“I’ve Been Changed for Good”
Camille
I was taking a rare and welcome breather from the Emergency Department on this cloudless, blue morning. Gracie joined me for coffee in the singularly unappealing ambulance bay overlooking—well, nothing. The entire shift stretched before us, long and filled with uncertainty as it always was. The night girls had left the department with only a couple of patients, a treat we enjoyed with skepticism. Nurses were a suspicious lot; quiet never lasted long. Grace regaled me with details of her disastrous date a couple of evenings ago.
“So…Samanthe’s neighbor set me up with her brother who was coming into town. It all sounded okay when we met over drinks a couple of nights before, I swear. But Cami, he showed up wearing a fanny pack. A shitting fanny pack. I was looking for the warranty sticker on his ass to return him before the first round of drinks came.”
I smiled into my Styrofoam cup of mediocre coffee, torn between sympathy for my friend’s dilemma and the hilarity of the scenario. And there was that comical inability to swear properly. I did need to talk to Luckie about that. I couldn’t understand how she made it through nursing school without the ability to curse lyrically like the rest of us. It had seemed like part of the curriculum.
“So, right before the food comes, he leans across the table toward me…” Grace squinted dramatically into my eyes over her coffee cup, grasped my hand, and rasped, “‘So, babe, I’ve always felt that pleasure is best when it’s mixed with a little pain.’ I swear, Cami. That’s what he said. I just sat there, looking at the waiter serving my fajita shooters and…”
As I tried to take in the horror of the blind date, the relative quiet of the morning was violently disrupted with beating blades of what I assumed was a large helicopter. The sound launched an assault on my eardrums in a way that made both of us stare toward the helipad and clamp our hands over our ears. But the sound wasn’t at all like the higher-pitched whirring of our customary medevac helicopters. Grace and I jogged farther away from the building to get a better look just in time to see a hulking A-10 speeding at low altitude across the hospital campus. It turned south just as a menacing-looking helicopter approached the rooftop pad; then the A-10 disappeared as quickly as it had come. Before I could process these odd events, Vivvie was in front of me, green eyes flashing, clamping her fingers on my arm and commanding attention with her stare. Her tone was terse and directed right into my ear.
“Jacob sent me word. There’s been an aircraft accident, and it’s Deliverance. I don’t know how bad it is, Camille. You need to keep Luckie away; he said things are more serious with them than we know. Keep. Her. Out. That’s what he said. I’m getting trauma one ready; get up to the helipad. I’ll be ready when you get there.” She was gone before I could ask any questions.
Grace was already jogging toward the building, and Vivvie and I ran to catch up. I pushed through the double doors, calling instructions as I ran for the stairs, and stuffing extra supplies in my pockets as I went. Luckie stuck her head out of an exam room with a questioning look, but I shook my head her direction.
“Got it covered, Luckie. Hang here and keep an eye on exam three and four. The doc may need to suture.”
Thankfully, she nodded her assent without discussion. I hit the door with the attending doctor close at my heels, taking the stairs two at a time and trying to make sense of what Viv just said. Davis Foster and Luckie were serious? How could I not know this? And just how bad were these injuries?
I pushed the door to the roof open against the strong resistance of the gusts generated by the helicopter’s rotors; the noise was deafening. Against the strong morning sun, the formidable sight of a hulking dark green helicopter bearing the words “United States Army” greeted me as it settled gently onto the roof. The rotors immediately began to unspool as the door opened, and I squinted to make out the figures moving inside.
Only a short time passed before two uniformed medical crew members deftly offloaded the patient, moving him, with our assistance, to the adjustable stretcher Josie delivered to the roof via the elevator. Josephine Emmanuelle Charbonneau was our unit secretary, jack of all trades, clear-thinking master of everything—and my invaluable right arm. I kept my expression impassive, but my heart dropped into my stomach as I took in the handsome, unconscious face of Captain Davis Foster.
His flight suit had been partially cut away to accommodate two large bore IV lines infusing fluid into his arms. There were more ugly bruises and contusions than I cared to count, but nothing caught my eye like the left leg. The legs of the flight suit were cut away almost to the top of the leg, and the first responders, one of whom I recognized as a City of Tucson paramedic, had ably stabilized and bandaged what looked to be a traumatic fracture. His eyes caught what I was seeing and he lifted his chin toward the injured leg.
“Thirty-one-year-old male, military aircraft accident at approximately 0900 with subsequent ejection from the aircraft. Couldn’t make Phoenix due to weather. Compound fracture sustained upon landing, and not the pretty kind. He field-dressed the wound to the best of his ability but lost a good bit of blood, too. I’d estimate at least 1500. No other major injuries apparent. Eighteen-gauge lines to left and right antecubitals infusing LR at one hundred each. He’s had fourteen hundred total on the way in, and you can count three hundred in each bag. He was conscious when we got him on the chopper, but he became unconscious just afterward.”
The attending and I continued to receive the particulars from the crewmen as we loaded Davis onto the elevator and descended back into the Emergency Department. He was suffering from shock due to blood loss, but I couldn’t help but see his unconscious state as a blessing.
As the elevator slowed, I turned to Josie and spoke while I organized my thoughts. “Call surgery and…”
“I’ll tell them to hold a room and a crew,” she interrupted. “I’ll call Neal in the blood bank. That cantankerous bastard owes me a favor. I’ll have him type and cross two…” Her experienced eyes swept over Davis’s pale visage. “No, four units of packed cells. Where are his dog tags?”
I was wondering the same thing as my hands felt gently at Davis’s neck for the metal tags. The crewman who gave us the report unzipped one of the pants pockets of Davis’s flight suit and extracted the dog tags.
“They carry them here for safety. He’s A neg.”
I turned my attention back to Josie. “Four units of A neg then. Type and hold four more. And an ortho room and surgical crew. Let them know it’s one of our active duty members, please.” I placed one hand on Josie’s arm. “And, Josie? Keep Luckie busy, yeah? I need her to hear about this from me before she sees him.”
“Done, sister.” And Josie was gone. The whole unit would collapse into a pathetic heap of dust without her, I thought.
We wheeled the stretcher across the hall into trauma room one where Viv waited, EKG leads in hand. At times like these, it was reassuring to have highly skilled friends working alongside you, giving the best of everything to those who couldn’t help themselves. Josie quietly closed the door behind us once everyone was inside, pulling the partial hall curtain.
Davis was rapidly stabilized, transfused with blood to replace most of what he’d lost, and readied for surgery to repair his shattered leg. Fortunately, the exam and CT scan had revealed that the compound fracture, while severe, was the worst of the injuries. He was probably only sleeping deeply now due to the medication given to relieve his pain before surgery.
Josie continued to bring me occasional updates on the state of affairs in the ED, and, to my everlasting surprise, the unit remained relatively sedate. For once. I offered a brief prayer of thanks to the patron saint of chaos for the break and put an arm around Vivian.
“Will you go get Luckie for me, Viv? I want to talk to her and give her a minute with him before surgery. Then I’ll get you to accompany Captain Foster to surgery and give report. They just called for the preop med, so I’ll give it. They said they’ll send transport down in fifteen minutes or so.”
Viv smiled and nodded, closing the door behind her. I drew up the prescribed medication, flicked the syringe with a fingernail and pushed the air out of it like I’d done a thousand times before. I pulled up a stool next to Davis, his face relaxed. Despite the giant-sized body, he looked almost childlike. Once his initial medical care had been completed, Viv and I had cut the bloodied flight suit away from his broken body, gently bathed the dirt and blood from his skin, and dressed him with a gown. He was warm under the flannel blankets we tucked around him. Without discussing it, we both knew it was as if we were doing it for Lucinda. She hadn’t yet shared with us the nature of why she cared for Davis Payne Foster, but she had her reasons. I administered the medication through Davis’s IV and held his hand while I spoke.
“Luckie’s the reason I’m alive, Davis. I love her more than my own life, so it’s a gift to be able to take care of you today. I’m not going to lecture you in your condition. I’ll just tell you to take care of my girl. She’s everything to me. I love her, and, if you stick around long enough, you will, too. If you don’t already.”
I heard Vivvie approaching, and I walked into the hall to find her holding Luckie’s hand. Luckie’s face held questions and tears barely at bay. I strode toward her, clasping both her hands in mine with a soft smile.
“Luckie, Davis is alive and stable. He’s here with us, and Vivvie and I have been taking care of him. He’s going to be okay, but there’s been an aircraft accident, and he had to eject.” The bit of color remaining in her cheeks drained away, and she squeezed my hands, breathing hard. I pressed on.
“He has a nasty compound fracture to the left femur, and Vivvie’s taking him to surgery for reduction in just a few minutes. He lost a good bit of blood, but we’re doing replacement with packed cells and volume. He’s been out since he got here, but they got to him quick, honey. He’s gonna be okay.”
She wilted and choked a little and then started to cry, but I shook the hands I held and pulled her closer to me. “Look at me, Lucinda, look. This is why I did this…why I didn’t tell you right away. I wanted you to have a chance to pull it together. Davis is gonna need you, just like I did, Luckie. Viv and I made sure that he got the very best care. Now you have to make sure he gets his best girl, do you understand? There’s none of this melty, female bullshit before he goes to surgery. You know he may hear you.”
I waited for her beautiful caramel eyes to meet mine, and I lifted my chin. “Get your shit together, Luckie, and go talk to your man. He’s waiting for you.”
I hadn’t finished my instructions before her arms crushed me and her lips were at my ear. “Thank you, Camille. I don’t know what I would’ve done if…you hadn’t been here.”
I squeezed her back, and then pushed her away. “Shut up, wench. Dry your face and go see Davis.”
She took a deep breath and turned toward the doors of the trauma room but stopped briefly when I called her name. “Hey, Luckie? Your man has a super-fine ass.”
The doors swung open just as the Lucinda I knew roared back to life. She shot an evil glare tinged with a little smile over her shoulder. “You keep your fucking eyes off my boy’s ass, bitch. I. Will. Cut. You.”