7. Seven
Seven
M organ
I already knew why he was there, but gave him a coy smile. “You can’t keep showing up at my place of work, Deputy. People will think you are stalking me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, suppressing a smirk. “I’m here to arrest Christopher Robbins. Unless, of course, you think he might be suicidal.”
I ignored the jab. This was a completely different situation from Dixie Higgs. “You'll get no argument from me this time, Deputy. The man's incredibly reckless, but he's not suicidal. He could have killed somebody. If you lock him up and throw away the key, it would be alright with me.”
“I wish I could, but in all likelihood, he’ll be held overnight and at his arraignment in the morning, he will be released on bail and eventually given probation as a first-time offender.”
Before I could respond, the hospital alert system signaled a Level I trauma was inbound and all available personnel were needed on deck. “I’ve gotta run,” I said, but Dante had already stepped away to take a call on his police radio. The look in his eyes told me something serious was going on. But there was no time to ask questions.
In the ambulance bay, I quickly learned what had him looking so angry. EMS had radioed ahead and Dr. Ambrose was briefing the team. The patient was a Largo County Deputy Sheriff named Edward Cooper. The officer had made a routine traffic stop. As he approached the other vehicle, a pickup truck traveling at a high rate of speed struck him from behind. The impact propelled him thirty feet in the air; he landed in the other lane and was struck again by a Kia Rio, whose driver called 911. The driver of the pickup fled the scene.
It was the type of case Level One Emergency Rooms were created for, and the true reason I came to Turtle Key—to make a difference and atone for my past mistakes.
I looked around the room. Surgery, thoracic, cardiology, neuro, and orthopedic were all represented and ready to spring into action. The protocols were well established, and we each knew our role.
Dr. Ambrose would lead the triage to identify the patient’s most life-threatening issues. These would be addressed first. Once we had him stabilized, a determination would be made on the order in which to treat his other injuries.
I had seen both paramedics before but did not know their names. The expression on the younger one’s face told me the situation was grim. The taller of the two spoke, his voice flat as he gave his report. “We had to resuscitate him twice in the rig. He has a pulse, but BP is critically low.”
Nurses were already hanging IV lines and attaching EKG leads as we wheeled the patient into trauma room one. He was unrecognizable. If we somehow managed to save his life, he would require reconstructive surgery to repair the shuttered eye socket and jaw on the right side of his face. I felt the patient's abdomen. It was swollen. “Type and crossmatch,” I called out. “We're going to need blood. He's hemorrhaging internally.”
Neuro examined his eyes with a penlight. “Pupils are blown. We're going to need a CT scan to check for swelling around the brain.”
Pulmonary listened to his chest with a stethoscope. “We’ve got a collapsed lung. He needs to be intubated.”
“It’s going to be awhile before you need me,” said Ortho, who was looking very pale. “I’ll get out of your way. Page me if he survives.”
For the next hour, we worked to stop the bleeding. His spleen had ruptured and was removed. The CT scan showed cerebrospinal fluid accumulating around his brain. If allowed to go unchecked, nothing else we did would matter. The brain would be damaged beyond repair, eventually it would cease to function, and the patient would die. The decision was made for Neuro to perform an emergency ventriculostomy.
I had only seen the procedure done in the ER once before, and was eager to observe. But right before it began, a nurse came into the room and whispered something to Dr. Ambrose. He looked at me. “Morgan, you’ve done excellent work this evening, but we have another patient in room two that needs your attention.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.
When I pulled back the curtain, I found Dante and a young deputy standing on either side of the exam table. The man between them was obviously intoxicated. There was a nasty gash above his left eye and his hands were cuffed behind his back.
“I need you to stitch this piece of shit up as quickly as possible so we can get him out of here.” Dante’s eyes never left the man on the exam table. “There are a dozen cops in your waiting room who would love to beat the fuck out of him.”
“Ah, thanks for looking out for me,” slurred the man on the table.
“I’m not doing it for you, Hauser. Nothing would make me happier than watching them kick your ass, but I don’t want anyone to lose their job. You’re not worth it.”
According to his chart, the man’s BAC was .27. He claimed to have no recollection of hitting the deputy. At that level of intoxication, he was probably telling the truth. Not a hundred feet away, other doctors were attempting to save Deputy Cooper’s life, and I had to care for the man who almost killed him.
I reminded myself that although the man’s actions were reprehensible; he was still a patient and entitled to the best care I could provide. That didn’t mean I had to be polite about it. “Lay back and don’t move,” I ordered, before cleaning his wound with alcohol. While I stitched him up with the largest suture needle I could find, I listened to the conversation between Dante and the other deputy.
“Kunkle is bringing Patti in,” Dante said. “I want to be here when she arrives. Can you get Charlie to help you with transporting the prisoner for booking?”
“I will let him know.” The other man turned to leave, but Dante stopped him. “Platt, make sure you take him out through the ambulance bay. We don’t need a scene in the lobby. This one needs to be by the book. I don’t want to give Hauser’s lawyer any ammunition to challenge the arrest.”
“Understood sir.” When he was gone, I asked who Patti was.
“Cooper’s wife.”
As soon as I finished the last stitch, I returned to trauma room one, but the team was just finishing when I arrived. There was nothing left for me to do. There was nothing any of us could do but wait. The patient was stable but still in critical condition. He would be transferred to the ICU, and later, the surgical team would decide if his condition had improved enough for them to operate.
My shift had ended an hour earlier. I headed to the locker room to change, but made a detour to the waiting room and found Dante. “Play it straight with me, Morgan. What are his chances?”
EMS got to Deputy Cooper quickly and kept him alive long enough to give us a fighting chance. But with the sheer number and severity of his injuries, there was only so much we could do. Feeling Dante could handle the truth, I did not pull any punches.
“Not very good. The next 24 hours are going to be critical. The good news is everyone here is among the top in their field. But even with the best care, there's only so much damage the human body can withstand.”
He absorbed the information stoically, but I got the impression he was hanging on by a thread. “Over here Patti,” he called and walked towards the front door. I turned just in time to see a pretty redhead rush into the building with a young boy in tow.
When she spotted Dante, she calmly walked towards him and listened as he spoke. As a member of her husband's care team, I remained nearby, prepared to answer any questions she might have.
“We got the son of a bitch responsible for this. He’s going away for a long time.” Dante’s words appeared to be of little consequence to her. It was obvious from the red splotches on her cheeks she had been crying, but somehow had composed herself before entering the hospital.
I could not fathom the courage it must take to love a member of law enforcement. To always wonder when they left for work if you would ever see them again. The constant fear of the knock on the door that would change your life forever. What comfort could I possibly offer this woman whose worst fear had just become reality?
To my great relief, Dr. Ambrose came out and spoke with her. She asked if they could see her husband before he was transferred to the ICU.
The crumpled body of his father; swollen and bruised, wires and tubes coming out of it, was something no five-year-old should ever have to see. I caught Dante’s eyes and looked towards the little boy.
He immediately understood what I was trying to convey. “Hey Eddie, how about you and I go check out the candy machine at the end of the hall?”
The boy leaped into his arms. When they were out of earshot, Dr. Ambrose prepared the woman for what she was about to see.