"Between A Rock and A Hard Place"
Chapter Twelve
Upon noting that her pained rockslide patient's condition was steadily deteriorating, Dixie had sent his partner out to fetch Kel for her.
She heard the exam room door swing open and glanced up from the glass dial on Johnny's blood pressure gauge in time to watch Roy return, with both the summoned ER physician, and Dr. Byron J. Franks, in tow. "BP's dropping, Kel! He's going into shock! Keeps passing out on us!" she anxiously announced and tugged the tips of her stethoscope from her ears.
Through a thick haze of extreme pain and confusion, John Gage heard a very familiar voice. "Di-ix?"
The RN placed a comforting hand on the hurting young man's bruised right shoulder and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I'm right here, Johnny."
"I ain't…gonna be able to…take this…too much…longer," her exceedingly pained patient breathlessly, and rather regretfully, reported.
"Then it's a good thing Dr. Brackett called me when he did," Dr. Franks solemnly determined.
The hurting fireman forced his tightly clenched, tear-streaming eyes open a crack.
Dr. Brackett was standing at his right side, and Dr. Franks was standing at his left.
The pained paramedic's bleary, blurry gaze shifted back and forth, between the two doctors, before finally riveting upon his 'boss'.
Kel stared down at his ghostly pale, pained and panting patient—and friend, and forced a sad smile. "I haven't seen you this 'banged up' since that time you drove that semi off that freeway on-ramp."
Gage managed an amused 'gasp' and returned his concerned boss' smile. "Thanks…for allowing…Dr. Franks…to be here…Doc'…I know…how you feel…about…chiropractors."
"Yeah. Well…Dix'—and just about everybody else around here—assures me that I am dead wrong." Kel glanced up and locked gazes with Johnny's…chiropractor. "I only hope that they are dead right…"
Another fleeting smile flashed across Dr. Franks' face and he gazed brazenly back at his extremely skeptical colleague. "'First, do no harm,'" the chiropractor quoted. "I will not do anything that might cause John further injury," he reassuringly vowed.
Kel's decision was made a might easier for him, as his—er, their patient suddenly emitted another involuntary groan of sheer agony.
"Oh-Oh!…Gawwwd!" the pained paramedic screamed, just prior to passing right out again.
Dixie turned to Kel and gave the doubt-filled doctor a 'Don't just stand there! Do something!' glare.
Franks face filled with even greater concern. He glanced up from the young fireman's still form and locked gazes again with the skeptic. "May I please proceed?"
"All right! All right!" the head of Rampart General Hospital's ER reluctantly surrendered. "I'm granting you 'temporary' privileges here…" the physician's face filled with distaste and he had to force himself to finish his sentence, "as this patient's…chiropractor."
Franks' mustached face immediately lit up. "Thank you, Dr. Brackett! Okay, I want you to fill me in, here, Roy." He glanced in Miss McCall's direction. "I will also need to see his chart and examine his x-rays."
Dixie nodded and promptly passed the chiropractor a metal clipboard containing his unconscious patient's recent medical information.
Five minutes of 'reading', 'listening' and 'looking' later…
John Gage had gradually regained consciousness.
And Dr. Byron J. Franks, D.C. was ready to begin his 'hands on' patient exam. "Talk to me, John…" the chiropractor encouraged, as his skilled appendages began a thorough exploration of the paramedic's traumatized body.
"Dull pain," Gage gasped and swallowed—hard. His mouth and throat were entirely too dry to permit speaking.
DeSoto held another small chunk of ice up to his panting partner's open—and incredibly dry—hatch.
His hurting friend's parched lips formed a slight smile, as the cool liquid lubricated his tongue. "Constant…" he quickly continued, "radiating down…the outside…of my left leg…level 10!"
Another ice chunk was administered.
"Sharp…searing pain," John went on. "Comes in—" the fireman's already grimacing face suddenly contorted even further, "waves!" he breathlessly exclaimed. "Level 20!" he half-jokingly tacked on through tightly clenched teeth—right before mercifully slipping back into unconsciousness.
Dr. Franks finished his preliminary exam and turned to the only RN in the room. "Miss McCall, I'm gonna need a Charter Oak phone directory."
"Right away, Doctor," the nurse acknowledged and disappeared.
Dr. Kelly Brackett was a bit befuddled by the chiropractor's odd request. "Who do you intend to call?"
"Nobody," Franks assured him. "I don't have my decompression table here. I intend to use the phone book as a fulcrum. I figure the Charter Oak directory should be about the perfect size."
'Rattles and incantations,' Kel sadly, and silently, reminded himself.
"Roy, help me get these straps off of him," Franks requested.
Fearing that his hurting fireman friend might flail around and fall off the examination table, DeSoto had re-secured the strap buckles on his backboard.
Dixie returned less than two minutes later, and handed Dr. Franks the requested phone book.
"Thanks!" Byron told his lovely assistant. Then, for his fellow—hoop-holding—physician's sake, he dramatically declared, "I shall now endeavor to 'undo' the damage that was done, by applying the right amount of force…in the right direction…and in the right place."
Beginning at his perfectly still patient's head—and using specific directional 'pulls' and 'thrusts'—the chiropractor proceeded to 'maneuver' and 'manipulate' his way down the fireman's badly damaged body.
The phone book was employed to 'specifically adjust' the paramedic's severely tilted pelvis back into proper alignment. Another 'specific adjustment' was made to his patient's partially dislocated left hip.
Dr. Kelly Brackett watched—in complete and utter disbelief—as John Gage's twisted left leg suddenly straightened out—without having even been touched. Kel closed his gaping jaws and aimed his amazed—er, astounded gaze in the chiropractor's direction. "How—How did you do that?"
"Palmer Chiropractic College," Byron Franks simply—and rather proudly—replied. "Class of '75."
TBC
