Read Online Angels in the ER by Robert D. Lesslie - Free Book Online

amoxicillin for a two-year-old?” “Does ‘TID’ mean twice a day or three times a day?” “I think this guy in room 5 has pink eye. What should I treat him with?”
    I never saw him demonstrate any impatience, even when onebefuddled intern confronted him with, “Dr. Blanchard, I’ve got a guy here I think has appendicitis. Now, I know the appendix is on the right side, but is it
his
right or
my
right, and does it depend on which way I’m facing him?”
    “Hmm,” Bill had calmly responded, with an air of appropriate but feigned seriousness so as not to embarrass this fledgling physician. “I suppose that would be
his
right, wouldn’t it?”
    He was a steadying influence for each of us and shared freely of his practical and varied experience.
    Yet he was about to teach all of us one of his most important lessons, though not by intent or design. And it was certainly not of his own choosing.
     
    This particular morning Bill was the only physician in the ER. He moved on to the sports section of the paper, taking advantage of the rare respite.
    Virginia had noted his reposturing, with both of his feet now firmly on the floor. She acknowledged her approval with a slight nod and proceeded toward her patient’s room. She was interrupted by the high-pitched squawk of the EMS radio.
    “ER, this is Medic 1. Do you read me?”
    Bill casually looked up from his paper as Virginia put down her chart and walked over to the radio. Having done this thousands of times, she matter-of-factly took out her pen, picked up the phone, and prepared to make notes on the pad of paper beside the radio.
    “This is the General ER, Medic 1. Go ahead.”
    There was silence and then a brief burst of static.
    “ER, we’re out on the interstate with a 10-50 (auto accident). Two PIs (personal injuries), one dead at the scene. The other looks okay. Twenty-five-year-old male. We’re bringing him in on a backboard, full spinal protocol. Ten minutes away.”
    “10-4, Medic 1. Minor trauma 3 on arrival,” Virginia instructed the paramedic. She finished her notations and picked up her chart, once more trying to discharge her patient.
    Bill spoke over his newspaper to her. “Sounds like a bad accident. A little unusual for a Sunday morning.”
    “Yeah,” Virginia answered. “But you never know. People do strange things.”
    Ten minutes later, the ambulance entrance doors opened to admit a stretcher being pushed by one of the hospital’s paramedics. His partner EMT steadied the side of the gurney. Their patient was strapped securely to a backboard, head held firmly to it by Velcro straps.
    From the nurses’ station Bill could get enough of a glimpse of the young man to determine he was in no immediate danger. The patient’s eyes darted to and fro and he kept asking, “Where is my wife? How is she?”
    The EMT pushed the stretcher into minor trauma and the paramedic walked over to the nurses’ station, clipboard in hand. He approached Bill, leaned over, and quietly spoke. “Dr. Blanchard, this is really a tough one.” He tilted his head down the hallway toward this newest patient.
    “Young couple, got married yesterday somewhere in Tennessee. Spent the night just north of town and were on their way to the beach for their honeymoon. An eighteen-wheeler changed lanes in front of them, and this guy swerved and lost control. Flipped over twice. The girl didn’t have a seat belt on and was thrown out of the car and down an embankment. Pretty bad head injury. Looked like she died on impact. He hardly has a scratch on him.”
    The paramedic stood up straight, put his hands on the small of his back, and stretched.
    “Does he have any idea what happened to his wife?” Bill asked him.
    “No, not a clue. We didn’t say anything. And the highway patrolman wouldn’t tell him. I guess you get to,” he added sheepishly.
    “Yeah, well, I guess so,” Bill conceded. He had been in this position too many times before.
    Virginia worked efficiently,