Nurses and ER staff buzz around a recent admission; her abdomen is swelling so fast it can be observed with the naked eye. A tall redheaded woman in an expensive suit wheels towards the nurse, catching Wilson off guard. Taking two steps she starts issuing orders and gathering information.
"What's the status?"
"Severe abdominal distress, complications from the MVA it looks like." The redhead from this morning leans down and starts pressing and asking the woman questions. After a few seconds she snaps a look at the nurse. Wilson stands unmoving at the edge of the group.
"This woman is suffering from Compartment Syndrome, put her under, get me two scalpels and someone who can follow directions to the letter, or this woman is going to die!" She snaps, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. For an instant the nursing staff stares at her like she's out of her mind.
"Yesterday! Move, God dammit!" She shouts. I detach myself from the wall, gown and glove up, and grab one of the two scalpels offered by a nurse. We both get masked and someone puts glasses on our faces. The woman picks up the other scalpel, and right there on the gurney in the ER, she places her scalpel at a forty-five degree angle a couple of inches below the woman's right breast. I position my scalpel as close to the spot she indicates as I can get it. She starts instructing me as I do this. Under my hand, I feel the patient's abdomen swelling by the second.
"Mirror my movement, we're going to cut a V shape down to the navel, and back out to the pelvis, follow me exactly. Everyone else might want to back up." We begin to cut, each one a near perfect mirror of the other. In the wake of our scalpels, the flesh boils and blood gushes across the patient, the gurney, and the floor as her skin tears to relieve the pressure. When we are finished, blood spatters both of our gowns, our masks and glasses, as well as her pantyhose and shoes. The redhead kind of looks like Carrie at the prom, covered in a spray of blood.
"Let's get her up to an OR immediately! Move people!" She takes charge, still standing in the spreading puddle of blood, "Keep an eye on her pressure, don't let her bottom out, but don't hold her down to stop the bleeding. That'll complicate all the work that…" she looks at me, prompting me to give her my name.
"Doctor House," I supply and she nods.
"That Doctor House and I just did." She looks up, "She's going to need massive grafts… anyone know a good plastic surgeon?" I give her a smug smile. As they take off with the gurney, I can't help but notice, morbidly, that they leave bloody tracks and footprints in their wake.
"My guy will be right with you, let me make the phone call." I shout after them, "Isn't someone going to clean up this mess?" I ask loudly to the ER, as I pull out my cell. I dial and listen to the office line rings three times before a woman answers the phone.
"Diagnostics Department."
"Thirteen, get me Taub immediately." I order. The phone hits the desk, and a few seconds later, Taub answers.
"How are your skin grafting skills?" A pause.
"Child's play, I could do a graft in my sleep."
"Then I need you to get your ass upstairs and find the OR where a female doctor is prepping a patient who just underwent a fasciotomy. She's going to need extensive grafting, hope you haven't hit your caffeine quota for the day."
I hang up, and wait for the next available elevator before heading for the surgical floor.