Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift. I am also not a doctor or a medical professional. I'm taking pathophisiology though so does that count?
Note: I actually had this thought randomly after watching a movie. I don't remember what the movie, but at least it gave me an idea! Or, the one where TC nearly gets crushed.
The weather had wreaked havoc across the city, knocking over trees, destroying buildings, and flooding many areas. They had barely been able to get to the motel in which the emergency cry had called from to try and find, stabilize, and help the many people who were trapped inside. The damage was mainly limited to the older half of the building. The newer half, built more recently as an addition when they expanded, was still stable, although if it did fall the heavy slabs of wood and concrete would be much worse than the first side. He was kneeling down beside a woman who had a slab of wood through her side, which, with panting breaths, she said she had gotten from falling from the stairs when they collapsed.
Drew was further down, wrapping a heavily bleeding leg. TC found himself distracted by someone screaming down the hallway, a kid saying their mother wasn't waking up. His patient was stable enough to be carried out by the paramedics, so he went running down the hall to find the woman. She lay in bed, face pale, skin sweaty. He could feel the fever blasting from her skin. He ran back out into the hall, telling the kid to call a family member, and waved over the paramedics. A strange noise caught his attention. A cracking sound, further down the hall in the stable half of the building. A door slammed shut and a man was screaming at a teenage girl who ran out of the door. He couldn't quite be sure what was going on - and why the entire building hadn't been evacuated already. A moment later he heard an awful shrieking sound, followed by cracking and tearing. Dust poured down on him, and chips of wood peppered off his face.
He staggered back, looking up just in time to see a fractured section of the roof falling away completely, a heavy slab of wood slamming into him. He fell straight back, his head bouncing off the floor.
He must have lost consciousness, at least briefly, because the next thing he was aware of was an enormous weight on his chest. Pain shuddered through his rib cage with each gasping, desperate breath, and he looked down to see a large slab of some kind of concrete-looking block lying across most of his upper body, pinning him to the floor. It was impossible hard to breath, needing to force air in in small motions. His lungs wouldn't fill properly, his chest unable to rise past a certain point. He forced himself to lie still, breathing slow, long breaths in an effort to keep calm.
He winced as he tried to shift, checking if he could even move. The slab was too heavy, pinning him beneath it like he was nothing. The only thing preventing it from crushing his chest was that it had fallen on top of a pile, and only part of it was lying on him. He tried to move his legs, hoping they were free. His left leg moved freely, not that it did him any good. His right leg came to life pulsing with red, hot agony, pain searing him. He groaned, practically the only sound he was capable of making, knowing he must have broken it. He could feel his foot but couldn't move it, nor could he lift it. Something warm was rapidly spreading down his leg, from his lower thigh, and he was sure it was blood.
He lay, eyes closed, breathing as shallowly as he could until he heard someone yelling "Tee" and heard the sound of someone crashing through what must be a barricade of wood and stone being shoved out of the way.
He would shout back and say he was alive, but found himself unable to make any noise louder than that of a wheezing cough.
Dust and dirt from rarely cleaned rafters slid down the broken ceiling, like sand streaming into a bucket. He turned his head away to avoid anything falling on his face, anything that would make him cough that would send him into a spiraling pit of pain. He could practically feel the bones in his chest creaking, ribs trembling with the effort not to break. Judging by the pain he felt with each breath, some were probably broken already, most likely from the impact. His sternum was likely bruised as hell, but since he wasn't dead, it hadn't broken in half and plunged into his chest cavity.
Every breath was a struggle. His chest felt warm, which was strange, since when he felt the slab with his hand it was cold.
After a what felt like hours but was probably minutes, he could hear footsteps running up to him after the debris had probably been, finally, shifted out of the way. it didn't really matter, since it would take more than a person to move this slab. It was far too heavy, and he had seen people trying to lift things off others and drop them or lose their grip and kill them far too many times to even consider allowing them to do the same.
"Tee?" The worried voice made him focus on near darkness at the edge of his vision. Drew had made it in, and was making his way quickly to his side. His expression was one of worry, and he dropped down beside TC, waving at someone outside of his vision. "He's bringing something to help," Drew told him. TC had no idea who he was but after a few moments he decided he didn't care. His body hurt. Aside from his leg he couldn't really pinpoint a general area that hurt. Everything throbbed dully, muscles stiff. He could practically feel the blood pumping through his veins, hindered by lack of oxygen and by the compression of his chest.
More worrisome was the blood trickling down his sides. Was it a skin wound from the slab scraping off his skin, or was he bleeding from broken bones? It was a growing effort to try and take stock of what was wrong.
"Blood." He was only able to spare enough breath for a single word, and hoped Drew would understand. If he was bleeding from his chest than lifting the slab would be a bit more dangerous, depending how deep the compression injury was. He didn't quite like the thought of bleeding to death on the dusty ground of a motel, although it may be less painful than being crushed to death in that same location.
"Your leg's broken rather badly. It's not bleeding too much though," Drew replied.
"No," TC replied. Not his leg. His leg didn't matter, although he wouldn't be opposed to someone doing something to ease the pain. He raised his arm, which was becoming worryingly numb, pins and needles shooting down. He motioned it towards his chest before he let it drop, certain that would be enough of an explanation.
It was rapidly becoming harder to breath.
"Your chest is bleeding?" Drew guessed.
He nodded.
His eyes closed. Drew started telling him to stay awake, and he made a disagreeable sound. He wasn't planning on falling asleep. He just wanted to focus on breathing and not spent any of his focus on anything else. Staring up at the ceiling, wondering if more of it was going to come crashing down on both of them, wasn't really helpful to his situation. He'd rather death be a surprise anyway.
A loud banging sound forced him to open his eyes, however, to see what looked like a large, hydraulic jack. It was rather surprising to see that being used, rather than more common equipment, but he knew if they tried to saw off the slab so they could move it, it would lose what was preventing it from killing him outright. The jack would take the weight off the free side, and then he could slide right out underneath it. If he wasn't bleeding from a deep open chest injury, that is.
The first shift of the slab made his breath catch in his chest. There was a slight groaning sound which he realized wasn't from him, but was from the slab as it moved. The next few movements, done quickly, brought it up. The weight lifted off his chest.
Blood soaked into his shirt.
Drew POV
Drew wasn't quite surprised when TC lost consciousness, and his eyes moved instantly to the amount of blood that was currently soaking into his shirt. He managed to drag his friend out from under the slab before it could crack and fall back down, or before some other equally awful event occurred. He pressed down on TC's chest, to stem the bleeding, immediately feeling the slight shift in the bone beneath his hands. The blood was trickling rapidly from skin that had been rather viciously torn by the weight alone, deep enough in some places to reveal muscle underneath. He was bleeding fast but Drew knew it wouldn't be life threatening.
The broken bones were another story. He could feel the indents of multiple broken ribs. He could also feel the break in the center of the sternum, although it didn't seem to be apparent enough for him to worry that it had punctured a vital organ.
Breathing still remained weak and shallow, bones moving inwards, grating with each exhale. If TC hadn't lost consciousness from the sudden shock of blood loss, he probably would by now simply from the pain.
They hurried to carry him out, careful of the broken leg, when he had checked to make sure he would be stable enough for transport. Save any sudden shifts in broken bone lodging the edge of one into an organ, he should be alright. With that in mind he made sure the paramedics gave him a sedative so he didn't wake up and start trying to thrash around in his usual, post-wakening manner. Then was the long, nerve-wracking drive back to the hospital with an additional serious patient. The first step would be to set the many broken bones once they were sure nothing vital had been pierced, but he was sure that wasn't the case. The bleeding had slowed significantly and seemed to be mostly surface level.
With the help of Scott and a couple x-rays, he pressed three cleanly broken ribs back into place. Two others were fractured but still in place, and the rest seemed to have deep bruises without any structural deformity. The sternum needed a little surgical help to get it back where it should be, but it hadn't busted its way through into the lungs or heart. The leg was another story. Broken in two places, they had to wire the bones in his ankle together due to the damage done. It would be in a completely immobile cast for several weeks.
He knew immediately that TC would not tolerate it well, and so the healing time would take longer.
All in all, getting struck by a massive concrete slab usually didn't end in surgery. It ended in a body bag. Watching his friend resting in bed, leg in a cast, chest wrapped tightly, Drew realized TC had been extremely lucky.
End chapter note: School destroyed all my energy. I'm struggling to write, even now. But I promised a beginning-of-next-week post so I delivered! Whew. I'm just tired, but hopefully after this week things will start to look better, and most of all - less exhausting! Thanks for sticking through the week!