In The Air Tonight, Part 6
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Another medic came up along side of Michael Vaughn, putting an arm underneath his to carry some of his weight. "Come along, sir; let's get you into the ambulance."
Vaughn gave the man an odd look. Why the hell does this guy think I need help all of a sudden? He tried to shrug the man off, but the EMT insisted, tightening his grip around Vaughn's shoulder. "No, sir; you have a large piece of glass in your right leg. I don't want you putting any more stress on it."
Confused, Vaughn looked at the man beside him, and then down to his leg. Sure enough, there was a bloody piece of glass protruding from his thigh. Immediately, he shifted his weight to his other leg and allowed the medic to help him out to the ambulance.
He waited, watching, as one ambulance, the one carrying Will Tippin, zipped away down the street, lights ablaze and sirens howling. They loaded Sydney into the other van and then another medic turned to help heave Vaughn on board without bending his leg. One medic turned to slam the back doors shut while the other urged Vaughn to lie on the empty gurney beside Sydney. "You'll need to lie down here, sir. We want to check for other injuries."
Vaughn followed his instructions and gingerly lay down. A rumbling jolt and a loud siren told him they were on their way to the hospital. Immediately, the medic began cutting up the length of both legs of his pants to expose any other injuries he might have. Vaughn said to him loudly, to be heard over the siren, "My name's Michael…Michael Vaughn. You don't have to call me sir."
The man looked up from his task and smiled. "All right…Michael. Now, I'm going to have to remove this piece of glass; you'll need to stay very still." The medic reached for a topical anesthetic to apply to the wound, but Vaughn stopped him.
"Don't bother with that…just remove it." The man looked up, shocked. Vaughn continued, "It's all right; I can take it. Just do it."
The man raised a curious eyebrow, then said, "Okay…" As Vaughn watched, he gingerly pressed a finger to either side of the slash to open it slightly, and with his other, he grasped the glass between a gloved thumb and forefinger and pulled. It came out cleanly; Vaughn didn't even flinch. The EMT set the piece of glass into a kidney bean shaped bowl along the wall. Clearly impressed he said, "Okay… Okay, now I'm going to dress the wound. It'll need stitches." After a moment of bandaging the cut, he continued, " Now let me see those hands."
As Vaughn turned up his hands palms up, he turned his head to look at Sydney. He could barely see her; there were three medics surrounding her in the cramped cabin of the ambulance. He tried to hear what they were saying, but it was hard with all the noise of the van and the siren. He caught bits of phrases: "Blood pressure 90 over 30….bleeding internally…breathing shallow…near the spine…lost a lot of blood…another pint…"
Vaughn saw one of the EMTs replace a now-empty bag hanging from an overhead hook with a fresh blood bag, and then bend down, assumably connecting the bag to Sydney's arm. "Sydney…" he whispered in anguish. He'd never actually gotten to tell her that he loved her. He felt sure she knew; he took for granted that she knew…but he'd never actually said the words.
The voice of one of the EMTs working on Sydney filtered through his consciousness. "Is she your wife or something? Fiancée? Girlfriend?" he asked over his shoulder.
Shaking his head sadly, Michael replied in a choked whisper, "No, not my wife…" suddenly wishing to God that she was. "No, she… she is my everything."
Vaughn felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and met the compassionate eyes of the medic who had been dressing his wounds. "We're almost there, Michael. Don't worry; she strong…looks like a real fighter. She'll make it."
Michael Vaughn could only hope and pray that the medic was right.