Georgie's Big Greek Wedding?

Ten minutes later Georgie was back in the helicopter beside Josh. This time she’d deliberately chosen to leave an empty seat between them. She needed to concentrate. They needed to work out their priorities for when they reached their destination. The anticipated flight time was thirty to forty minutes and every one of those minutes would be spent making sure they had a plan of action so they could hit the ground running. A road ambulance was also on its way but travelling on dirt roads it would take closer to ninety minutes for it to reach the accident site. The QMERT team would be the first team on site. This would be Josh’s first primary and Georgie needed to make sure they both had a handle on what they might be facing.

Through the headsets she could hear Pat checking the co-ordinates. They’d flown over the rainforest hinterland and the landscape below them was vast, flat and brown. From this height even the trees appeared two-dimensional, flattening into the dirt. Landmarks were few are far between. Thousands upon thousands of empty miles stretched into the distance, broken only by the occasional hill or river. Homesteads blended into the surroundings and were almost impossible to find unless the sun reflected off a shiny tin roof. They were searching for a couple of isolated vehicles on an unmarked dirt road. A task that was near impossible without the right co-ordinates. It was vital that they find the scene of the accident as quickly as possible. Every minute counted.

Pat had established radio contact with the station hands at the accident site and Georgie heard the radio come to life as a voice, crackly with static, filled their headsets.

‘Is somebody there?’ Despite the static, Georgie could hear the tremor of panic underneath the words. The station hand continued. ‘He’s not breathing. What do we do?’

‘Can you feel a pulse?’ Josh was calm under pressure and Georgie relaxed as her confidence in Josh’s medical expertise grew. He hadn’t put a foot wrong so far.

The reply came back. ‘I think so,’ said the station hand.

Georgie glanced at Josh. A more definite response would have been good.

‘Can you get his mouth open?’ Josh continued to give instructions—keeping them busy would help to rein in any panic. ‘Check that he hasn’t vomited or that his tongue isn’t blocking his airway. If he’s vomited, you’ll have to try to clear his mouth.’

‘His mouth is clear but he’s still not breathing.’

‘Check his pulse again.’

‘I can’t feel it!’ They could hear panic through the radio.

‘You’ll have to start CPR,’ Josh said. ‘Does someone know how to do that?’ Despite the urgency of the situation his voice was still calm, his words and tone measured in an effort to decrease any further panic on the ground.

‘Yes.’

Pat’s voice came through the headsets. ‘I can see the vehicles. We’ll be on the ground in three minutes.’

‘We’re almost there,’ Georgie emphasised. If they could hear them, if they knew help was close at hand, that would buoy them up. ‘Can you hear the chopper?’

‘Yes.’

Pat circled the accident. He needed to check the landing site before he guided the chopper down to the ground. As they circled Georgie could see two station hands kneeling in the middle of the dirt track as they performed CPR. Shredded rubber from a blown-out tyre was scattered along the road. The trailer attached to the back of the utility had jackknifed and was resting at an angle. A second utility and a quad bike were standing guard further along the road.

Josh slid the chopper door open the moment Pat gave them the all-clear. Georgie followed him out, running in a crouch to avoid the downdraught from the blades. She carried a medical bag in one hand and an oxygen cylinder in the other. Red dust billowed around them, kicked up by the spinning blades of the chopper. Georgie squinted as she ran in a vain attempt to keep the dust out of her eyes.

As they reached the scene of the accident the two station hands performing CPR stopped, obviously believing that since reinforcements had arrived they weren’t required.

‘Can you help him? Please, you have to help him,’ said one.

‘We had a tyre blow-out and Gus was thrown from the back of the ute. I think he landed on his head,’ said the other.

‘Keep going with the chest compressions while we do a quick assessment,’ Josh instructed as he extracted a pair of thin surgical gloves from a pocket in his jumpsuit and pulled them on. ‘You’re doing fine. Keep going.’

Georgie also pulled on gloves, before kneeling in the red dirt beside Gus. He was lying on his back but there was a depression over his left temple and blood had seeped out of his ear. He must have landed on his head and hit the ground hard enough to fracture his skull. That was not a good start.

Josh was holding Gus’s wrist, feeling for a pulse. He looked at Georgie and shook his head. Nothing. He quickly checked inside Gus’s mouth, assessing the airway.

‘I’ll take over now,’ he told the station hands, and they didn’t argue about relinquishing their role.

Georgie worked with Josh, breathing through a face mask, breathing for Gus, but there was no change. During the flight they’d planned to establish an airway, make sure he had oxygen and get IV access. They hadn’t planned on resuscitating him.

Josh continued with chest compressions. Georgie continued breathing. There was no change. He still had no pulse.

‘I don’t think chest compressions are going to be enough,’ Georgie said. It had been more than three minutes and normal CPR procedure was getting them nowhere.

Josh nodded. ‘I’ll draw up adrenaline.’

On the assumption that doing something was better than nothing and knowing that chest compressions were more important than breathing, Georgie continued pumping Gus’s chest while Josh searched through the medical kit. He drew up a syringe and felt for a space between the ribs before he pierced the left side of Gus’s chest wall with the needle and depressed the plunger, injecting adrenaline directly into the heart muscle.

Georgie held her breath. Waiting. Her fingers on Gus’s carotid artery.

There was a flutter of a pulse.

‘We’ve got him.’

‘Get some oxygen into him.’

Georgie started breathing air into Gus again while Josh pulled an endotracheal tube and laryngoscope from the kit. It looked as though they’d be doing another intubation.

Georgie did two breaths. She had Gus’s head tipped back slightly and the fingers of her right hand were under his chin, resting over his carotid pulse. His pulse was barely evident. She stopped her breaths and shifted her fingers, searching for a stronger pulse. She couldn’t find it.

‘Josh, I’ve lost the pulse.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘NO, DAMN it.’ Josh turned away from the kit and back to Gus, kneeling over him, checking for a pulse. He trusted Georgie’s skill but he needed to double check for his own peace of mind. There was nothing. ‘Resuming CPR,’ he said as he began chest compressions again in a vain attempt to restart Gus’s heart. If the adrenaline hadn’t worked he knew it was unlikely anything else he did would have an effect, but he had to do something.

He worked hard for another minute. Another sixty compressions. There was no change.

He felt Georgie’s hands over his.

‘Josh, stop. His injuries are too massive. He’s not going to make it.’

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t lose a patient today. He was in Cairns to get some pre-hospital experience but it was expected that he would be demonstrating his medical skills and performing well. Losing a patient on his first day was not part of his agenda.

He brushed Georgie’s hands away and continued. Sixty-one, sixty-two. Another sixty and then sixty more.

‘Josh, it’s too late,’ Georgie insisted. Her hands were back on top of his, stilling his movements. ‘It’s been too long.’

He listened then. He sat back on his heels, his hands resting on Gus’s chest, Georgie’s hands covering his. He could feel her hands shaking. Or maybe it was his. He couldn’t tell.

‘We’ve done everything we can,’ she told him.

He looked at her and he could see the bleakness of his own expression reflected in her chocolate-brown eyes. He could see she knew exactly how he felt.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘We want to save them all but sometimes we can’t. It’s just the way it is.’

He rubbed his eyes and the latex of the gloves pulled across his eyelids. He stripped the gloves from his hands and tossed them onto the pile of discarded face masks and syringe wrappings, the detritus of the action. He breathed deeply. He could smell dust and heat and perspiration. He exhaled loudly and breathed in again and this time he could smell honey and cinnamon, an already familiar scent, and he knew it came from Georgie. Sweet and fresh, it competed with the smell of defeat.