Anne Fraser – Her Very Special Boss (страница 3)

Kirsty retrieved the equipment Greg had given her and scrambled down the slope to the bus, oblivious to the small stones that scraped her bare legs and feet. The vehicle had come to rest at the bottom of the ditch, its front badly crumpled. The wheels on the driver’s side had mounted a small hillock and the bus tilted precariously over to the left. The driver had been thrown through the windscreen and hung there like a casually tossed rag doll. Kirsty reached up and felt for a carotid pulse. As she suspected, the driver was dead.

Moving around the front of the bus, she attempted to open the passenger door. Unfortunately the angle of the bus prevented her from opening it more than a few inches. Through the narrow gap, she could see that there were two more people in the front seat—an elderly man, who was conscious and moaning with pain, and a young woman, who was crying but seemed uninjured. She recalled her training. It’s the quiet ones you have to worry about. With these words ringing in her head, she decided that both casualties could wait until she had assessed the rest. ‘You are going to be fine,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, try not to move.’ With a final reassuring smile she left them and went to check up on the remainder of the passengers. Despite her initial impression, most of them seemed relatively unhurt, apart from possible fractures, lacerations and shock. They too could wait. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she promised the frightened and shocked figures. ‘Those that can, move away from the bus. The rest of you, keep as still as you can.’

Leaving them she found Greg bent over a young man in his early twenties, doing chest compressions. He had been joined by a middle-aged woman who, apart from a few cuts and bruises, seemed to have escaped from the minibus unscathed.

‘This is Sister Matabele,’ Dr du Toit said tersely, barely glancing at Kirsty ‘She was on her way to work in a taxi when the accident happened. She’ll help me here. You carry on treating the rest of the casualties. The paramedics should be here shortly.’

Before Kirsty had a chance to move, a voice called urgently. ‘Help! Over here!’

She hurried over to where a man was cradling a woman on the ground a short distance from the wreckage. She bent over the woman who was lying pale and unconscious. ‘My wife—she needs help. She was awake until just now. Now she is asleep. She is bleeding very badly from her leg, I think.’

Kirsty checked that the woman’s breathing was unrestricted before examining her. Her pulse was rapid and weak. The heart was still beating, but only just. Swallowing her fear, she removed the T-shirt the woman’s husband had laid over the wound. Gently lifting the fabric, she revealed a hole the side of a child’s fist at the top of her leg. Bright red femoral blood pulsed onto the ground.

Once again Kirsty felt the rising paralysis of her fear. Keep calm, she told herself. You’ve dealt with worse than this before. But that had been in the controlled environment of a large inner-city A and E department with the latest equipment and a team of experienced doctors and nurses. Nothing could have prepared her for this. She looked over for Dr du Toit, but he was still bent over his patient. For the time being she was on her own. These two people were depending on her. She needed to stop the bleeding, and soon. She placed her hand over the wound and pressed down hard. Her hand wasn’t enough to stem the gushing flow of blood. She needed something bigger. A quick glance around told her there was only one option. Taking a deep breath to calm her shaking hands and to steady her voice, she slipped off her linen blouse, placing it onto the hole in the woman’s leg. ‘Hold this. Press down hard,’ she instructed the frightened man, taking his hand in hers to demonstrate exactly what she wanted him to do. Kirsty knew if the woman were to stand a chance, she would have to replace the blood she had lost with fluid as quickly as possible. Kirsty used one of the lines she had been given and, ripping off the protective cover from the needle with her teeth, slipped the needle into a vein in the arm. Bingo! she thought with some satisfaction as she hit the vein first time. ‘What’s your wife’s name?’ she asked the distraught man.

‘Maria. Is she going to be all right?’ Kirsty heard the fear in his voice. She smiled and kept her voice low and calm. ‘I’m sure she will be,’ she said, although she wasn’t sure at all. ‘Talk to her. Let you know that you’re here. Reassure her.’

As she worked on her patient, she felt a shadow fall on her shoulders. She glanced up to find Greg looking down at her. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked from what seemed to be a great distance. ‘Do you need any help? My patient is breathing by himself now. Thank God Sister Matabele was here to help. She’ll stay with him until the ambulances arrive.’

‘This is Maria. She has a ruptured femoral artery. I’ve applied pressure and got a drip going. Her pulse and blood pressure are up, but we need to get her to hospital stat.’

Greg examined the woman briefly but expertly. ‘She’s doing fine for the time being. Good work,’ he said warmly. ‘I’ll carry on assessing the rest. I’ll let you know if I need you. But first…’

Kirsty felt him wrap something around her shoulders. ‘Apart from the obvious distractions of a half-naked woman, you’ll get sunburnt unless you cover up.’ He smiled down at her and despite the situation, Kirsty could have sworn she saw a wicked twinkle in his eyes. Suddenly very aware that she was dressed only in her bra and skirt, the colour rose in her cheeks. Quickly she slipped her arms into the shirt. She needed to roll up the sleeves several times and it came well below the hem of her skirt. Her day was going from bad to worse. Now she was dressed like some kind of hobo. Never, in a month of Sundays, would she normally be found less than perfectly groomed. She shook her head impatiently. What was wrong with her? Thinking about clothes at a time like this!

‘Someone! Please. Over here!’ Another cry for help, but before Kirsty could react, Greg was already moving. Within seconds he was crouched beside the bus. A moment later he called out, ‘I need assistance over here.’

There was little more Kirsty could do for Maria for the time being. In calm, measured tones she instructed her helper to keep pressure on the wound and, grabbing one of the uninjured passengers, told him to keep the bag of fluid raised. Once she was satisfied that her patient was in capable hands, she hurried over to Greg.

He was kneeling by the side of the bus, his mouth set in a grim line. The upper body of a young woman in her late teens or early twenties was visible from under the bus.

‘This is Lydia,’ Greg told Kirsty tersely. ‘Her right leg is pinned underneath the bus.’

‘I don’t know how I missed her,’ Kirsty said, upset.

‘Hey, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known she was here. We need to give her some morphine and get some fluids into her while we work out how we can get her out.

‘We’re going to give you something for the pain,’ Greg told the frightened young woman, taking a syringe of morphine from Kirsty. ‘We’ll have you out just as soon as we can.’ While Greg administered the pain relief Kirsty set up a drip.

Large brown eyes darted from Greg to Kirsty. ‘My son. I need to find my son. Please.’ Lydia squirmed, trying to pull her leg from under the broken fender.

‘Is your son a toddler of about two? Wearing a blue jumper?’ Kirsty asked.

‘Yes, yes. Did you see him? Is he all right?’

‘He’s perfectly fine. Someone’s looking after him. We’ll bring him over to you once we’ve got you sorted.’

Lydia’s head sank back on the ground. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered gratefully, before closing her eyes.

Kirsty looked at Greg. ‘How are we going to remove her safely?’

‘The pressure from the bus on her leg is probably helping to stem the bleeding.’ Greg said softly, his voice thoughtful. ‘We’ll wait until the ambulance gets here, then we’ll have help to lift the bus. We’ll need to be ready to control the bleeding.’

To Kirsty’s relief, the wailing of sirens signalled the arrival of the ambulances. There were two, each with a paramedic. ‘Tell the paramedics to deal with the injured, but get the drivers over here,’ Greg told Kirsty.

As the paramedics set about seeing to the other patients, the two burly ambulance drivers came over to the wrecked minibus.

‘OK, guys. Once I’m finished here, I need you to lift the bus. Kirsty, you keep the leg stabilised while I pull her out. Watch out for any sudden haemorrhage. It’s quite possible the weight of the bus is preventing us from seeing any big bleeders, but once we lift it, that’s when we’ll know the true extent of her injuries. Get ready to apply pressure.’

Greg knelt and said something to the woman in a language Kirsty didn’t understand. But whatever it was, it seemed to reassure her because she nodded and even managed a small smile.

At Greg’s count of three the two ambulance drivers lifted the minibus, their muscles bunching with the effort. The vehicle was lifted a couple of inches, but it was just enough for Greg to gently pull Lydia out. Once she was clear, the men let the bus drop with gusty sighs of relief.