And here,’ Kelli called from the next resus unit, where a tiny lad with a broken kneecap and torn artery lay whimpering in a fog of morphine.
Conor called to Tamara, ‘Get the orthopaedic surgeon in here.’
The phone was at her ear immediately as she hadn’t put it down from her last urgent call. For a brief moment they locked eyes and he felt a surge of adrenalin. It was like she was his other half. The calm, self-assured nurse who now had him under control and as calm as she was. The woman carrying his baby. Conor’s gut clenched. Baby. Child. Accidents. Death and destruction. Forget calm. What if something like this happened to their child? What—?
‘Here.’ Tamara shoved the phone at him and instantly replaced his hands with hers on their small patient’s leg to continue pressing on a pad staunching the blood flow that had restarted while they’d been investigating his injuries.
Conor swallowed down the fear and said into the phone, ‘Kay, we’ve got a lad whose left foot has been severed.’ As he rattled off details he refused to think about how the loss of a foot would affect a young child. Instead he concentrated on Tamara as she bent over the boy, whispering sweet nothings to him even when there wasn’t a chance in hell the boy heard a word. This was Tamara at her best. Calming.
That night in his bed she’d been the antithesis of calm.
Conor slammed the phone back on the hook. Concentrate, man. He called, ‘Orderly,’ and returned to the lad’s side. ‘Obs? How’s that oxygen flow?’
Mam, how did you survive watching Sebastian die?
Conor’s heart stopped. Slashing his forearm across his eyes, he stared at the boy before him. Life was so unfair. But he wasn’t going to let this kid die.
Bright lights flashed in the department, temporarily blinding Conor. ‘What the...?’
‘Get out of here,’ Tamara snarled. ‘Conor,’ she yelled. ‘We need Security. Yesterday.’
Conor blinked, saw rage fill Tamara’s face, her eyes, as she stalked past him towards a man pointing a camera in the direction of their patient.
‘The media?’ Tell me I’m wrong. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’ he demanded of the man, anger now running in his veins too.
‘Like they always do, by pushing people aside as if they have a right to.’ Tamara was shaking.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Ignore him. Our patient needs us.’ Where were those security guys?
The camera flashed again, and Tamara stepped away from it, her face contorted with a mix of anger and hopelessness. Then two guys in uniform were hauling the cameraman away none too gently.
Conor turned Tamara back to their case. ‘Don’t think about it. Save it for later. You’re needed with our lad at the moment.’
Her body shuddered as she drew a breath, and she slapped the back of her glove-covered hand across her cheeks. ‘They have no respect for anyone.’
‘Tam, focus now.’
‘Don’t call me Tam,’ she snapped, but at least her spine straightened and all her focus returned to where it was meant to be.
He worked with Tamara, stabilising and checking blood flow, oxygen, getting the boy ready for surgery. Then his patient was gone, onto the next phase of being put back together, though for the boy that would be a long process.
Tamara’s eyes were chilly and giving nothing away as she stretched her back, pushing her breasts up. His mouth dried. Then he recalled some comments made about her when he’d first started here. Something about how the media were always waiting to pounce if she so much as breathed out of order. She had history with them, but he’d never asked what it was about, figuring it was none of his business.
Now
