Prologue:
"Medi-Evac 22-c to Mercy General, copy. Code White. ETA Two minutes."
"Medi-Evac, Mercy General. No-go; Code Yellow, total divert."
The response was terse; the speaker sounded annoyed. "Medi-Evac repeat. 10-19. We have a 16-year-old coding. ETA 105 seconds."
"Dammit," Dr. Carollyn Parker muttered, overhearing the radio conversation. "John, give me the radio."
John handed the radio over, having very recently learned not to annoy Dr. Parker.
Carollyn barked into the radio "Medi-Evac 22-c, this is Mercy. Bring your Code White in. Over and out," She handed the radio back to the operator.
"10-4," the response came in.
The Mercy General ER waas packed to the brim on this unseasonably warm spring day, due to an unfortunate accident on the I-40, which ran along the south edge of Flagstaff, leaving 22 people with moderately serious injuries. Carollyn, A cardiologist by trade, was working a 72-hour shift in the Emergency Room after the Celtics beat the Lakers, and Carollyn realised that she had bet money she didn't have on hand, to another physician.
So it was a change, from working in the rather quiet, often slow-paced Cardiology office, to working in the hustle and bustle of the emergency room. Even the most experianced E.R. doctors were feeling frazzled, and Carollyn was on the verge of ripping her hair out.
Despite the relative insanity, Carollyn couldn't turn down a sixteen year old whose heart was dying out.
"Crash team!" Carollyn shouted, "Code White, ETA 60 seconds."
Two heartbeats later, the ambulance enterance doors slid open. Four medics rolling a gurney entered, followed by a frazzled, middle-aged woman. Judging from the appearance of the girl lying on the gurney, Carollyn assumed she was the mother.
One of the medics, a tall, lanky guy with brown hair, started to shout over the din of the E.R. "Sixteen years old, went code white halfway through running a two mile relay. High school track meet," he added, to Carollyn's questioning glance.
"V-fib," another medic added. "Her heartbeat slowed, and sounded irregular, when we did stabilize her. She coded twice en route, too."
On that cue, the heart monitor went off.
"Dammit," Carollyn shouted, "V-fib, get me a defib!" A young, female nurse grabbed a cart with a defibrillator, and handed Carollyn the paddles.
"100," the nurse said, adjusting a switch on the machine. Another unbuttoned the girl's shirt.
"Clear!" The attendants stood back as Carollyn administered the shock, attempting to get the heartbeat back to normal. The monitor ceased its loud-pitched whine.
"That's three times in about twelve minutes," one of the ambulance technicians said.
Something like this happened infrequently, and even less frequently to someone so young. It always boded ill.
"Mandy," Carollyn said, "Call Cardiology and tell them I want them to find out what the hell is wrong with her. X-rays, MRI, tox. screen, a biopsy if they have to. Tim, John, take her up to Cardio-ICU, stat."
Carollyn turned toward the girl's mother, and spoke, softening her tone, "This is serious. But we have the best Cardiology team in Arizona. She'll be okay."