"A Heavenly Cause"
Chapter Eight
"And I know if I'll only be true to this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm when I'm laid to my rest" —Joe Darion
"Nice suit," Joe Early commented as he came stepping up beside his colleague.
"Thanks," Kel Brackett replied, "Yours isn't too shabby, either."
Early surveyed the scene and his right brow arched in surprise. But then, he'd heard the two of them had been together when they were found. So, it was only fitting that they should be together now…especially now. "They look so peaceful."
"Yea-eah…" Kel smiled sadly down at the peaceful looking pair. "They sure put us through our paces, didn't they?"
"That they did. That they did."
Speaking of their paces…
Brackett's ordered treatment for the two victims of carbon monoxide poisoning had been aggressive.
The skillful application of artificial respiration had managed to keep the pair alive on scene.
The doctor's ordered meds, and 36's paramedics' forced ventilation of 100% O2 with non-rebreather masks, had kept them going en route.
By the time the two poisoning victims reached Rampart, their respirations had even become spontaneous.
Unfortunately, both men's conditions remained extremely critical.
DeSoto, who had been deemed the more critical of the two, had been whisked right up to Respiratory Medicine—bypassing the ER, entirely.
Gage had been taken to Treatment One where forced ventilation of 100% O2 with a non-rebreather mask had continued and the first and second degree burns on his legs had been treated.
Kel had carefully weighed his options.
Pure oxygen would take five hours to 'flush out' the carbon monoxide that was bound to his patients' red blood cells.
They didn't have five hours.
Forced ventilation with pure oxygen would require eighty minutes to get the job done.
They didn't have eighty minutes.
Hyperbaric treatment could accomplish the task in only twenty.
They probably didn't have that much time, either.
But that was the treatment Kel had prescribed.
"Of course we won't know for sure, if there's been any cognitive damage, until they regain consciousness. But their latest EEG's look good and pupillary response remains excellent." Kel flashed his firemen friends another, more radiant smile, and then turned to address his doctor friend. "No-ow, you'll have to excuse me, Joe. I promised someone I'd take them to dinner."
"I gotta run, too. I have reservations at my favorite jazz club. They've booked a new combo and I hear they're supposed to be pretty good."
The two of them started heading for the door.
"Oh yeah? Maybe we could meet up with you later?"
"Sounds good, Kel. It's The Mad Sax…over on Melbourn. Don't look at me," Joe added upon seeing the strange look his associate was now shooting him. "I didn't name it."
Speaking of his associate…
Kel paused in the ICU room's doorway to take one last, fond glance back at the two peacefully sleeping hose jockeys. "Try to leave us a little more to work with next time, will yah fellahs?" And, with that whispered—extremely heartfelt—request, the good doctor disappeared.
Speaking of regaining consciousness…
Around midnight, awareness returned to John Gage.
The first thing his brain registered was an incessant 'beep'ing sound.
The next realization was that his head hurt, really, really, really bad—hands down, the worst headache he had ever experienced in his entire life!
The third thing it was made painfully aware of was that his legs felt like they were on fire.
He groaned in agony and gradually got his sore eyes to open and remain open.
A ceiling mounted camera eventually came into focus.
That meant he must be in ICU…which meant he must still be alive.
'But…how?'
There was just no way!
'Talk about an 'Impossible Dream!' If he wasn't afraid it might cause his hurting head to explode, he would have been forced to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He glanced down at all the wires and tubes that were currently connected to his body and groaned again.
A nurse suddenly appeared in his field of vision.
The video monitor had recorded his waking and the audio monitor had recorded his groans.
His first few attempts to speak produced dismal results. "My partner?" he finally managed to anxiously inquire, following much throat clearing and grimacing.
The woman emptied a hypo into his IV port and then smiled reassuringly down at him. "He's right over there—and doing about as well as can be expected," she quietly added, anticipating his next question.
John gulped in relief.
The nurse stepped aside and he swung his hurting head in his also bed-ridden buddy's direction.
Joann was seated at her husband's bedside. Both of her hands were keeping a secure hold on his partner's left hand, even though they both seemed to be sound asleep.
'Sheesh!'
Roy seemed to have even more wires and tubes connected to him than he did.
Whereas he just had a nasal canula supplying him with O2, a non-rebreather mask was still sealed over his roommate's face.
"Smoke inhalation," the nurse explained in a whisper. "He's responding well to treatment. Oxygen SATS for the both of you have been steadily improving. The two of you are suffering from the after-effects of carbon monoxide poisoning. You have also sustained some dandy first and second degree burns to your lower extremities. So, lie still. Give the medicine a chance to work…"
"I've had worse sunburn," the growing antsier by the second young man replied—er, lied, and refused to take his gaze off the body in the bed beside his.
"Sunburn that blisters is considered a second degree burn. Second degree burns require dressings, antibiotics and pain management. So, lie still and give the medicine a chance to work," she sternly repeated. But then the woman's warm smile reappeared. "Okay?"
John nodded and did his level best to relax.
The nurse's smile broadened and she immediately set about taking vitals.
Two hours later…
Following a few hours of wining, dining and dancing, Dix had asked her dinner date to drop her off at Rampart.
"Wow! Dix! You look amazing!" John Gage exclaimed in a hushed tone, as the off-duty nurse came strolling into 604 on the ICU floor in her slinky, black, be-jeweled dinner dress.
She flashed the young fireman back a smile that illuminated the entire, otherwise dimly lit, room. "Thanks." Her smile was quickly replaced with a worried frown. "And you look like hell. Feeling pretty miserable, huh."
"I would have to improve considerably to feel that good. I have this Harvey-wall-banger of a headache that I can't seem to shake. Don't suppose you could bring me a couple a' aspirin?"
"Sorry. Consumed some alcohol—a little wine with dinner. Can't administer any meds, at the moment. But I know someone who can." She reached down and pressed the patient's call button.
John got a whiff of something and his face scrunched up. "Man! I can not stand the smell of burnt hair. Is it bad? Nobody will bring me a mirror."
"The ends are a bit singed. Nothing a little creative cutting and blending couldn't fix."
Johnny remained devastated.
"Here, you be the judge," Dixie pulled a compact from her purse, flipped it open and passed it to him.
He definitely didn't find the stringy/frizzled look becoming. "Ahhh-ahhh…ma-an."
"Would you like me to fix it for you?" his lovely visitor volunteered.
There was more than one kind of medicine.
The fireman's forlorn frown immediately turned upside-down. "Would you?"
It meant a lot to hear how willing the young man was to take her up on her offer.
Johnny wouldn't entrust the care of his hair to just anybody.
"Sure."
"I, uh, don' suppose you could wash it too…while you're at it?"
They'd managed to bathe every surface of his soot-blackened, badly-abused body—with the exception of his stringy, burnt-smelling hair.
Dixie checked the patient's medical chart, noted the semi-ambulatory designation, and flashed the pitiful looking paramedic another mega-watt smile. "Oh-oh, I think we can manage that."
John was delighted to no end.
The duty nurse entered and flicked the call light off.
"Amy, this patient would like something for his headache," Dixie quietly announced.
The two women exchanged a knowing glance.
"And see if you can rustle us up some scissors."
Amy suppressed a smile. "Yes, Miss McCall," she acknowledged and then left.
Miss McCall stepped up to the wall phone and requested that an orderly bring a wheelchair up to ICU Room 604. She pulled some towels from a cupboard and then removed a comb and a couple of small plastic bottles from the patient courtesy pack in the top drawer of John's nightstand.
Amy returned and emptied another hypo into her patient's IV port. She then pulled a pair of scissors from her right pocket and handed them to her patient's hairdresser.
The orderly and chair arrived.
The head of John's hospital bed was raised until he was sitting completely upright.
Amy took his vitals and then gave Miss McCall the go-ahead.
The plastic bag of saline was transferred to the chair's IV pole.
The nurses got the patient unplugged from the various machines that were monitoring his medical condition. John was carefully detached from his hospital bed and then lowered, even more carefully, into the wheelchair.
Dixie eyed the upright young man critically. "Do you feel dizzy at all?"
John was about to shake his hurting head but then thought better of it. "No."
But Dixie was apparently not willing to take any chances.
A broad, black nylon strap was stretched across his chest and then secured.
Johnny sat there with his lap full of wires and his upper body all buckled in, wearing a big, silly grin.
Dixie couldn't keep from grinning herself. "Follow me." With that, the woman headed out the door and disappeared off down the hall.
The orderly obeyed.
John was rolled down the corridor in ICU and up to a utility closet.
The fireman wasn't too keen on seeing the inside of another closet so soon. But he was even less keen on having grungy, burnt-smelling hair.
The chair was backed into the closet and up to a big galvanized wash basin, where Dixie already had the water running.
A towel had been rolled up and draped over the edge of the metal basin.
John tipped his hurting head back until the nape of his neck was resting comfortably on the towel cushion.
Before beginning, Dixie performed another quick patient check. "You okay?"
"I'm okay," Gage assured her with another broad grin. "I cannot even begin to tell you how 'okay' I am."
His ardent assurance caused Dixie to chuckle. She placed her wrist under the steady steaming stream and adjusted the tap's valves until the water's temperature was 'just so'. Then she latched onto the sink's extendable spout and began the first rinse cycle. Once the hair was wet, she applied a generous amount of shampoo and began massaging it into his hair and scalp. The woman was rewarded for her efforts as the foamy-white lather immediately began to darken in color.
"Why are we here?" John suddenly wondered, clean out of the blue.
Dixie's eyes widened in surprise but then sparkled with amusement. "You mean, as in 'What is the meaning of life?' or as in, 'Why are the two of you in ICU instead of the morgue?'"
"That last one. Do you know?"
Dixie rinsed the soot-laden suds from the fireman's hair and quickly re-lathered. "From what I have been able to piece together…one of 36's men saw some sort of sign you had left above a door. Chet Kelly and Mike Stoker were told to check it out. Chet claims you weren't breathing when they found you, so they started mouth-to-mouth. Those two kept you going from the closet to the roof. Rob and Neil managed to keep you going from the roof to Rampart. Kel saw to it that you made it from ER to Respiratory Medicine, where the two of you each spent 90 minutes in the hyperbaric chamber. The hyperbaric treatments kept the two of you alive long enough to be admitted to ICU. You are here because a lot of very dedicated, highly-trained professionals did their damnedest to keep you here…yourselves included. "
The fireman flashed his informant a grateful smile, but refrained from commenting.
A final rinse and Dixie's daunting task was half accomplished.
The paramedic's wet head was entombed in a towel and he was promptly returned to his hospital room.
Most of the remaining water was toweled from the patient's squeaky clean hair.
Dixie picked the comb and scissors up from the nightstand and began 'cutting and blending' the young fireman's still damp, slightly fire-damaged locks.
Roy DeSoto slowly surfaced from the depths of unconsciousness. Over the painful throbbing in his head he could hear some strange 'beep'ing and 'snip'ping sounds. He forced his burning eyes open and blinked his swimming vision a bit clearer. Joann was asleep in the chair beside his hospital? bed. His blurry gaze traveled across the room and riveted upon a truly bizarre spectacle.
Dixie McCall was standing there, in a sensuous black dinner dress, cutting and combing his partner's hair.
'Talk about an 'Impossible Dream',' he sleepily mused before drifting back into the depths of unconsciousness.
Following a thorough towel drying, and one last careful combing, Dixie set her hairdressing instruments aside and passed the paramedic back the open compact. "What d'yah think?"
Johnny was overjoyed with the results. "Dix, you are every bit as amazing as you look!"
Once again, Dixie was forced to chuckle. "Think you'll be able to rest now?"
Johnny drew in a long, relaxed burnt-hair-free breath and nodded.
The duty nurse had changed the paramedic's pillow case and re-lowered the head of his bed.
Their now practically asleep patient was carefully returned to his hospital bed and rewired to his machines.
The off-duty nurse noted that Johnny had managed to fall asleep with a smile on his pain-free face.
Yup! There was more than one kind of medicine.
"Sweet dreams, Tiger…" she wished in a whisper, and realized she was now feeling 'all relaxed and sleepy', herself. Dixie flashed her firemen friends a final smile and then headed off to call a cab.
Kel had promised to wait up for her.
TBC
AN:
This chapter is dedicated to all nurses—everywhere—but, it was written with the memory of one, very special nurse in mind.
Back in 1971, I was in an accident and suffered a broken back. It was very late at night, I was lying in my hospital bed in the dark, crying and in horrendous pain.
An elderly nurse came into my room, said she'd heard me crying and wanted to know if she could help.
She had just come from her retirement party and had decided to take one last stroll down the halls she had traveled for so many years.
I told her I was scared and hurting.
She rolled me onto my left side and placed a pillow between my knees, explaining that when a person breaks their back, it often causes their bowels to stop moving, or some such thing. She then stayed with me until I was finally able to fall asleep.
I swear, I will never forget that amazing woman's kindness to me and her devotion to her often under-appreciated profession, and I will love her for it til the day I day. *Cheers to you nurses out there!*
Additional AN:
Thanks for taking a little time out of your busy day to read my E! fic. :)
Special thanks to those who took a few moments more to 'fuel' my typing fingers. :D
Ross7