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Bonfire night is always a busy night on AAU. Every year, Serena is shocked at the number of injuries caused by fire or fireworks. Every year the NHS puts out warnings and information about proper handling, but every year the ward is flooded with burns of varied degrees.
“Ms Campbell? Can you come take a look at this?”
Serena’s eyebrow rises in surprise. Duval doesn’t normally ask for her help, sometimes to his detriment, and when he does, it’s usually with poorly veiled reluctance. This time, however, he seems uncomfortable and out of his depth.
Serena frowns and nods and Duval leads her to a bed at the back of the ward. There lies a young man who can’t be a day above 20. He’s slim and sports a crew cut, and an elaborate tattoo snakes around his torso. He is grimacing in pain, and soon Serena understands why. Duval lifts the sheet to reveal nasty burns from his hip to his shoulder.
“Well well, a bit too much fun tonight?” Serena says as she snaps on a pair of gloves.
The young man grunts and Serena bends to examine him. The skin is raw but the burns aren’t actually too severe. When she straightens she turns to Duval with surprise in her eyes. An F1 would see these injuries and treat them easily. Duval looks even more shifty and leads her away to the nurses’ station.
All around them the ward is bustling. Serena can see Donna admitting another casualty, a middle aged man still wearing an apron, probably from an outdoor cooking session that got out of hand.
“Well? I do have work to do, you now. Quarterly reports don’t just write themselves,” Serena says dryly, already impatient.
Duval nods and turns to check that they are out of earshot of the patient and the rest of the staff. No one seems to be paying them any attention.
“It’s just…I checked his file and ED has marked him as HIV positive,” he says quietly.
Serena’s eyes widen a little. It’s getting rarer and rarer in this day and age, at least on her ward. People are far more careful, and preventive drugs are all the rage. She turns to look at the young man, still lying prone on his bed and feels a pang of pity. So young.
“And? Just take extra care Mr Duval. This is hardly a situation outside the ordinary,” Serena reply in a no-nonsense voice.
Duval hangs his head and nods, so Serena goes back to her office to finally finish off her never ending pile of paperwork. She debates sending Duval on another workplace sensitivity workshop, but the ward is stretched as it is, so she puts this latest indiscretion in the mental file she keeps on him.
An hour passes. She stretches in her chair, smiles at the photo of her and Bernie on her desk, and her cheeks redden when she thinks of the call they shared the previous evening. Bernie is definitely getting better at vocalising what she misses, from Serena’s smile to her more generous attributes.
She’s about to get up to get a coffee and help Duval on rounds, when suddenly there are shouts on the ward and sounds of a scuffle. Serena jumps up and races out.
An older man has their young HIV patient by the throat, and his arm is extended backwards, ready to strike.
Serena doesn’t think. She sees Duval is across the ward. She jumps and grabs the man’s arm and yanks it. They both tumble to the floor in a heap. Serena ends up on her side, and she rolls away just as Duval and a nurse come to restrain the man. He is shouting, but Serena doesn’t recognise the language. It sounds Slavic. Russian, maybe?
The young man is white as a sheet and while Duval takes care of the older one, Serena quickly takes his pulse. She grimaces. It’s not good.
“He’s going into shock! Mr Duval, get security in here! Nurse Jackson, a crash cart, quickly!”
It’s a testament to the efficiency of the ward that both her orders are followed swiftly. The shouts die down as the man is carted off by two burly security guards, and Donna wheels the cart as if the thing is possessed.
“What’s his name?” Serena asks as she applies the electrodes to the young man’s chest.
“Misha. He’s 19,” Duval says tersely.
They step back when the electrodes are all on and Serena presses the button. She’s got tunnel vision now. Nothing else matters but this young man’s life. She promises herself that no one is going to die on her watch. Not from messing around with stupid fireworks.
Misha’s chest rises and falls. Serena looks at the monitor. Nothing.
“Re charging,” Serena says firmly.
She touches the pendant dangling from her neck and squeezes it. God has never had a place in her life, but she thinks of Elinor and lives lost too soon. Come on, she thinks. Not today. Not now. Come on.
Misha’s chest rises and falls and suddenly the monitor comes to life and beeps out the best sound in the world. Duval and Donna cheer and Serena smiles in relief. Misha opens his eyes. They are glassy and unfocused but at least he’s alive.
“Welcome back, Misha. You’ve been having quite the evening,” Serena says gently.
He groans, but his colour is more encouraging and Serena hopes the worst has passed.
“Alright, I want blood work and fluids. Be on the lookout for sepsis, and let’s start with 15 minute obs,” Serena orders as her heart rate evens out.
Duval nods and the ward noises come rushing back. During rounds, they fall in step together. Duval is oddly subdued, and doesn’t showboat as he normally would.
“So who was the older gentleman?” Serena asks between patients.
“His father. Don’t know what that was all about. They’re Czech,” Duval replies.
Serena forgets all about it because there is another rush of casualties around midnight. More burns, but thankfully not as severe as Misha’s. There’s even a slightly jovial atmosphere, with some patients more than a little inebriated.
It’s close to 1 in the morning when Serena finds herself at Misha’s bedside. He is awake and conscious, and he looks miles better than earlier in the evening.
Serena smiles at him and he seems to relax. She checks his bandages.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. Thank you.”
There is no accent. Must be second generation, Serena thinks to herself as she checks for any tenderness or swelling.
“Can we call anyone for you? We are going to keep you overnight at the very least.”
Misha looks away and shakes his head. He is still bare chested, and now that Serena has the time, she looks at the tattoo with thinly veiled curiosity.
“It’s an ouroboros. A snake that eats its tail,” Misha explains.
Serena is pleased to hear how strong his voice is. She follows the coiling snake with her eyes, admiring its delicate scales and the intricate pattern on its head.
“What does it mean? For you?” Serena asks gently.
The ward is quieter, so she takes a chair and sits next to Misha.
“For me, it means finally being whole,” he says a little wistfully.
Serena nods.
“When did you get it?”
“When I came out. Not to anyone else, mind. To myself,” Misha says.
Serena smiles and she pats his arm. It can’t have been too long ago. She’s pretty sure tattoo parlours have strict age policies.
“That’s very brave of you,” she comments.
He shakes his head.
“It was that or killing myself, I think,” he says quietly. “When I got diagnosed, I thought my life was going to end anyway. But I feel fine.”
“I’m glad. And you probably know this already, but your life expectancy is very high. So try not to handle fireworks with your bare hands in the future,” Serena says dryly.
Misha laughs.
“Oh no, that was my father. We got into a fight. He was drunk and he called me a fag, and we fell onto the fireworks,” he explains.
Serena grimaces and not for the first time, she’s glad she never had to deal with any nastiness when her relationship with Bernie came to light.
“I’m sorry. Do you live with him?”
“No, thank god. I started uni this year. I joined all the organisations!” Misha exclaims happily.
Serena bets a handsome man like him will have no trouble making new friends. She bids him good night after checking his IV line. The ward is left in Duval capable hands and she heads home, tired but happy that her shift was such a success.
The next day, when she gets to work in the late afternoon, Serena spots Misha’s father by the hospital entrance. He has obviously calmed down. He is smoking a roll up and the hand not holding his cigarette is buried in the pocket of paint-stained overalls. His eyes widen when he sees Serena, and he quickly puts both hands up when Serena means to sidestep him.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says in heavily accented English.
Serena sighs and looks at him properly. He’s in his fifties, and he looks worn out, as if life has wrung out every once of energy from his burly frame.
“He’s ok?” He asks after a second, when he’s sure that Serena won’t run off.
Serena debates not telling him, to punish him for the scene he made on the ward the previous day. She remembers what Misha told her, about the things his father called him. But he’s here. He must care.
“He’ll be ok. He needs rest.”
“And his…” he mumbles, looking at his feet. “The illness? Has it made it worse?”
Serena is confused for a second, but then she remembers she’s talking to someone with no medical knowledge, and who probably hasn’t made the effort to educate himself.
“No. No, something like that doesn’t-wouldn’t change anything,” she says reassuringly.
He nods. Shuffles a bit more. Looks at the door and the hospital longingly.
“Why don’t you come up and see him? If you promise to stay calm, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you,” Serena offers.
“No. He hates me, now. I said things that I…that were not nice.”
“Look. How about this? I’ll go talk to him. Can you stay here for a little bit?”
He nods again, more firmly this time.
Turns out Misha is feeling magnanimous after a night and day spent on AAU. All the nurses have become his friends, and Donna has been bringing him coffee and car magazines pilfered from the relatives’ room.
When his father enters the ward, sheepish and embarrassed, Misha smiles at him and gestures to the chair next to his bed. Serena watches intently just in case it all kicks off, but they both appear calm.
“I hope they can sort it out,” Donna says from her chair. “I remember my parents were pretty terrible when I came out to them.”
Serena’s eyes widen and she slowly swivels around to face her.
“You’re gay?” She says, perhaps a touch louder that she wanted.
Donna laughs and shrugs.
“Yeah! Well, bisexual. But still, the parentals were not impressed. I think they still think it’s a phase. Or a fad. Anyway, it’s still a little rocky,” she says so casually that Serena’s head spin.
“I had no idea,” Serena replies truthfully.
“Yeah, well, I’ve been with more guys, because there are more out there, you know? But, hey! We could totally form a club! The AAU LGBT Alliance!”
They end up laughing over their monitors like schoolgirls and Serena is not prepared for the intense feeling of kinship that blooms in her chest. Finally. She meets someone just like her. Donna looks at her and nudges her with her shoulder and it feels lovely.
“Oh! Look!” Donna suddenly says.
Misha and his father are hugging. Misha looks at them over his father’s shoulder and gives them a thumbs up, which Donna and Serena enthusiastically reciprocate.
That night, tucked in bed, phone cradled between her shoulder and her cheek, Serena recounts the events of her day. Bernie is full of praise at how well she handled the Misha situation, and despite the distance separating them, it feels nice to have to hear Bernie’s soothing voice.
“And are you? Going to form an LGBT alliance?” Bernie asks with mirth in her voice.
“Well, I don’t know about an alliance, but I could do with a monthly drink or something. I know Mr Copeland will relish telling us which bar is suitable. And lord knows Fleur knows all about the lesbian scene of Holby.”
Bernie laughs.
“I think that’s a brilliant idea. It must be nice, being surrounded by like minded people,” Bernie says a little wistfully.
Nairobi, while a capital city, is not known for being LGBT friendly, and Serena hopes that doesn’t weigh down too much on Bernie, or remind her too much of her past, closeted life.
“Call Dom. I bet he’ll tell you all about the best brunch places,” Serena suggests with a smile.
Bernie scoffs, but Serena knows she will do it.
“I’ll let you sleep. Wednesday good for you?” Bernie asks then.
They try to phone twice or three times a week, when their shifts match up. Since Bernie went back to Nairobi in the early summer, they have both made an effort to communicate more, and Serena feels much better about them.
“Wednesday is good for me, darling. Sweet dreams.”
“I love you.”
Serena is certainly never going to tire of hearing that. She smiles, her heart aching a little.
“I love you.”
And when she snuggles back into bed, the day washing over her in a tired wave, she is at least secure in the knowledge that she is loved. She spares a thought for Misha and wishes him well.
She goes to sleep with a smile on her face.