sir,” Eric said, patting Reed on the shoulder, “one hell of a shot.”
“What gives?”
The team turned toward the doorway, where Dr. Joe Silver stood appraising the scene.
Unable to contain her enthusiasm, the nurse rushed over to him.
“Dr. Silver,” she gushed, “you just missed it. Reed just intubated this woman through a massive hemorrhage. One minute she was dying; the next …”
She gestured at the patient, who now was being ventilated quite easily.
“Nice going, Reed,” Silver said, striding to the bedside.
“Actually, I don’t think I could have done it without—”
“What was it? Steering wheel to the neck?”
“Exactly.”
“Gutsy move.”
“Eric here was the one who—”
“Does she have any other injuries?”
“We’ve only had time for C-spines and a chest film, but they were normal.”
“Excellent, Reed. Really fine work. Well then, why don’t you get on with your secondary survey of her.” He turned to Eric. “It’s a madhouse out there. Your stand-in, Dr. Darden, has apparently forgotten how frantic our kind of work is. He left to examine his patient after seeing about three people in the time we see ten.”
“I’ll get on it now,” Eric said.
“It doesn’t look as if you ever had to leave.”
Eric started to respond, then just nodded and left the room.
The flow of patients into the E.R. slowed, then virtually stopped. With Joe Silver pitching in, Eric was caught up in less than two hours. The E.R. chief gave no indication that he knew of Eric’s role in the Garber woman’s resuscitation. Instead, he told almost anyone who would listen about Reed Marshall’s heroics. Eric was sure that Reed had spoken up for him, but it was clear that Silver had heard only what he wanted to hear.
With a few final words to the triage nurse, Eric headed down the hall to his office, his back and legs aching from the long day. He glanced back at the front desk, where Joe Silver was orchestrating the care of what patients remained, and tried to imagine what life would be like for him should he be forced to leave White Memorial.
He entered the office and shut the door. In almost a fugue state, he pulled the envelope from the lower drawer of his desk and held the fine caduceus pin in his hand.
From beyond the door he heard the sounds of the hospital. He deserved the promotion. The events in Trauma Two merely underscored that truth. He deserved it, and yet it seemed more than likely that in a matter of days, he would be looking for work.
He ran his finger over the pin. Putting it on would obligate him to nothing. If the work Caduceus was doing was unacceptable, he could simply refuse to participate.
Eric’s pulse was raging in his ears as he ignored persistent pangs of uncertainty and fastened the caduceus to the lapel of his clinic coat.
B etween diving once or twice a day and running five miles several times a week, Laura Enders was in the best shape of her life. Even so, every muscle in her legs ached as she left the subway and climbed the stairs from the Charles Street station to the White Memorial overpass.
She had spent her first full day in the city—two days ago—making countless lists of the places she would go, and locating those places on her map. Then, late that evening, she had picked up the fliers at the printer and begun her search in earnest, planning to work her way, one at a time, through the grids she had drawn on her map. By eleven the next night she had walked at least twenty miles and had left posters with two hundred bartenders, policemen, hotel workers, hospital clerks, and receptionists.
The fliers, standard 8½ by 11, black-on-white, had come out reasonably well, although the blowup of Scott’s face was grainy, and flatter than she would have liked. She had stopped by Bernard Nelson’s office and left half a dozen with his frowzy receptionist, whoaccepted them while barely missing a stroke in filing her nails.
It was nearing nine in the
“What gives?”
The team turned toward the doorway, where Dr. Joe Silver stood appraising the scene.
Unable to contain her enthusiasm, the nurse rushed over to him.
“Dr. Silver,” she gushed, “you just missed it. Reed just intubated this woman through a massive hemorrhage. One minute she was dying; the next …”
She gestured at the patient, who now was being ventilated quite easily.
“Nice going, Reed,” Silver said, striding to the bedside.
“Actually, I don’t think I could have done it without—”
“What was it? Steering wheel to the neck?”
“Exactly.”
“Gutsy move.”
“Eric here was the one who—”
“Does she have any other injuries?”
“We’ve only had time for C-spines and a chest film, but they were normal.”
“Excellent, Reed. Really fine work. Well then, why don’t you get on with your secondary survey of her.” He turned to Eric. “It’s a madhouse out there. Your stand-in, Dr. Darden, has apparently forgotten how frantic our kind of work is. He left to examine his patient after seeing about three people in the time we see ten.”
“I’ll get on it now,” Eric said.
“It doesn’t look as if you ever had to leave.”
Eric started to respond, then just nodded and left the room.
The flow of patients into the E.R. slowed, then virtually stopped. With Joe Silver pitching in, Eric was caught up in less than two hours. The E.R. chief gave no indication that he knew of Eric’s role in the Garber woman’s resuscitation. Instead, he told almost anyone who would listen about Reed Marshall’s heroics. Eric was sure that Reed had spoken up for him, but it was clear that Silver had heard only what he wanted to hear.
With a few final words to the triage nurse, Eric headed down the hall to his office, his back and legs aching from the long day. He glanced back at the front desk, where Joe Silver was orchestrating the care of what patients remained, and tried to imagine what life would be like for him should he be forced to leave White Memorial.
He entered the office and shut the door. In almost a fugue state, he pulled the envelope from the lower drawer of his desk and held the fine caduceus pin in his hand.
From beyond the door he heard the sounds of the hospital. He deserved the promotion. The events in Trauma Two merely underscored that truth. He deserved it, and yet it seemed more than likely that in a matter of days, he would be looking for work.
He ran his finger over the pin. Putting it on would obligate him to nothing. If the work Caduceus was doing was unacceptable, he could simply refuse to participate.
Eric’s pulse was raging in his ears as he ignored persistent pangs of uncertainty and fastened the caduceus to the lapel of his clinic coat.
B etween diving once or twice a day and running five miles several times a week, Laura Enders was in the best shape of her life. Even so, every muscle in her legs ached as she left the subway and climbed the stairs from the Charles Street station to the White Memorial overpass.
She had spent her first full day in the city—two days ago—making countless lists of the places she would go, and locating those places on her map. Then, late that evening, she had picked up the fliers at the printer and begun her search in earnest, planning to work her way, one at a time, through the grids she had drawn on her map. By eleven the next night she had walked at least twenty miles and had left posters with two hundred bartenders, policemen, hotel workers, hospital clerks, and receptionists.
The fliers, standard 8½ by 11, black-on-white, had come out reasonably well, although the blowup of Scott’s face was grainy, and flatter than she would have liked. She had stopped by Bernard Nelson’s office and left half a dozen with his frowzy receptionist, whoaccepted them while barely missing a stroke in filing her nails.
It was nearing nine in the
Similar Books
