Doctor Brandon Ericson, known as Dr. Brand to his patients, washed his hands off at the sink. He’d just finished an emergency C-section that had turned out quite easier than anyone had thought it would be. It had been a joy to pick up the beautiful little boy, ten pounds once ounce and twenty inches long, and hand him to his mother. This was one of the best parts of his job. He smiled at his reflection, thinking that moments like this were few and far between.
“You did a good job in there, doctor.” One of his nurses said when she came up next to him to wash. He flashed a smile down at her, stepping back and drying his hands. Doing so, he missed the small smile and sigh she gave.
All the nurses loved Dr. Brand. He was in his early forties and could have easily passed for early thirties. His brown hair was kept short, in the ‘high and tight’ style that you mostly saw in military men. To him, it was practical and sanitary for working in a hospital. To the women, it gave him a dashing look. That look was made even better by the bright green eyes that always seemed to be smiling at everyone he looked at.
Unaware of the woman’s thoughts. Brand patted her shoulder as he went past, her head just barely brushing his shoulder. He was taller than average, six feet seven, and was quiet used to people barely coming close to his height. “Thanks. You did pretty good in there yourself.” He complimented her on his way out.
Working in the ER was never a dull moment, he thought to himself. There were three patients down the hall that were waiting for him. One, the chart indicated, had been bitten by a dog and was currently being patched up by the nurse. He would poke his head in, make sure everything was ok. But apparently it wasn’t too severe or they would have already made a point of bringing him in.
The next patient was a DV victim. Christ, but he hated those ones. Women who came in, battered and bruised from their spouse or boyfriend, always going right back home with the same man who had hurt them. They were some of the hardest patients he dealt with.
He was just starting to scan the last chart when the beep sounded at his pager. Automatically he glanced down, saw the pager number and cursed fluently in his head. Within minutes he was flying down the hallway. The code he’d seen indicated a vehicular crash, multiple victims. Just as he reached the ambulance entrance, they were already bringing in the first patient.
The man was conscious, thank the Gods. That’s always a good sign, he thought to himself. The EMT at the head wasted no time in giving out information as they moved. “Male, thirty years old, name of Kevin Richardson. Flew out the bus window and rolled down the hill. Two fingers are broken, blunt force trauma to the head. No serious physical damage shown so far. He’s agitated about his friends.”
Brand moved up to the patient, giving him a quick once over, trying to assess as best as possible. “Mr. Richardson? Can you speak with me?” he asked kindly as he looked at the small cuts on the man’s body. They were everywhere. Blood marred his skin, mixed with the mud and moisture of being in the snow. Blood ran down his head, mostly dried by now. A bandage over where Brand assumed the wound was. He looked over at one of the EMT’s. “We need to get that glass out. Get a few nurses in here, stat.”
Kevin Richardson turned a sharp glare on Brand. “Where the hell are my friends?” he demanded in a deep, booming voice.
“You’re the first to arrive, Mr. Richardson. I’ll see to them as soon as they’re here. Right now I need to focus on you. Can you tell me if you hurt anywhere?”
The man closed his eyes for a minute before opening them back up. “Aside from my head? My hand and my ribs.”
Another doctor arrived then just as the sound of another ambulance alerted their next arrival. “How many friends did you have with you?” Dr. Brand asked him quickly.
“Four others, plus our two drivers. We’re a music group, touring.”
Great. Just great. Four others. Potentially six. Hopefully their wounds were all like Mr. Richardson’s. If only they could be so lucky. After introducing the other doctor, Dr. Lela, he gave a few quick orders and moved to intercept the next patient into his triage. Being the top physician in the ER that night, he had to check in each patient and assign them where they needed to go.
The next patient to come in was younger, maybe early twenties he guessed. The EMT confirmed it a moment later. “Nick Carter, twenty one years old. Laceration to the left temple. Thrown from bus window, we believe his leg hit the rock he was by. Right leg looks broken.” The man was unconscious. No wonder, with the cut to his temple.
Brand barely had time to assign the tests needed, the x-ray for the leg, and to put the orderlies to work on rushing him out before the next patient came in, another one right beside him. The first one was a Mr. Howard Dorough, who needed stitches at the back right side of his head as well as down his left arm, from shoulder to elbow, where something sharp had split him open. His left wrist was most likely sprained, but he was sent to x-ray to make sure.
The other patient, Mr. Brian Littrell, was unconscious and in far more trouble than any of the others so far. His left arm, halfway down his forearm, was bent at a wrong angle and a bone was protruding from the skin. Dr. Brand immediately saw that both the bones were broken. Clean, thank God. There was a jagged cut in the man’s chest that had Brand cursing. If the scar was anything to judge by, this man had had open heart surgery at one point in them. The impact of the crash looked to have broken some of the wires in there and sent them out, through the skin.
Fixing that would he easy enough, but watching the heart condition that had caused this combined with the trauma of the other injuries would make the surgery dangerous. Not only that, but they needed to surgically fix his arm as well.
“Brian!” A deep voice called out, anguish settling in it. It took a moment for Brand to realize that it was the man, Kevin, calling out. “Please, let me see him! He’s my cousin! Is he ok?”
“Cousin?” Brand turned quickly, his eyes moving sharply to Kevin. “Would you know about his open heart surgery?”
“He had it in ’98 to close a hole in his heart. Please, is he ok?”
Quickly Brand issued the orders for the man, Brian, to be taken to the OR and prepped. Then he sent another nurse to page the other on-call doctor who was working normal rounds upstairs and to page their resident cardiologist, who was luckily on duty at the moment. Then he moved toward Kevin, wanting to be honest with him. He had a feeling that honesty would calm his patient more than trying to reassure him. “They’re taking him up to get a few pictures and take him over to the OR. We’ve got to fix the break in his arm. It also looks like some of his chest wires have snapped, so we need to get that fixed and get his chest closed back up.”
Kevin closed his eyes to say a quiet prayer. “What about the others?” he finally asked. “Howie? Nick? AJ?” he asked hoarsely. You almost couldn’t tell that the man was lying on his side having glass picked from his back. His bed was on the side of the triage room where he was being treated for the minor injuries by the nurses. He never missed a beat, his eyes locked on to Brand.
“I won’t know for sure until I get back all the pictures and reports and have more time to inspect them.” Brand paused, his eyes on the back doors. “What did you say the last patients name was?”
“AJ. AJ Mclean.” Kevin looked even more worried. “I haven’t seen him come in. Did he get here before me? Scrawny guy, tattoos…”
Brand stayed quiet a moment, again opting for honesty. “Mr. Mclean hasn’t arrived yet. But if you were all at the same scene, he should be along shortly.” He didn’t add that there might have been no need to rush, both for good or bad reasons. That thought was already in Kevin’s eyes. But the man only closed those expressive eyes and stayed still as they continued to pick glass out of his back.
The sounds of sirens interrupted the silence again, springing Dr. Brand into motion. Within minutes the gurney was being rushed in and a code blue was being called over the intercoms. Brand swore to himself when he saw the man riding in on the gurney.
So far, all the men had been covered in bruises and cuts and blood. This one was no different. But across the left side of his chest, stomach and side was a large gash that the EMT’s were trying to close off. When he rushed up, snapping on gloves and bringing his hands right in, Brand also saw the cut around his neck that looked as if the man had been hung. The severity of it, he couldn’t tell, as one of the EMT’s was replacing the bandage over it, trying to stem the bleeding.
“Let’s get him in the OR, now!” he ordered. Then he was too busy trying to stop the man, the tattoos labeled him as the friend ‘AJ Mclean’, from bleeding out all over the place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hours later, Kevin nervously paced the floor of the waiting room. He had refused to take the bed the doctor had tried to give him. He didn’t need to be in bed, in a room, while his friends were still back there somewhere. He needed to know about his friends, now! But no one could seem to tell him anything. Either they all knew nothing still or they were refusing to tell him.
Panic was slick in his throat. Over and over he heard that sound of scraping metal. Felt the jarring sensation of that first impact. His body ached in testament to the tumble he’d taken down the hill and the two broken fingers as well as two fractured ribs that he’d gained from rocks on the way down. He didn’t care about the pain. They had taped his ribs on that side, from the middle of his chest, around to his spine, which had lessened their pain. His fingers were in a splint, held tight and taped down.
The pain in his head had gone down after they’d given him some pain killer and a local so that they could put a few stitches in his scalp.
But that had been, God, it seemed forever ago! Why hadn’t anyone come to tell him what the hell was going on?
As if in answer, the doors to the backroom burst open and someone came bustling out. But it wasn’t the doctor that Kevin had expected to see. It was Howie.
He rushed toward Kevin as quickly as possible, the two men embracing in silence. It was reassuring to just see one another again. To see someone else standing there, alive and mostly well. That was all they needed for the moment.
The two linked hands when they broke the hug, moving to sit in nearby chairs. Howie looked over at Kevin. “No news?” he asked quietly.
“None.”
“What about you?”
Eyes trained on the doors, Kevin told him “Broke two fingers, bruised the top of my head, couple stitches there. Fractured two ribs. Got glass in my back. I went out the window.” He had to pause here, had to take control. “Rolled down the hill. But I’m fine.” Finally he broke away from staring at the door. “You?”
Howie squeezed Kevin’s good hand lightly. He held up his other hand, which sat in a wrist splint. “Sprained my wrist.” He dropped that hand down again. “They put stitches in the back of my head and on that arm, too. Something cut it from shoulder to elbow. Thank God it’s numb right now. Going to sting like hell later.” Here he paused, gulping quietly. “Did you…have you seen the others?”
“I saw them come in, but no one said anything to me yet. They were all rushed off. Brian…they think the wires in his chest tore open. The doctor told me they were taking him back to fix that and to fix his arm. Something about it being broken.”
The two men fell silent again. Together they stayed in those chairs, drawing strength from the presence of each other, waiting anxiously for word of their friends.
It was hours later--how many, Kevin had no idea. He’d lost count--when Dr. Brand came walking into the waiting room. He had on clean scrubs, thank the Lord above.
“Well, I’ll waste no time with this. I’m sure you’re anxious. Your friends are all alive.” He told them bluntly. The worlds sent waves of relief through Kevin. He gripped tighter to Howie as they watched the doctor, who continued speaking, looking down at his chart as he did. “Mr. Carter broke his femur bone in his right leg. We’ve casted it and expect it to heal well. The cut on his temple was cleaned and closed with butterfly tape. He required no stitches. He has a concussion, which is to be expected, but he’s awake and I’m sure he’d appreciate visitors.”
Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Kevin sent that prayer heavenward. One of their friends was ok!
Dr. Brand continued. “Mr. Littrell made it through surgery wonderfully. We repaired the wires in his chest and closed the chest wound. There were no heart complications, but we want to keep him for a while to monitor him and make sure nothing else does come up. At least a week. The heart is a tricky thing and his has been through hell today.
“We also had to repair the bone on his arm. Both bones were broken in his left forearm. We treated it by placing a metal plate and screws on both the radius and ulna bones to hold it all together. This, too, we’d like to monitor to make sure that it heals right, without any signs of infection.”
A small sob caught in Kevin’s throat. Unashamed, he felt tears sliding down his face. Brian had come through it ok. His heart had held up just fine. “Thank you, God.” He said out loud, his voice full of gratitude.
But Howie was still clinging to Kevin’s arm, his face a mask of worry. “What about AJ?”
For the first time, Dr. Brand looked slightly uncomfortable and a little unsure. “Is there any family members we might call in?” He asked slowly. “I’d really like to discuss Mr. Mclean’s condition with his family. It’s proper procedure.”
A sick feeling settled in Kevin’s stomach. He felt Howie quiver against him and knew that his worries were shared by his friend. “What aren’t you telling us?” Kevin asked in his deep, booming voice. “You have no issue telling us about Nick and he’s not family. What’s wrong with AJ?” Dear God, it must be bad if the man didn’t want to tell them. Thinking of AJ’s family made Kevin realize that he had to call Denise. As well as his family and Brian’s and Nick’s. Howie would call his own family.
It looked like Dr. Brand was debating with himself. Kevin saw the instant that the man made his decision. His face firmed and his spine straightened a little. “Mr. Mclean’s injuries were rather extensive. On the left side of his body, over his chest, down his stomach and to his abdomen there was a rather large wound. It tore his spleen. We had to remove it during surgery.”
Howie moaned softly, but otherwise the two friends said nothing. They simply waited for him to finish. Dr. Brand didn’t hesitate now that he’d started.
“We closed the wound and repaired the damage. He’ll have a nasty scar and we’ll be keeping him here to watch it for quite a while. His ankle was broken, but that’s been set and is in a cast now. What worries us the most, the one injury. Please, if you would sit? This may take a while to explain.”
The three of them moved to the corner of the waiting room where a cluster of chairs sat. It allowed them all to sit while facing one another without having to move furniture around. Kevin noticed that the doctor seemed to sigh into his chair. The man looked exhausted. Belatedly, Kevin realized he probably was. He’d been working all evening to save them all.
“Ok, I have a feeling you guys would prefer this straightforward, right? No beating around the bush.” At their nods, Dr. Brand nodded too. “Ok. According to the EMT reports, as well as speaking with Mr. Carter, the best guess we have as to what happened is this. The three of them were apparently having karaoke hour, music blasting on the radio and singing into various objects. Mr. Carter says that Mr. Mclean was singing into his cell phone when the crash happened. At the time, his cell phone was plugged into the wall to charge.”
A feeling of horror spread through every inch of Kevin’s body. He couldn’t have said anything to save his life.
“The EMT’s arrived fairly quickly. Someone saw the busses skidding on the road. When they arrived on scene, Mr. Littrell was yanking the cell phone cord from around Mr. Mclean’s neck. Somewhere during the crash the cord had wrapped around his neck and was strangling him.”
“Oh sweet God.” Howie whispered. “Oh God, is he going to live from this?”
“He is alive. The amount of time he was unconscious, we’re unsure of. We have no way to gauge how long the cord was there and how much oxygen his brain was deprived of. We’re going to keep close eye on him to judge if any damage has been done to the brain when he wakes. Right now, his scans look clear. We see nothing wrong with the brain itself. But his throat is another matter. There was extensive damage there.”
Finally Kevin managed to clear his throat enough to find his voice. “What kind of damage are we looking at, here?”
Dr. Brand reclined a little in his chair. His hands held tight to his clipboard as he met Kevin’s eyes. “We need to keep an eye out for pneumonia for a while with the damage this cause to his lungs. If he wakes soon, there can be a change in his mental state. Restlessness, combativeness and even amnesia or psychosis due to the temporary brain anoxia. With his brain scans, I don’t think the oxygen was deprived for too long. I think we have to worry more about the physical than the mental.” Dr. Brand paused to collect himself before continuing. “There may be changes in his breathing, but therapy should heal that. We have him on oxygen right at the moment. Swallowing may be difficult or painful for him, depending on the scar tissue that forms. Other things that may develop could be as simple as occasional dizziness or acid reflux. With as deep as the ligature marks were, there is going to be some damage to his voice.”
Oh, no. No. It was just too much. Kevin dropped his head back against the wall, trying to control the urge to let his tears fall. He heard Howie take a few deep, shuddering breaths. When he spoke, it was with a slight accent that usually only showed when Howie was extremely upset or stressed. Right now he was both. “You may need to worry more about his mental state than you thought, doctor.”
“Pardon?”
“We’re a musical group.” Howie told him softly. “Singing is AJ’s life. If his voice is damaged or lost, if he can’t even breathe right to be up on stage, dancing and singing, I don’t know what it’ll do to him. Add on that he and Brian both hate hospitals and AJ’s a horrible patient and, well, he’s going to give you a run for your money.”
Dr. Brand stayed silent. In a quiet voice, one that Kevin didn’t think they were supposed to hear, the man said “Shit.”
Now was not the time to panic, Kevin told himself. All of his friends needed him. He couldn’t panic right then. He couldn’t break. Be practical. Think logical. “Do you have them all in their own rooms right now?” he asked the doctor. At the man’s nod, Kevin suggested “If Brian and AJ are well enough to handle it, you might room them together. Those two had just started dating and there’s no one who can calm them as well as they calm each other. It might save you some stress and tension. Howie and I will room down with Nick. We’ll arrange for security as well, or your hospital is going to be overrun with media and fans.”
In the face of stress, Kevin clicked his brain over to details. There were plenty that needed to be handled. “Can we see Nick?” He asked hoarsely. “I’d like to see him and make sure he’s fine, and the others too if it’s possible. Then I’ll settle into Nick’s room and start making calls.”
“I’ll have beds set up in Mr. Carter’s room for the two of you. As soon as the go ahead is given, I’ll leave orders for Mr. Littrell to be moved to Mr. Mclean’s room. Right now, anything that can help, we’ll take. Those two have the most severe injuries and the most healing time ahead of them. They’ll be here for a little while. We’d like to keep them as comfortable as possible.” Rising to his feet, Dr. Brand gestured at the two men. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you down to Mr. Carter.”