Devil's Playground Read Free Page A

She slapped her stethoscope on his chest. His lungs crackled, gurgled, and wheezed, but his heart sounds were normal.
    After securing the second IV to his arm, Sue slipped a Foley catheter through his penis into his bladder, releasing a flow of bloody urine into the attached bag.
    Cat mentally ran through a differential diagnosis: massive trauma; head injury with possible intracranial bleed; possible neck injury; lung and kidney contusions; probable intra-abdominal organ damage. At least he still had a stable cardiac rhythm and an acceptable blood pressure given the circumstances.
    Just then, the regular monitor blips tripped, wobbled, and fell into a chaotic pattern.
    “V-Tach,” Sue shouted.
    So much for a stable rhythm. Cat eyed the monitor, confirming Sue’s interpretation of the rhythm, now emergent, lethal.
    “Warm up the paddles,” Cat ordered. “Lidocaine 100 milligrams IV STAT.” She smeared the defibrillator paddles with gel and pressed them against his chest. “Clear.” She depressed the red buttons on each paddle, releasing a salvo of electricity. His body lurched, then relaxed.
    “V-Fib, now.”
    “Great.” Cat recharged the defibrillator and again jolted the man with 400 Watt/Seconds of electricity.
    “Asystole.”
    Cat looked at the flat-line EKG tracing on the monitor. “Let’s get CPR going.”
    Tina Flores, one of the ER techs, began rhythmic compressions of the man’s chest, creating a pattern with the ambu lung inflations--five compressions to each inflation. Though Tina was a large, stout woman, she lacked the strength to adequately compress the trucker’s massive chest and the failing heart that lay inside. Rosa hooked a footstool with her ankle and slid it close to Tina’s feet. Tina stepped up on it, gaining better leverage. She put her full weight behind each compression.
    That’s better,” Cat said. “Is the Lido on board?”
    “Yes,” Sue said.
    Cat continued to eye the monitor. “Give an amp of Bicarb and one of Epi.”
    Sue injected Sodium Bicarbonate into one IV while Rosa pushed Epinephrine in the other.
    The fire drill continued for thirty minutes but to no avail. Cat pronounced the man dead at 11:22 p.m.
    *
    Sam stepped through the automatic doors into the emergency department, greeted by the aroma of alcohol, Lysol, and other unidentifiable chemicals, which mixed with the burnt oil smell of her own clothing with nauseating effect. She entered the trauma room as Rosa pulled a sheet over the dead man’s head. Purple feet stared at her from beneath the sheet’s edge. Bad news.
    Cat handed the chart to Sue, shaking her head. “Sorry, Sam. He didn’t make it. Head and chest injuries were just too much.”
    “Great. There are a few thousand questions I wanted to ask him.” Sam exhaled loudly. “Blood alcohol?”
    “Won’t have that until the lab can do it tomorrow. From the smell, I’d guess well over the legal limit. We’ll do a drug screen also. Never met a trucker that didn’t pop uppers. Time is money and sleeping makes nothing.”
    “What about the kids in the other car?”
    “Few bumps and bruises, scared half to death, but they’ll be OK.”
    “Can I talk with them?”
    “Sure. Come on.”
    Cat led Sam to the minor trauma room and introduced her to Rick and Debbie Freeman, a young couple on their way to Flagstaff, Arizona to visit Debbie’s parents. Two pale and worn faces offered weak smiles as Sam sat down.
    “You guys OK?”
    “Been better,” Rick said, his eyes puffy from crying. He looked to be about 19, thin, pale, long brown hair in need of washing.
    “Has anyone notified your family yet?”
    “Yeah,” Debbie replied. Tears had cut snail trails through her dirt-encrusted face and her hair had been tossed in all directions. She wore an over-sized flannel shirt, baggy jeans, and untied black tennis shoes. “My mom and dad are coming from Flagstaff.”
    “What happened?”
    “It was unbelievable,” Rick said, Debbie nodding in agreement.