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"What can I do?"
"Trauma room two." She handed me a chart, and I took it, along with a pair of fresh gloves. "Multiple fractures and contusions. He hit his head in the windshield. Umm, he's the driver, Dr. Sullivan."
"You should have left that part out. Now all I want to do is cut his oxygen supply."
This was the ugly part of the Job. The oath applied to everyone, even low life scumbags who took a stroll with their car on the fucking sidewalk. He hurt women and children, innocent people.
Innocent Rita.
Someone hurt her too, and if he ever crossed my path, I'd turn his body into the next science project that my residents practiced vasectomies on.
I shook my head to regain my focus because no matter how much I craved Rita, now I had to go and save the life of the scumbag.
I walked in, and I found a nurse and a first-year resident. Really, just them?
"No one else?" I asked, and the guy took a step forward.
"Yes, Dr. Sullivan, everyone is responding to calls. We're a little shorthanded."
"Ok, your names." They needed to be my extra eyes, hands and brains so we needed to build report.
"I'm Dr. Hoover," he said, pushing his chest forward in a cocky way. Oh, we had a cocky one. I'll break you, boy. I was not trying to be a Zach - I'm sorry, I meant a dick - but we were a teaching hospital. We taught technique, but we also taught humility. No man was God, no matter how many people he cracked open.
"And you?" I looked at the crazy looking nurse with green hair. She must have been new because I would have remembered seeing that.
"Emma, Dr. Sullivan. Emma Ashton."
"Good. Our patient looks stable enough." I checked the monitors and the chart. He needed a neuro consult because he took a massive blow to the head, but aside from that, there were only bone fractures. He'd be out of these doors in no time.
I went around and checked his vitals.
"Everything looks good, but we still need an MRI to confirm it. Emma, I need you to get a full set of tests, head CT, contrast MRI, and please don't let anyone administer anything except morphine for pain until we have a clear image of his brain."
"Yes sir, right away."
"I want both of you on the case, keep him supervised..."
"Dr. Sullivan," the young doctor called for me. "His urine is brown. Sir, his kidneys are failing."
Oh, fuck it. Fuck. Fuck this day, and fuck this guy if he died on me today.
"Call the OR; we're going up right now. I need blood work done on him right now. I need portable X-ray on the table, and I need him on the transplant list right now. Page general, tell them he needs a surgeon right the fuck now."
The nurse flew out the door, and I stayed behind with the other doctor to move the patient.
"Dr. Hoover, we'll take him to the MRI together so I can give the all clear for surgery. Walk."
He nodded in approval immediately without any trace of hesitation or cockiness. Good.
Half an hour and a lot of hustle later, I had every piece of info I needed. This day was fucking cursed.
"He was bleeding into his brain. I needed to drain that and stop the bleeding now. General needed to find a way and operate around me. I'll take him to the OR; you go and tell whoever is going in there with me what I've just told you. And find me my scrub nurse."
I was washing my hands up to my elbows and scrubbing in when the sliding door on my left slid open, and London popped in.
"Hey, James."
"London, what are you doing here, love?"
