Chapter 3
3
EVE CASSIDY
‘Trauma 2 crew to bay.’ I hear Dale’s voice requesting Gen, Troy and I go to our room assignment and like always, a buzz goes through my chest with anticipation.
‘Here we go,’ Gen says, pulling a yellow paper gown over her scrubs exactly like I am. ‘Any guesses?’
Guessing how bad something coming into our trauma room is, is a thing we do to occupy our minds, to prevent ‘stage fright’. On a scale of 1 to 10, the ‘what are we walking into’ game.
‘Five or less, I hope,’ I say as we walk in, flashing my crossed fingers at her.
‘Male, mid-thirties, unresponsive after a motorcycle accident. Required intubation on scene due to severe respiratory distress,’ one of the medics relays breathlessly as they maneuver the gurney into position. Sweat glistens on their foreheads, a testament to the high-stakes race against time they’ve just endured.
The room buzzes with a symphony of sounds – the beeping monitors, the soft murmur of the ventilator, the urgent rustle of gowns and gloves.
‘Freeway? Off-road? Type of accident?’ Genevieve asks.
‘FMX rider. We were on-scene medics; he seemed distracted before his second run and he didn’t land it, a forty- to fifty-foot fall, easily. The bike landed on top of him.’
With those words, my heart starts to slow, and panic builds in me at the sight of our patient’s dark hair and green riding gear. I’m positioned near his feet, but as I begin cutting up the leg of his pants, my gaze hesitantly moves across to his one tattooed arm, black and gray ink from elbow to wrist – and to the one in color. A hot pink tiny heart just under his right thumb. I have the exact same one; we did it when I went to Florida to stay with him. My fingers have traced the outlines of those tattoos many times. Almost shyly I force my eyes to his face and recognize him immediately – yep – Foster. Crap. Crap. Crap. This is bad. He’s hardly aged at all, and is just as handsome as I remember, only now he’s pale and lifeless, framed by an endotracheal tube and an oxygen mask.
Time seems to slow down as a wave of emotions crashes over me – shock, fear, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Luckily, my training kicks in, forcing me to focus on the immediate tasks but beneath the professional facade, my mind is racing, my heart is pounding. I used to love this man.
‘Vitals are unstable – BP 90/60 and dropping, pulse erratic between 100 and 150. Board and collar in case of C-spine injury, suspected internal bleeding,’ another medic continues, their voice tight with urgency.
Every detail feels like a knife twisting deeper, yet I have to listen to every word because that may help us save him, but all I can think about is how I once knew the warmth of this man’s smile and the comfort of his presence.
Dr Bradly is issuing orders, but his voice sounds muffled like I’m underwater. ‘Get him on the monitor, full vitals. I need an ABG stat. Let’s prep for central line.’
With his clothes now cut off to his boxers, I move mechanically, helping to transfer him to the trauma bed, attaching leads and checking the ventilator. My hands are steady, but inside I’m trembling. I’m torn between the need to be professional and the overwhelming urge to break down, to hold his hand, to tell him to fight, to stay with me. But there’s no time for personal grief. My colleagues are relying on me – and most importantly, Foster is relying on me.
‘Who is he?’ Troy asks, moving like he’s doing a ballet. He’s got every motion memorized and it comes to him like second nature.
My lips press together in a determined line, my eyebrows furrowed in concentration as I try to force the words out. ‘His name is Guy Foster, thirty-five years old, date of birth is…’ I give the information I know which the doctor and the terrified-looking registrar hanging at the door are looking for – without even looking at the medic’s paperwork that I’ve yet to lay eyes on.
Genevieve side-eyes me. She knows his name, his face, and all the details of our past relationship but she’s never met him in person. I’m thankful she’s keeping her cool right now as the realization hits us both simultaneously.
‘Mr Foster!’ Troy says loudly, shining his pen light into each eye. ‘Welcome to OHSU Emergency Department. I’m sorry to meet you in this condition, but we’re doing everything we can to get you home and healthy.’ Dr Bradly has always been the most empathetic doctor here and despite the situation, is very aware that even the unconscious can likely hear what’s going on, so he attempts to keep everyone calm, including the patient.
Monitors beep incessantly, their digital read-outs displaying a cascade of vital signs – each beep a marker of Foster’s precarious state. My heart can barely take it.
‘Please – stay, Fost,’ I say in what I thought was a whisper, my hands moving automatically as muscle memory guides me through procedures and my mind stays acutely aware of every change in his condition.
‘Fost?’ Dr Bradly asks, his gaze jetting to me only for a second. ‘Do you know him?’
I nod, glancing at Gen who doesn’t say a word, just continues with her duties. ‘He’s my ex-husband.’
‘Shit!’ Troy says.
Shit feels like an understatement.
I think back to just an hour ago, getting the notification that he’d commented on our anniversary reminder post, and what that did to me compared to what’s going on inside me right now. Chaos. Pandemonium. I feel like I’m in a trauma room full of people while our relationship plays for all to watch on a screen big enough to block out practically all else. What the hell happened?
Dr Sully enters the room and I realize my comment during my coffee run may have jinxed us earlier – like a bad curse laid on us by someone practicing voodoo. Our eyes meet and he lifts his chin as a hello.
‘Sorry to ruin your day, Nurse Eve.’
Usually, I’d chirp back a response casually, lifting the mood slightly – at least for us employees. But seeing him means this is as bad as I’d worried it was.
‘Truthfully,’ I say, ‘I’ve never been happier to see you.’
‘He’s the husband,’ Troy announces, stepping away from the bed Foster is on as transport take over and wheel him away.
‘Whose husband?’
‘Eve’s,’ Troy answers.
‘You’re married?’
I shake my head, following Foster out and into the hall and avoiding the question Dr Sully just asked. ‘My God, Fost, this was always my fear,’ I say, holding his uninjured hand and speed walking with his bed. ‘You’ll be OK, though,’ I add. ‘This is a great hospital. And uh… I’ll be waiting for you when you go to a room. Alright?’ The two young men wheeling the cart toward surgery stop as they wait for the secured door to open. I can’t walk with them any more but I stay for what feels like hours watching them disappear into the halls of the surgical unit until the doors click closed, separating us.
‘Oh, my God,’ I breathe out in a shaky sigh. It’s finally over. At least my part is. I was beginning to think the moment would never end. I know he’s in good hands but I’m not sure I can handle this. I’ve never worked on someone I know intimately.
I march down the hall, tearing off my gown and peeling off my gloves, tossing them into a garbage can and beelining to Dale’s desk. ‘I need to take a break,’ I inform him, giving him zero other explanation. ‘And no is not an option.’
His gaze meets mine, then the clock. ‘Little late for a break, but since I can’t say no, I guess go ahead?’
I’m glad he picked up that I was going whether he said yes or not. With his permission, I practically run through the halls toward the staff room. The door closing behind me feels like relief as I separate myself from what just happened.
Foster. He’s the best of FMX. How could this have happened? First the anniversary reminder, and now this. It sort of feels like the fate I no longer believe in is playing a cruel joke on me.
Seeing him like that – my God. Tears spill down my cheeks as I pace the small lunchroom. Foster has always been a whirlwind of excitement and charm, with his short dark curly hair and that mischievous twinkle in his eye. In the past, I could never resist his flirtatious banter or his contagious laughter. God, he has to be OK.
‘He’ll be alright,’ I say to no one in particular, sinking into a chair, my hands trembling. The room is quiet, a stark contrast to the storm still actively swirling through my mind. How is this happening ? I say to myself, rocking with anxiety as exhaustion, relief, and profound sadness overtake me like a tidal wave. My mind replays every moment of the past thirty minutes, the clinical tasks interwoven with flashes of Foster’s and my very short life together – arguments, laughter, the mundane and the meaningful. Our story wasn’t simple, and neither are the feelings that linger.
The sound of the break-room door opening causes me to try and pull myself together and I’m thankful when I hear Genevieve’s voice.
‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’
‘I’d like to change my guess from five to 500,’ I say, wiping unexpected tears from my face with a sniffle.
I underestimated that one for sure. The adrenaline of the trauma room that had kept me focused is fading, leaving a raw, aching void in its place, knowing I’ve done all I can and maybe it won’t be enough? Please, let it be enough.
‘How ya doin’?’ she asks gently, sitting down next to me.
I shake my head. ‘Not great. Not great at all. Everything I never wanted to remember I am, and nothing feels OK right now.’ I glance up at her. ‘Nothing. What do I do?’
Right then, my phone vibrates in my pocket, and without really thinking about it, I answer the call.
‘Is this Eve Cassidy?’ the caller asks.
‘This is she,’ I say, curious about who would be so formal when calling me.
‘My name is Sarah. I work with Oregon Health and Science University. I’m calling about your husband, Guy Foster. He’s had an accident and?—’
Her words nearly stop my heart and I suddenly realize what this phone call is. I’m still Foster’s emergency contact. I remember him adding my name to his FMX paperwork that Matty keeps on file for emergencies, all those years ago, and hoping I’d never get that call. This call. Yet here it is. After I participated in stabilizing him. My phone slips from my hand, landing on the floor with a thud.
Genevieve grabs it.
‘Hello?’ she says, noticing that I’m frozen in place. She listens for a moment, her gaze on me. ‘Where should she wait for him? OK. Yes. Thank you.’ Gen hangs up with the caller then wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. ‘Go,’ she says. ‘Wait for him in the ICU family room. She said it may be a few hours. I’ll smooth everything over with Dale.’