I confess, I have no medical knowledge whatsoever (apart from how to use a sticking plaster, a wet paper towel or running it under the tap!). I have done some research in order to try to make this chapter accurate but apologise for any errors.

The door of the ED were flung open and Dixie and Iain rushed through the open door.

"This is Rita Freeman, 32, GCS of 8, BP's…"

Connie switched off to Dixie's words as they wheeled Rita into resus. The small blonde was unconscious and unresponsive as Iain initiated the transfer of Rita from the trolley to the resus bed. Connie felt herself in a trance-like state as she watched Rita's unresponsive body move across ready for treatment.

"We found these next to her," said Dixie, referring to the multiple empty boxes of paracetamol tablets and an empty bottle of vodka that she carried in her hand. Connie's heart missed a beat as she glanced at the empty containers in Dixie's hand. She looked between the blonde on the bed and Dixie's hand as if in a trance, not quite believing what she was seeing.

She wasn't sure what feelings were rushing through her body. There was so much worry, with a large feeling of guilt all mixed up with a hint of love and affection. The feeling that she'd felt so strongly in the staffroom earlier now seemed to have magnified itself a thousand times. For a split second she wished she wasn't clinical lead, a consultant in Emergency Medicine who had an expectation to remain calm, level-headed and rational whatever the given situation.

She wished she could be the supportive next of kin; the one who gets ushered to the relatives' room with kind looks and sympathetic glances. The one who no one puts any pressure on in case they should crumble and break under it. The one who gets multiple offers of cups of lukewarm tea that they don't want. The one who plays such an important part in that patient's life.

"Connie!" said the sharp voice which jolted her back to reality; back to the here and now. She turned to Zoe who was now staring at her, waiting for a response.

"I…I….," Connie began. She stuttered. Not because she didn't know what to say but because the whole situation had shocked her to her core. And ultimately because she felt responsible. She knew that Rita had been struggling. She had seen the look in her eyes when she had reprimanded her in her office earlier. She had seen the interaction between Rita and the young women admitted to the ED earlier that day whom she had treated with such compassion. She had also seen the look in her eyes before she had left for the evening. And yet she'd stood back. She'd chosen to do nothing about it. She'd let Rita go home alone, despite that fact that she's seem with her own eyes that she was upset, on the edge, troubled – whatever you wanted to call it.

"Connie, we'd all understand if you feel you can't treat her. It's always hard when it's one of our own and no one would think any less of you." Zoe spoke calmly, although her voice had an overriding sense of urgency.

"No, it's…I'm fine." In an instant, Connie switched back into Clinical Lead mode. It was as if someone had flicked a switch inside her own head. She knew had to this for Rita. She's already let her down so badly already. She needed to put things right. This was her chance. The one thing that she was good at and where she could be herself. She needed to be at her best; she needed to do it for Rita. Glancing down at the tiny frail-looking frame which was laid on the bed beside her, she knew it was time to act.

"Right, let's run some bloods, FBCs, U&Es and paracetamol levels. Robyn, can you start her on a first infusion of acetylcysteine 9.8g in 200mls of 5% glucose over an hour."

She'd taken a guess at her weight in order to work out how much acetylcysteine to administer, but as she looked closer, she could see just how tiny her clinical nurse manager had become. Her bones were prominent and her arms looked so fragile. Snapping on her gloves, she began to examine the lacerations to Rita's wrists and arms. Amongst the fresh cuts she could see a plethora of old wounds and scars.

"Right, Robyn, can you clean and dress these wounds, satisfied that none were too deep to require stitching." Deep down, she wanted to do it herself but felt too many questions wold be asked. She watched with a slight envy as Robyn carefully began too tend to cuts which stood out so prominently against Rita's pale skin. She busied herself by checking Rita's obs again. She just hoped that they'd been able to help Rita in time.

Connie knew as well as anyone that chronic excessive alcohol consumption can increase the potential toxicity of paracetamol. Of course, Rita knew that too which was presumably why she'd done what she had. Connie could only be thankful for the fact that Rita had been brought into the ED relatively quickly as her neighbour had heard a loud crash and, given that he had a spare key for emergencies and knew she lived alone, had popped round to check everything was ok.

There was still no sign of Rita starting to come round. Connie tried to calm herself, knowing that this wasn't unusual in patients who'd consumed vast quantities of alcohol and drugs. The trouble was things wasn't just another patient. This was Rita. Fun, loving, kind, bubbly Rita who made everyone feel at ease in the department, regardless of whether they were a new member of staff or a frightened patient or relative. Watching Robyn finish dressing Rita's wounds she found herself struggling to keep her emotions in check. She wanted nothing more than to hold her in her arms and take all her pain away.

"All done," exclaimed Robyn. Her voice shattering Connie's thoughts and bringing her back to the present.

"Robyn," called a voice from the doorway, "are you free?" Robyn glanced at Connie, silently asking permission to leave Rita and attend to another patient.

"Go, you go," said Connie quietly. "I'll keep an eye on her." She looked up to meet Robyn's eyes, "I won't leave her alone," she added. It was always hard treating a member of the team. Especially one as well loved and respected as Rita. Connie knew the other staff would want to know that she was receiving the very best care possible.

Now alone, jut the two of them, Connie stood beside Rita. She marvelled at the way that despite being so desperately ill, Rita looked so calm and beautiful. The delicate paleness of her complexion enhanced by the harsh lights of resus and the events of the evening. Gently, Connie took her hand and moved her thumb in small circles over the back of it. Her other hand reach out tentatively to brush against Rita's cheek and carefully remove the strands of hair that were caught in the elastic of the oxygen mask. As she held Rita's hand, she couldn't help but wonder what had driven her to such drastic action. Feelings of guilt washed over her as she remembered, with regret, the things she'd said to her in her office earlier. Rita didn't need reprimanding or a dressing down; she needed to be understood. She needed love, kindness and compassion; the things that she gave others in such abundance yet never seemed to get in return. Connie contemplated this as she prepared the second infusion of acetylcysteine, praying optimistically that Rita would start to respond to treatment soon.

Hope you like this chapter x x x