Earthquake Baby

Everything attached to Jason had to be switched to a portable alternative. Portable oxygen, portable monitor, portable pumps. The process took fifteen minutes. Steve accompanied the bedside nurse to the radiology department, along with the registrar and two wardsmen. Scanning an intensely monitored person was involved and required many hands.

Laura finally got a chance to grab a quick break so she took it gratefully. She sank into the tearoom chair, her mind abuzz with the things still to do.

‘Taking a breather?’ asked Jack, sitting beside her.

‘Jack. Thanks so much for earlier, with Jason. It was good having someone who knew what they were doing by my side.’

Jack smiled and felt the pleasure at her compliment warm his insides. ‘I like being at your side.’

Laura smiled back, their closeness of a decade ago returning. She took a deep breath and blinked. This was neither the time nor the place.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry. You wanted to see me earlier?’

‘Doesn’t matter. I sorted it, thanks.’ He quelled the disappointment he felt as she distanced herself. ‘You’ve had a busy day.’

‘No worse than most. Better than some.’ She smiled.

He smiled back and Laura felt her stomach flip-flop. Damn the man. It had been ten years and she could still remember how good he had felt inside her.

‘This is a normal work day?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Laura.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you know anything about post-traumatic stress disorder?’

The glow from distant memories faded as wariness took over. ‘Probably more than most.’

‘So you know that with the traumatic events of Newvalley, you are in the highest risk group.’

‘I think we’ve been through this already. I can handle it, Jack. I’ve been doing this for a long time. I’m OK.’

‘Just hear me out, Laura, that’s all I’m asking,’ he said, holding up his hands to emphasise the import of his words. ‘I do know what I’m talking about here. You trusted me with Jason, right? Please, trust me on this one.’

Laura shut her eyes and sighed. He was right. She owed it to him to at least listen to what he had to say. His professionalism with Jason and his invaluable help with the emergency compelled her to give his words some thought.

‘OK, I’ll listen.’

‘Thank you,’ he murmured, grateful for the chance to sway her to his way of thinking. But where to start? Now he had his opportunity he didn’t want to blow it.

‘See, the funny thing about PTSD is its ability to rear its ugly head when people least expect it. Sufferers can cruise along for years and then something will happen—doesn’t even have to be very big—and wham! They’re losing it. Big time.’

‘I know that, Jack. But it won’t happen to me.’

‘No.’ He nodded knowingly, ‘Of course, you’re OK. You’ve dealt with it.’

‘I have,’ she sighed, rubbing her eyes.

‘Well, if that was true, going to the memorial service wouldn’t be a problem for you. But it obviously is. I suspect that’s because there are still some demons lurking. The effects of PTSD can be quite debilitating. Some people can’t even get out of bed, let alone hold down a job. Who was the Einstein that recommended you take up this kind of nursing?’

‘I didn’t ask anyone’s permission, Jack. I kind of just stumbled into it and loved it and stayed.’

‘Didn’t your therapist advise you not to?’

‘I didn’t start working here until after my therapy finished.’

‘Well, that’s just as well because anyone worth their salt would know there are two important factors to decrease the risk of PTSD. One…’ he held up his finger ‘…deal with your issues. Two…’ he held up another finger ‘…reduce life stressors. Not hold hands with them, Laura. Reduce them. But you…’ he jabbed his finger at her ‘…go and choose the world’s most stressful job!’

‘Actually, I think air traffic controller holds that honour.’

‘Laura,’ he groaned, exasperated. He had to make her see that she could be setting herself up for a real fall.

‘Jack.’ She sprang up, a frustrated laugh escaping. I’ve given you a fair hearing but enough already! I am not going to crack up on the job! I’m fine. I’ve been fine for a long time now and you dragging it all up again is not going to help me. Obviously this is more your issue than mine!’

‘Laura—’

‘Butt…out…Jack,’ she whispered loudly, emphasising each word, and left the room without a backward glance.

Great, he thought, contemplating the empty room. That went well!

CHAPTER THREE

TWO days later, Laura was on her seventh day of a nine-day stretch. It was Saturday. She loved weekends in hospitals. Even though it wasn’t necessarily quieter on the unit, there was still less hierarchy floating around making life miserable for those at the coalface. The entire atmosphere was relaxed.

She yawned as she came back from lunch. It was almost two o’clock. Today she was the runner and Marie was team leader. Marie didn’t usually work weekends, but when they were this short-staffed she did what she could.

So much for the spare beds! Two had filled by the next day. Miraculously one bed still remained empty and it was Laura’s fervent hope that it would still be so at the end of her shift. Only an hour and a half to go!

Thankfully Jack had backed off. In fact, she hadn’t seen him at all after their tearoom conversation. It did surprise her, however. The memorial service was on Monday and he had seemed so determined to get her there. Hopefully he had heeded her words.

Jenny Dexter put down the phone as Laura approached.

‘I’m going down to Casualty. They want me to look at a guy who’s just come in. Sounds serious. I’ll let you know.’

‘Sure,’ said Laura. So much for the empty bed!

Ten minutes later the consultant was on the phone. She gave Laura a brief rundown on the patient, who she’d be bringing up immediately. Mr Gordon was a forty-year-old with a rapidly deteriorating condition. Suspected meningococcal septicaemia.

Marie and Laura prepared the bedspace for the man’s arrival in record time. They’d just finished when the stretcher pushed through the heavy swing doors of the unit. Laura took one look and knew that the situation was grave. Two women accompanied the stretcher.

While the medical team took over, Laura ushered the reluctant women into the quiet room.

‘My husband’s going to die, isn’t he?’ his frantic wife demanded as the other woman placed a comforting hand on her arm.

Choosing her words carefully, Laura said gently, ‘Your husband is gravely ill.’

‘Don’t let them give up on him. Please, don’t let them. Don’t let him die.’ She clutched at Laura’s arm.

She searched for a shred of hope to give to the woman.