CHAPTER 3
I could hear the sirens now, taking the opportunity to slip a canula in as Tom played with the gas: why add more pain? I couldn’t get my head around the lack of blood flow from that leg, and wanted Naz more than a little out of it before I had a poke. If it was what I suspected, he could risk a toxic shock if and when the juices did start flowing.

Sirens; closer, thank fuck. I dropped a unit of morphine into the patient’s arm before nodding to Tom.

“Cavalry, I hope. I’ll hold off on back boards till we get their decision. On the other hand… Bryn?”

“Aye?”

“Could you tug out the back boards for us? You know where they are. I’m going to be very busy in a few”

As he assured me there were ‘no worries’, I walked away to meet the trauma team, as far out of earshot of Naz as possible, but that meant passing our scrotery, and I got the usual shite about trannies. Barry was rumbling something, so I left it and got to the rapid response car just as the Proper Doctor emerged.

“What we got, Jen?”

“A bad one, Sandip. Given him one unit morphia so far, and Tom is monitoring air and gas. Massive crush injury to lower thigh, knee and lower leg. No arterial flow, however, so I am expecting toxic shock at some point”

I rattled off the rest of the numbers, just as a pair of police carriers arrived to remove my new friends and give us room to work. Sandip had a rapid eyes-on of his own,

“That’s straight to theatre, Jen. One more unit of morphia, then it’s apologies and hurt our friend. Give me thirty seconds while I update Casualty, then get him onboard. I’ll update the Registrar once you’re rolling”

Shit happens in my job, and this was just that. Naz was vocal as we moved him, a soft block either side of his leg, and then Tom played the disco once again until we were offloading the poor sod to what looked like a crash team. As soon as I had listed the analgaesia, he was off, and I was about ready for collapse. Not a good start for any day, or finish, or any part of the shift whatsoever. I was still grumping as Tom and I finished wiping everything down and headed back out for some more lurking with as little intent as possible.

Breathe, woman.

Thankfully, the rest of the shift was a lot less fraught, largely filled by acting as a taxi service for pensioners whose lungs had decided to retire before they had, but neither of us minded that, and there was only one who had difficulty in combining the concepts of ‘oxygen line’ and ‘no smoking’, which took nothing more than the offer of the ‘City Cars’ taxi number before compliance was achieved. And Tom’s evening meal consisted of boiled egg and spring onion sandwiches and half a pork pie.

I made him eat the former outside the cab, but I suspected he would be supplying his own air and gas later that evening. The only hint at further excitement before the end of that shift was a possible concussion from some idiot man riding one of those illegal e-scooters. We dropped off our wagon, and after a quick change of top, I asked at Triage about poor Naz.

“Still in theatre, Jen. Sorry”

Tom squeezed my shoulder.

“Still breathing, then. Best news of the day. Offski?”

“Offski”

We got the rest of his news three days later, via the Surgical Registrar’s office, which was a nice touch. I tried to explain it to Amina that night, but she was still lost by the time I had finished.

“Think of it as being like an old telescope, love. So much damage to the lower leg it was pushed up through where his knee had been, like a bloody tampon. No knee left, of course, but he’s kept the leg”

“Can’t he get a new knee later?”

Not with so much of his tibia and fibula gone, my love. And he still needed to beat the sepsis. Not a bedtime chat.

“Other Jen gone home yet?”

“In the morning, I believe. Any ideas yet?”

“Not as such love. Still cogitating. Oh, and Connie did Tom boiled egg and spring onion sarnies today”

“Oh dear. That’ll be what I can still smell on you”

“Sorry”

“Turn the other way’ I’ll do the spooning”

Morning’s light sandbagged me, but the wife had set the alarm for us, and I was actually a few minutes early for the shift., which was mostly more taxi role-play. The weekend was ahead, and we were on a part of the roster that actually gave us two off in a row, and Amina and I had plans for the Saturday. Naturally, the Friday afternoon threw us the wobbly.

“What we got, Tom?”

“The Hawthorns, Jen. Fall. Possible break. Woman in her eighties, also has kidney issues. Carers have a meds list ready for us. Awake and talking”

“Okay… break?”

“Sounds like left hip, mate”

“Arse. Sorry; not intended. Just thinking, with her age as well”

“I know, Jen. Going to bluelight this one; got one of those niggly feelings”

The place was one of our regular haunts, out in Morganstown, a new-build care home with a decent reputation. The only reason we were regulars there was, of course, the obvious demographic of their clientele, the other habitual callers being funeral directors. Death’s waiting room, with a nice view of Castell Coch. Tom made short work of the journey, and once he was parked up, I was out the door with the Big Green Bag, half expecting to find the patient on the floor, which turned out to be the case. Staff had covered her with a quilt and provided pillows, but thank god they hadn’t tried to lift her into bed.

“Hiya. My name’s Jen; I’m a paramedic. How are we doing?”

Her voice was weak but clear.

“Don’t know how you’re feeling, darling, but I hurt”

“Can you tell me where?”

“All down my side and into my leg”

“On a scale from one to ten can…”

“I know that one. Eleven”

Tom looked in, then went out for the back board, as I scanned the list of meds for contra-indications for analgaesia. Close to, despite her cheery cheekiness, I could see the thin film of sweat on her face.

“What’s your name, love?”

“Cynthia. Cynthia Brewer. You’re a local… girl, aren’t you?”

Shit. Get it out of the way.

“Not what you’re thinking, love. I’ve got PCOS. Polycystic ovaries. Makes me a bit furry”

“Sorry, love. Just, you hear all these stories”

“Well, it wouldn’t matter, anyway, would it? Now, I’m just going to give you something for the pain”

“Already had something for the pain, darling, a stupid bloody fall”

Keep the laughs coming, woman. I gave her an appropriate dose of morphine just before Tom appeared with backboard and trolley. For once, the staff weren’t all tiny women, and I gave some quick instructions before we gently rolled her onto the board, Cynthia screaming weakly as we did so.

“Two, three, LIFT”, and onto the trolley, our patient now whimpering with the pain. Tom slipped a mask onto her, starting ‘gas and air’ as a secondary painkiller, before raising the trolley and leading our way to the rear lift on the ambulance, with a passing word of thanks for the carers.

Same old same old, down the hill to the hospital, blues and twos on but speed held down so as not to bounce Cynthia more than we absolutely had to. We were straight from parking to the Acute Medical Unit by way of Radiography, but five minutes after we had wheeled her into X-Ray the crash team went past us at speed with their own trolley, which is never good.

What is far, far worse is when you see them returning slowly with the crash trolley but no patient. That evening, all Amina asked was the bare minimum before simply wrapping me in her arms after sticking something mindless on DVD into the telly. Which is why I love her.

Our plans for that Saturday went on hold, which was something I did feel guilty about, but we did our best to make up for it with a trip to the Smugglers. Amina surprised me by disappearing for a few minutes outside, but when she returned, she was smiling, oddly with relief.

“Follow my lead, love. Okay?”

“What are you up to?”

“Cunning plans, or at least I hope so. Marlene?”

“Yes?”

“Could we have a quiet word with Lil, if you can spare her?”

“Only if you promise to return her unsullied and with no further blemishes”

“Would I do that sort of thing to her?”

“I have no idea, but Moi is always on solids, so it’s not relevant. Lil! Sort the ambulance chaser out”

Our friend was soon slumped on a spare stool at our table.

“You rang?”

Amina nodded sharply.

“You drink sangria?”

“Not when working”

“Would you drink it if you weren’t working?”

“What are you plotting?”

“Right. Now, please don’t think I’ve been sneaking around…”

“But that means you have. Get to the point”

“Well, me and Jen here, place we’ve booked for four weeks’ time was advertised here. In the pub”

“And?”

“Owners are friends of Debbie Prosser”

“And?”

“Well, only place they had left when we booked was a two-bedroom unit”

“No way I could afford that, if you’re offering what I think you are”

Amina snatched a quick look at me, and there was definitely a hint of ‘I’ve been naughty’ in it.

“Yes, well. Debbie, she has friends. Her friends have friends. And I spoke to Jen, your Jen. And she has friends. You have visited her place, I know”

“Once. Train fares…”

“Here’s the deal. Accommodation’s paid for, and your Jen is up for this. You just get the train over to hers”

“Excusez Moi”

Marlene was looming over the table, trying not to look smug.

“Please complete the rest of the villain monologue. I’m all ears”

Amina shrugged.

“Yeah, sort of a plot, in reality. Jen knows someone over her way who works for the airport there. They get discount flights, and Jen can get two tickets for a lot less than normal. She’s up for the trip if you are, AND she can cover both tickets, so you just need to cover getting from here to Gatwick and back”

“Yeah, but…”

“Lil, shut up and, just this once, listen to Moi. I can read your mind: ‘why would Jen do that for me?’, and it makes me want to shake some bloody sense into you. Debbie… you mentioned Deb, Amina, and she spent too many years on her own because she was frightened, because she didn’t feel anyone could love her…”

“But her and Frank…”

“There very nearly WAS no ‘her and Frank’, Lil. Long story, private details, but just think, for once. Just make an old but perfectly preserved queen happy and say yes. Back room and phone her, now. Oh, and I’ll cover the rail tickets”