Dermot was relaxing at the fire station when the tones for his ambulance went off. Hopping into the rig and checking the address, he stopped dead and then muttered "Damn!"
"What's wrong?" asked his partner, Tommy.
"That's my mate Ryan's house. God, I hope he's OK..."
"Your mate that's the big time singer and is in America all the time?" Tommy asked as he headed out towards the address.
"Aye." Dermot was worried. Either it was Ryan or one of his parents, and in either case it was going to be bad for Ryan. His fears were confirmed when they arrived at the house and found Mr. Kelly, Ryan's father, waiting for them. It had to be Ryan. If it had been Mrs. Kelly, Ryan's father would have been with his wife.
Dermot swas out of the ambulance almost before it stopped, grabbing his jump kit. "What's happened, Mr. Kelly?" He could see the despair in the older man's eyes.
"It's Ryan," he said. "He must have fallen down the stairs, and he's unconscious, he's not responding to us at all! Please hurry!"
"Tommy, we're going to need trauma supplies," Dermot called to his partner. "Probably head or spinal injury." He was fighting to keep himself in professional mode, as he knew if he lost control he couldn't do anything for Ryan. He could have called for another crew member, but he didn't want to waste time.
Tommy grabbed the backboard and the other immobilization supplies and hurried up the walk to join the other two. As he arrived, he heard Dermot say, "Then you weren't here when it happened?"
"No," Mr. Kelly said wretchedly as they hurried into the house. "Ryan was supposed to join us for dinner. He didn't show up, so we called, and when he didn't answer his phone either, we got worried. So we came over, and found him..." He gulped down a sob, "Lying at the foot of the stairs unconscious."
"Any idea when it might have happened?" Dermot asked worriedly. "When did you last talk to him?"
"Around lunchtime," Mr. Kelly said. "So it could have been any time in the last 4 hours or so."
That was bad news. Dermot knew that the quicker a trauma victim got help, the more likely there was to be a good outcome. If Ryan had already been lying there for hours..."We'll see if we can check social media and so forth to see if we can narrow that time frame down a little," he said as they arrived at the foot of the stairs.
Ryan was lying on his right side. Dermot could see a bruise spreading into the right side of his forehead, and his hands were curling up towards his chest. He could see and hear that Ryan was breathing, at least. "Have you moved him at all?" he asked urgently.
Ryan's mother was sitting on the floor by her son's head. "No," she said, "We were afraid moving him might hurt him worse."
"Good," Dermot said. "Tommy, let's get him on the backboard and then we can do more assessment. We're probably going to need to fly him to the trauma center in Belfast." The two of them worked quickly, getting a neck collar on Ryan and then rolling him carefully onto the backboard and securing him so that he couldn't move. Then they started assessing vital signs and Dermot got more worried by the second. By all indications, Ryan had a severe head injury. "Get on the radio, Tommy, and get that chopper on the way. We'll meet them at the sports field."
Mrs. Kelly grabbed at his arm. "Why does he need to go to Belfast?" she said. "Can't he stay here?"
"No, Mrs. Kelly," Dermot said gently. "The local hospital doesn't have the resources to handle this level of injury. The Belfast hospital staff have special training and equipment for these sorts of injuries. He at least has a serious head injury, and we won't know if he has any broken bones until we can get X-rays. The faster we get him to Belfast, the better."
They quickly but gently got Ryan onto the gurney and moved him into the ambulance, heading for the sports field. By now some neighbors had arrived and took charge of the older Kellys, arranging to take them into Belfast to the hospital and contact Ryan's brother and sister.
The chopper was already circling when the ambulance arrived at the sports field. It settled onto the grass and the flight medic ran over.
"What have you got for me, Derm?" he said.
"My mate Ryan Kelly," Dermot said. "Head and possible spinal injury from a fall down the stairs. Could have happened anytime in the last 4 hours from what we know at this point. This is precious cargo, man. You know what Celtic Thunder is?"
"Yeah," the flight medic said, looking puzzled by what to him was a random question. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Ryan's one of the Celtic Thunder singers," Dermot said. "He's an international celebrity, so keep things quiet, all right?"
The flight medic nodded, understanding now. "We'll be quiet as church mice," he said. "Let's get him loaded and get moving."