With help, Steve lifted Jesse from the floor and into the kitchen where he was laid carefully onto the kitchen table and position flat on his back, remaining unconscious throughout. Mark meanwhile busied himself, collecting together an odd looking assortment of cooking appliances which would take the place of the sterilised surgical instruments he was used too, murmuring to himself as he went.
You've done it before, you can do it again.
It was true, Mark had performed the same procedure once before, and in similarly dreadful circumstances. Amanda had been injured after a serial bomber had targeted the hospital – he had performed an aspiration to relieve the pressure in her lung. And now he would do the same for Jesse.
Surveying the different blades, the dressings and the syringe that he had laid out across the worktop Mark took a deep breath,
"I'm ready."
Amanda's face was drawn. She knew what was coming and feared it.
Steve stood back, watching.
Mark stood above Jesse and with a slight tremor to his hands he pulled away what remained of Jesse's blood stained shirt, exposing his taut white skin. He bowed forwards and gently probed, feeling for the area he needed.
"The second intercostal space…" he muttered to himself.
"What?" Steve addressed Amanda in hushed tones.
"He's looking for the space between the second and third rib… Mark, what are you using in place of the French gauge canula?"
"I'm using a short-bore needle – I doubt I can achieve the necessary depth but I'll go as deep as I can." Holding the small paring knife over Jesse's cold skin he faltered before pressing the knife down and watching it tearing through the soft flesh, multiple rivulets of blood seeping immediately from the fresh wound. Despite his earlier uncertainty Mark found that his professionalism returned to him as soon as the procedure was underway. Deftly increasing the depth of the incision Mark replaced the knife onto the worktop and picked up the syringe, positioning it above the cut before inserting it to the hilt. Carefully retracting the plunger he was dismayed to find that a froth of blood tinged air immediately filled the syringe, bubbling maniacally. He drew the plunger back to the full 50ml capacity before removing the syringe and emptying the bloody secretion into a waiting basin.
Steve and Amanda stood and watched as Mark extracted the syringe, satisfied that he had correctly located the pleural cavity. Lifting the length of tubing from the table Mark held it above the incision, his hand hovering. Using a hollowed out electrical wire had been nothing short of a spark of genius, although if able to, the now defunct toaster would probably not agree. Steve and Amanda had looked on perplexed as Mark had ripped the plug from the wall and proceeded to hack off a length of wire. His intentions had only come to light when the inner wires had been painstakingly unthreaded from the outer plastic cable leaving a perfectly hollowed out tube which now formed a stable drain which could be inserted as a fairly satisfactory chest tube.
As gently as he could Mark pushed the tube through the incision into the pleural cavity, forcing it in against the resistance of the divided muscle tissue. Once it was in place he taped it securely to Jesse's flesh and stood back to inspect his handiwork. True, it was nothing compared to a proper chest tube but as long as it functioned adequately he was satisfied.
Mark knew that what he had managed to achieve would afford Jesse some temporary relief from his ongoing struggle to breath, but that without hospital attention in the very near future the whole ordeal would have been for nothing. He was however, deeply thankful that Jesse had mercifully remained unconscious during what Mark knew would have been an agonising experience.
Breaking the tense silence, Mark finally spoke. "I've done what I can. I took off at least 2 litres – that should ease up the pressure on the lungs enough to keep his breathing regular…" but I don't know for how long Mark added to himself, not wanting to wipe the look of relief from his son's face quite so soon.
"Steve, he's as stable as he's going to be – we have to move him soon or…" Damn! Mark hadn't meant to let that 'or' to slip out. Hoping neither Steve nor Amanda had noticed the slip he spoke again quickly, "The car has to be moved." He said with a forced air of nonchalance.
To Steve however his father's momentary uncertainty was obvious. Jesse's going to be ok. Those few words had become somewhat of a mantra since the evening had taken such an unexpected turn, but he repeated it to himself again, refusing to accept anything to the contrary.
"Uh, what do you mean 'we have to move the car' – what car?"
"Jesse's car – its blocking the drive, we won't be able to get through."
"Damn." Steve cursed. He had completely forgotten about the car. "I'll go and move it." He stood and made as if to leave the room but disturbingly found that he swayed ever so slightly on his feet as a ripple of dizziness distorted his vision. He reached out and steadied himself on the back of the armchair.
"Steve?"
"I'm ok Dad, just… just a bit dizzy. I'll go and move the car…"
"I'll do it." Amanda stood, she was still wringing her hands, clenching and unclenching her fists. "You shouldn't be using that wrist, and you're obviously still dizzy…"
Steve immediately began to protest, but Amanda was having none of it.
"Steve, just sit down. You need to rest, I need to do something… will you please sit down!"
Steve glared at her for a moment, before a wry smile crept on his face and he dutifully sat back down.
"Happy now?" he said drolly.
"Very" she replied, smirking back at him as she strode past purposefully and was engulfed by the darkness leaving Mark, despite his intense worries, smiling wryly at his brooding son.