"An Apple a Day"
Chapter Six
Roy was lying down in the Doctor's Lounge, waiting for Dixie to bring him word of his partner's arrival. He exhaled a weary sigh and gave his wristwatch another quick glance.
It had been almost an hour.
Johnny should have been there by now.
He decided it was time—er, past time to investigate his victim's 'delayed' arrival.
DeSoto stepped out of the lounge and was surprised to see both of 36's paramedics with coffee cups in hand, leaning against the supply counter. He surveyed the corridor.
His partner was nowhere to be seen.
Roy's blue, bloodshot eyes narrowed into icy slits and he went stomping up to the Nurses' Station.
"If you're both here," Roy annoyedly began, "who's watching over my partner?"
The guys from 36's glanced at one another and shrugged.
Roy was even more miffed. "You guys agreed to keep an eye on him for me."
"We did keep an eye on him," Covington assured him.
Waring nodded. "From a distance."
Roy's anger rose. "You didn't talk to him?"
Craig shook his head. "He fell asleep."
"Yeah. And he looked so peaceful, we didn't wanna disturb him."
"When we left the scene, your partner was still sound asleep."
"In your squad."
"Are you sure he was 'sleeping'?"
"Yeah. At least, it looked that way."
DeSoto's frown deepened and his anger upped another notch,"From a distance."
Speaking of Roy's partner…
Captain Hank Stanley stood over his unconscious crewman's perfectly still form and struggled to recall the basic treatment procedures for victims of severe blood loss. The frustrated fire officer closed his eyes and stroked his forehead, in a further attempt to summon the buried medical knowledge to the surface.
Hank's Initial Patient Survey had confirmed what he had already strongly suspected: Gage was going into hypovolemic shock.
In paramedic-speak, the victim's blood pressure had dropped to such dangerously low levels, his vital organs were no longer being properly infused.
In layman's terms, John was dying!
"Cap!" Chet breathlessly exclaimed as he came jogging back up.
The Captain's eyes flew open and he directed his deeply concerned gaze in Kelly's direction.
"There isn't a paramedic…anywhere," Chet regrettably reported. "36's Squad is still here…but a guy from 12's…told me he saw…the both of them…take off in the backs of some ambulances…about a half-an-hour ago!"
'Da-amn!' Stanley silently swore. He removed his HT from his coat pocket and raised it to his lips. "L.A., Engine 51. We have a Code I. Respond a Squad and an ambulance to our location…"
"10-4, Engine 51," headquarters acknowledged, "Squad and ambulance responding…Time out: 14:22."
"Okay. We can do this," the fire officer firmly resolved.
They'd better be able to do it!
Hank turned to his men. "Mike, grab the M.A.S.T. kit and the O2! Chet, bring me a BP cuff and a stethoscope! Marco, get Rampart on the line!"
His engine crew nodded and quickly complied.
51's Captain completed his Secondary Patient Survey and snatched the Bio-phone's receiver from Lopez's outstretched hand. "Rampart, this is County 51…"
"This is Rampart," Dr. Early came back a few moments later. "Go ahead, 51…"
"Rampart, 51." Stanley stared solemnly down at DeSoto's open notepad. "There has been a significant change in victim one's status. The patient—paramedic, John Gage—was found unconscious, by me, just a few minutes ago. BP is now 60/40. Pulse is thready and too rapid to count. Pupils are equal and reactive. Respirations are 24 and shallow. Both lungs are clear. Skin is cold and clammy and complexion is chalky. There are no visible signs of hemorrhaging. Request permission to apply anti-shock suit and administer 8 liters of oxygen…"
Several miles away, in Rampart General's completely-enclosed Paramedic Call Station…
'Da-amn!' Joe Early silently swore. The doctor picked the paramedic's chart up and quickly reviewed it.
Everything looked good—an hour ago. The fireman's reported injuries had 'appeared' to be minor.
The physician emitted an audible gasp of frustration.
John Gage had, quite obviously, been 'triaged' incorrectly.
Early gasped again and depressed the nearest call mic's 'send' button. "Go ahead, with the shock trousers and the O2, 51. And then recheck his vitals. Is there anybody around who could start an IV?"
"51. Negative, Rampart," John's Captain solemnly replied."A squad is en route, but its ETA is unknown at this time…"
Early winced. "This is Rampart. 10-4, 51. Then I'll be awaiting a vitals update…"
"County 51. Roger that, Rampart. Applying M.A.S.T. and O2. Vitals update to follow…"
Back at the fire scene…
By the time Hank got off the phone with Rampart, Chet and Mike already had the M.A.S.T. suit applied and inflated, and Marco already had a nasal canula in place and their patient's oxygen flowing.
Knowing that their 'victim' would be requiring an IV, the Captain had removed the sling and placed the BP cuff on the paramedic's upper left arm. He got the cuff re-inflated and then took another reading. Stanley tugged the tips of his stethoscope from his ears and smiled. "90/60," he relievedly announced and then resumed his exam.
The injured fireman's shiftmates exchanged hopeful glances.
90/60 was perfectly normal—for Johnny.
As if to prove that, the paramedic started to moan and move around.
Three sets of hands promptly reached out and pinned their suddenly 'antsy' patient to the pavement.
Once again, John Gage found himself in a world of hurt. He wanted to lift his bruised back off of the hard surface it was situated on, but several strategically placed sets of hands refused to let him up. The pinned, pained paramedic moaned in misery and groaned in frustration.
"Don't. Move. Mister!" his Captain sternly ordered and placed the palm of his right hand upon their patient's white T-shirted chest. (John hadn't bothered to re-button his uniform.)
Gage groaned again and then forced his tightly clamped eyelids open. He batted—er, blinked his pain-filled eyes in his boss' direction—repeatedly. "Cap…the left side…of my back…hurts…like…bloody hell," he breathlessly explained, sounding every bit as pitiful as he looked.
The Captain gave his hurting crewman a deeply sympathetic look and then locked gazes with his second-in-command. "Find something soft, that we can place under his back."
"Right, Cap!" Stoker acknowledged and disappeared.
Stanley gave Gage's good arm a reassuring squeeze. Then he snatched up the Bio-phone's handset and got back in touch with the hospital. "Rampart, this is County 51…"
"This is Rampart," Dr. Early promptly replied. "Go ahead, 51…"
"51. Rampart, there has been another significant change in victim one's status. The patient has just regained consciousness. BP is now 90/60. Pulse is 120 and much stronger. Respiration rate is now 28 and labored. Both lungs remain clear. Skin is still cold and clammy but his complexion isn't quite as pale. The patient is coherent and complaining of extreme pain in the left side of his back. Still no sign of the squad or the ambulance—" Hank heard the faint wailing of a familiar siren. "Correction, Rampart. The squad is arriving now."
Less than two minutes later…
Craig Bryce pulled Squad 16 right up alongside of 51's squad and he and his partner piled out.
Hank handed Roy's and his notes to Craig.
Bryce reviewed them and then grabbed the Bio-phone's receiver. "Rampart, Squad 16 is on scene. Request permission to begin IVs…"
Back at Rampart…
Joe heard Bryce's request and promptly broke into a smile. "Squad 16, this is Rampart. You need to get the patient's blood volume up with some rapid boluses. Start two IVs—normal saline. Use 18 gauge needles in the largest veins you can find. Raise the IV bags as high as you possibly can and keep the clamps wide open."
"Squad 16," Craig Bryce came back. "10-4, Rampart. Two IVs—normal saline. Large bore needles. Rapid infusion."
In the Paramedics' Base Station, a few frantic minutes later…
"Rampart, Squad 16. Ambulance is on scene. Request permission to transport patient…"
"This is Rampart. Permission to transport granted, 16."
"Squad 16. 10-4, Rampart. Transporting patient. Will update vitals en route. ETA ten minutes."
"Rampart. Roger that 16." Early exhaled an audible of sigh of relief and stepped out of the Call Station, for a breather.
The last person Joe wanted to face right then, was the first person he saw.
Roy DeSoto was standing in front of the counter at the Nurses' Station, talking with Dixie.
"Hey, Doc," the paramedic cheerfully greeted the ER physician. "Any idea on when my partner is gonna get here?"
"He should be arriving in about ten minutes," the doctor solemnly replied. "It seems that Johnny suffered some…complications."
The feverish fireman's face filled with alarm and he cursed beneath his breath. "I knew I should have never left him. I could sense that something just wasn't right. What happened?" he finally demanded, his voice filled with an equal mixture of concern and confusion.
"He's bleeding…internally. He started going into hypovolemic shock."
The paramedic was even more perplexed. "Johnny bled out? Wha—How? Was it a broken rib? Did he puncture a lung? Lacerate his liver? Wha-at?"
"I won't know—for sure—until after I see his x-rays. But I'll tell you what I think may have happened. I believe one of the bones in his left posterior ribcage splintered on impact and a piece of splintered bone severed the rib's intercostal artery."
"Are you saying that Johnny was bleeding the entire time?"
Early heaved a silent sigh of regret and then nodded, reluctantly.
The paramedic was now more confused than ever. "I—I don't get it, Doc. I took three separate sets of vitals. Johnny's condition was perfectly stable, when I left him."
"I know." The ER physician suddenly looked even more uncomfortable. "I blew it, Roy. I blew it…because I forgot one, very important thing. Your fire victim was also a fire fighter. At the time his vitals were taken, Johnny had just come off a rescue operation. His system was pumped chock full of adrenaline. The adrenaline was keeping his blood pressure 'artificially' elevated. As soon as the adrenaline wore off, his BP plummeted to its 'actual' level. Fortunately, the intercostal artery is so tiny, it took 45 minutes to an hour for him to suffer enough blood loss to actually begin to go into hypovolemic shock."
Ten ridiculously loooong minutes later…
An extremely distraught Roy DeSoto met John Gage's gurney, as it was guided into Rampart General's Emergency Receiving Ward. "How yah doin'?"
"I feel…almost as bad…as you look," his friend weakly replied and flashed him a smile that was even fainter than his voice.
Roy returned the smile and continued to accompany his partner's stretcher down the corridor.
"Ro-oy?"
"Yeah, Johnny?"
"You're not…sniffling."
"Yeah. I know. I figure you must a' scared my cold away."
His partner managed to muster up another faint smile.
They reached the door to Treatment Room 4.
Roy gripped his buddy's uninjured wrist. "Hang in there, Johnny."
Johnny gave his splinted left wrist a glum glance and his usual glib reply, 'With both hands' was immediately modified to, "With one…very good…hand."
The exam room door was shoved open and his partner disappeared.
Two hours later…
Roy found himself pacing up and down a deserted hallway in the hospital's Surgical Ward.
Joe Early exited O.R. 2 and removed his sweat-soaked surgical cap and mask. "Just as I suspected," he announced, as his surgical patient's partner approached him, "a relatively small piece of his 5th left posterior rib had splintered off when it struck that wrought iron railing. That little shard of bone then severed the intercostal artery. I was able to remove the bone fragment and repair the artery. His BP is now holding strong and steady." He gave Roy's right shoulder a reassuring squeeze and flashed him a reassuring smile. "Johnny's going to be just fine." Joe recognized the folded piece of paper that was protruding from the paramedic's front shirt pocket. He pulled it out and re-handed the feverish fireman his prescription. "Now will you please go home—and go to bed?"
Roy gave the adamant ER doc a silly grin—and a nod.
Rampart General Hospital, several days later…
The exsanguinated fall victim had recovered enough to be transferred out of the ICU Ward.
The moment John Gage's shiftmates heard that their fireman friend was now allowed visitors, they made plans to visit him.
A-Shift's crew—minus two—showed up the afternoon of the surgical patient's first day in his 'regular' hospital room.
"Chet! Am I glad to see you!" the room's occupant exclaimed, the moment he caught sight of Kelly. "Whatever happened to our apples? I keep asking and asking, but nobody around here will tell me anything!…Oh. Hi," Gage finally greeted his 'other' guests. The recovering fireman felt deeply indebted to his visitors. Hell, he owed them his life! "Thanks, guys…for everything," he warmly added, and flashed his 'big brothers' a grateful grin.
The 'left out' looks vanished from his visitors' faces.
"You're welcome…for everything," Marco assured him.
The paramedic's gaze quickly re-riveted upon Kelly. "Now, about our apples…"
Chet stepped right up beside his business partner's hospital bed and then stood there, looking quite pleased with himself. "Hey…THEY say: 'When life tosses you lemons—make lemonade'. Ri-ight?"
Johnny nodded, tentatively.
Chet looked even smugger. "Well, then it just stands to reason that, when life tosses you apples—you make apple cider."
His crewmates glanced at one another, looking most amused.
Gage, however, remained most confused.
So Kelly continued. "Since you so cleverly devised a way to drum up some 'free advertising'—"
"—Che-et, I fell two floors…got body slammed into a balcony railing—and damned near died!"
Never one to let the truth get in the way of a good story, Kelly quickly dismissed his friend's factual interjection with a wave of his right hand and a, "Yeah. Right. Whatever…Anyways, when that TV camera crew interviewed us for a little background info on you, I just 'happened' to mention to them that you just 'happened' to have 235 bushels of delicious apples for sale."
Gage's gloom-filled face instantly lit up. "Chet, you're a freakin' genius!"
Kelly flashed his bed-ridden buddy back a 'Tell me somethin' I don't already know,' smirk.
"By the time we got back to the Station," Mike Stoker joined in, "the phone was ringing off of the hook."
Chet pulled a check out of his pocket and held it up in front of his friend's face.
The check was from 'Grandma Annie's Apple Cider' company.
John stared at the amount it was written out for in absolute amazement. "I see you didn't sell them for a dollar."
"Oh, I sold them for a dollar, all right—a dollar a peck. Turns out, there are four pecks in a bushel. And remember, babe, two hundred and fifty bucks a' that are mine."
Gage flashed his entrepreneurial pal a warm, slightly askew smile. "I, uh, seem to recall making you a full partner, partner. Which means, we split this—50/50."
Kelly gave his shoulders a dismissive shrug. "Works for me. Now, get well real soon…so you can cash it."
John heaved a weary sigh, but the crooked smile never left his face. He beamed it at the rest of the guys. "He's all heart."
The rest of the guys were forced to grin.
Hank suddenly cleared his throat.
Mike and Marco took the hint and stepped out into the hallway—only to return, two seconds later, carting a crate of apples.
The Captain presented the recuperating paramedic with their 'get well' gift. "If an apple a day can keep the doctor away, we figured a whole bushel of 'em oughtta be enough to get you clean out of the hospital."
Their injured shiftmate was deeply touched—not to mention, amused to no end. "Thanks…again, guys." The paramedic spotted the brown paper sack in his ex-business partner's left hand. "What's in the bag?"
"I brought you a little 'something' for your cast," Kelly innocently announced and carefully placed his 'get well' present down upon the patient's hospital-gowned chest.
A black Magic Marker'ed message had been scrawled upon the outside of the paper sack.
Gage read what it said—right out loud. "Contents: One Irish Itch Exterminator. Some disassembly required." His curiosity piqued, the patient opened the paper bag—one-handedly—and then cautiously peered inside it. John caught sight of the sack's contents and cracked up.
His fellow firefighters peeked into the opened sack as well. The sound of their laughter mingled with the patient's and quickly filled the hospital room.
The paper bag contained one black wire…coat hanger.
Miss McCall entered the room and stepped up beside Johnny's hospital bed. "Hi guys," she greeted Gage's shiftmates with a grin of her own making. "What's so funny?"
Johnny simply pointed to the paper bag that had been placed upon his chest.
Dixie read the note on the outside and then took a cautious look inside. When she saw what the sack contained, she couldn't keep from chuckling, either.
"I have some good news for our star patient, here," the RN went on to announce, once she'd recovered some semblance of composure. "Your last labs came back. Things are looking pretty good. If your next hemoglobin checks out, Joe says you could be released as soon as tomorrow."
"Well, what d'yah know!" Hank exclaimed. The Captain exchanged amazed glances—and grins—with the members of his crew. The fire officer's mirth-filled eyes then lowered and locked onto the crate of apples that was resting at his feet. "It worked!"
The End :)
Author's note:
I cannot begin to tell you guys how much I have enjoyed reading your kind, encouraging comments!:)
Thanks bunches and bunches! ((((readers))))
Real Life is finally cutting me some slack. *whew* :)
All our crops have been harvested and the weather is really cooling down. In fact, we've had killing frosts for the last few mornings, now.
Once I get my horse fence de-weeded and my seven acres mowed-again, I hope to wrap up 'Godzilla and The Smog Monster' and then add some more chapters to 'If Wishes Were Horses'.
Thanks once again for reading and reviewing! Your comments and support are ALWAYS greatly appreciated!
Hope you guys enjoyed the ending to 'An Apple a Day'...*fingers crossed*
Take care! :)
:) Ross7