There were a lot of drugs to give, bloods to take, tests to run. Medication and ventilation settings were constantly tweaked and adjusted as the intensive care team responded to Emma’s condition minute by minute.
As well as that, there was a veritable royal flush of specialists and their entourages constantly in and out, needing extra things, sucking up time she didn’t have, all wanting their orders prioritised. There were cardiac and respiratory teams as well as radiologists and pharmacists, physiotherapists and social workers.
And there was Emma’s family to deal with. Her parents, who had already been through so much with Emma over the years. Her mother teary, her father stoic—both old hands at the jargon and the solemn medical faces. And Emma’s boyfriend, Barry, who was not. He was an emotional wreck, swinging from sad to angry, from positive to despondent.
Not that she could blame him. Emma looked awful. There was barely a spare inch of skin that wasn’t criss-crossed by some kind of tubing or wires. She had a huge tube in her nose where the life support was connected and securing it obscured half of her face, which was puffy—as was the rest of her body—from days of retained fluid due to her worsening cardiac condition.
Lola was used to this environment, to how terrible critical patients could look. She was immune to it. But she understood full well how hard it was for people to see someone they loved in this condition. She’d witnessed the shocked gasps too many times, the audible sobs as the sucker-punch landed.
The gravity of the situation always landed with a blow. The sudden knowledge that their loved one was really, really sick, that they could die, was a terrible whammy. So Emma’s boyfriend’s reactions were perfectly normal, as far as Lola was concerned.
And all just part of her job.
‘It really is okay to talk to her,’ Lola assured Barry as he sat rigidly in a chair by the window, repeatedly finger-combing his hair. It was the first time he’d been alone with Emma since she’d been admitted. Her mother and father were taking it in turns to sit with Barry at the bedside but they’d both ducked out for a much-needed cup of coffee and a bite to eat.
Barry glanced at Emma and shook his head. ‘I don’t want to get in the way or bump anything.’
Lola smiled. ‘It’s okay, I’ll be right here keeping an eye on you.’ She kept it light because she could tell that Barry was petrified of the high-tech environment, which was quite common. ‘And I promise I’ll push you out the way if I need to, okay?’
He gave a worried laugh, still obviously doubtful, and Lola nodded encouragingly and smiled again. ‘I’m sure she’d love to hear your voice.’
His eyes flew to Lola’s in alarm. ‘I thought she was sedated.’
‘She is,’ Lola replied calmly. ‘But even unconscious patients can still hear things. There have been plenty of people who’ve woken from comas or sedation and been able to recite bedside conversations word for word.’
Barry chewed on his bottom lip. ‘I...don’t know what to say to her.’
The despair in his voice hit Lola in every way. Barry was clearly overwhelmed by everything. She gestured him over to the seat Emma’s mother had vacated not that long ago. He came reluctantly.
‘Just tell her you’re here,’ Lola said, as he sat. ‘Tell her you love her. Tell her she’s in safe hands.’
‘Okay.’ Barry’s voice trembled a little.
Lola turned to her patient. ‘Emma,’ she said quietly, placing a gentle hand on Emma’s forearm, ‘Barry’s here. He’s going to sit with you for a while.’
There wasn’t any response from Emma—Lola didn’t expect there would be—just the steady rise and fall of her chest and the rapid blipping of her monitor. Lola smiled at Barry as she withdrew her hand. ‘Just put your hand where I had mine, okay? There’s nothing you can bump there.’ Barry tentatively slid his hand into place and Lola nodded. ‘That’s good. Now just talk to her.’
Lola moved away but not very far, hovering until Barry became more confident. He didn’t say anything for a moment or two and when he started his voice was shaky but he started. ‘Hey, Emsy.’ His voice cracked and he cleared it. ‘I’m here and... I’m not going anywhere. You’re in good hands and everything’s going to be okay.’
Lola wasn’t entirely sure that was true. She knew how fragile Emma’s condition was and part of her was truly worried her patient wasn’t going to make it through the shift. But humans needed hope to go on, to endure, and she’d certainly been proved wrong before by patients.
Barry was doing the right thing. For him and for Emma.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
