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Rukia pinched the bridge of her nose. Although her and her brother’s relationship had got significantly better over the years, visiting him still left her exhausted every single time. After the hectic rush hour the early evening traffic was thankfully slow, and Rukia had managed to get herself a seat in the metro.
Might as well make a full use of it, she decided, and allowed the weariness to take over and her lids slid shut.
A sudden shriek and dull thud jerked Rukia out of the peaceful lull and she was up on her feet before she even knew what was happening. At the other end of the car, a young man with wild orange hair was laying an old man down to the floor.
Then, Rukia was moving.
“Excuse me, let me through,” she called to the crowd of onlookers forming around the old man. “I’m a doctor.”
The people parted and Rukia knelt down next to the old man, giving no passing thought to the fact that she was wearing one of her better skirts.
She pressed her forefinger and middle finger to the side of the man’s throat, finding a steady pulse.
“Did he hit his head as he fell?” she asked.
“No,” the young man who had been helping him replied. “I caught him before he hit the floor.”
“Well done,” she said, moving on to examine the old man’s pupils. She frowned as she studied his face. Was the corner of his lip a little…?
The orange-haired young man spoke again, as if he had read her thoughts. “I think his face was drooping before he fell.”
“That’s not good,” Rukia muttered under her breath. She fumbled for her phone, but the young man was one step ahead of her.
“Hello, this is Kurosaki Ichigo. A man collapsed in a metro.” His brown eyes met hers, and Rukia gave him a small nod. “We’re suspecting a stroke. We’re on Ginza line, just left the Kanda station.”
“Someone please go alert the train staff,” Rukia called to the crowd watching them while the young man was on the phone with the emergency services.
Time was of the essence now, the sooner they could get the man to the hospital, the better were his chances of recovery. Brain damage was a greater concern to Rukia than fatality.
Kurosaki got off the phone.
“The EMTs will meet us at the Ueno-hirokouji station.”
“Good,” Rukia breathed. “That’s a walking distance from the university of Tokyo hospital.”
“Yeah. Is there anything else we can do?”
Rukia shook her head.
“I think we’ve done all we can for now.”
“What about aspirin?”
“If this is ischemic then a blood thinner could help to break down the clot that’s causing the stroke. However, if it’s hemorrhagic…”
Rukia swallowed to ease the tightening of her throat. Kurosaki met her gaze, a dark scowl on his face.
From the grim look in his brown eyes she could tell he was thinking the same thing she was: If this was a hemorrhagic stroke, caused by a bleed in the brain, administering blood thinners to the patient would only serve to make the bleeding worse.
“Aren’t most strokes ischemic?” Kurosaki asked after a moment of terse silence.
“Yes,” Rukia admitted, “but I’m not willing to take the risk. Are you?”
The man’s jaw clenched and he shook his head.
“Well can’t you tell which one it is?” one of the bystanders asked, a shrill edge in her voice.
Rukia took a deep breath and slipped the mask of professionalism on, projecting calm she did not truly feel deep down inside.
“Ma’am, I am a doctor but neurology is not my specialty. I can’t accurately diagnose his condition without knowing the patient’s medical history or a head CT.”
The minutes felt like hours as the train surged forward along the underground tracks.
Finally, they reached Ueno-hirokouji. The EMTs were ready and waiting as the train pulled to a stop at the station. They rushed into the car and took control of the situation, pulling the old man onto a stretcher while Rukia and Kurosaki briefly told them what had happened. The EMTs nodded and then they were wheeling the patient away.
Rukia’s shoulders slumped as the tension finally left her. It was out of their hands now, and up to the EMTs, the hospital and its doctors.
“Well done, doctor,” Kurosaki said, offering Rukia his hand. She accepted it, allowing him to pull her up from the floor.
“Likewise,” she said, smoothing down her skirt. “You did a good job. Are you a medical student?”
“Pediatrics resident,” he replied. “Kurosaki Ichigo.”
“Kuchiki Rukia,” she offered in turn, inclining her head.
“And you’re not a neurologist,” he supplied with a wry grin.
“No, I’m an orthopedic surgeon, actually.”
His eyebrows arched in surprise. Rukia was used to such reactions, given her gender and petite physique, people sometimes expressed disbelief.
Thankfully, though, the comment Kurosaki made lacked the usual derision she heard so often.
“That’s impressive.”
Rukia wondered if he had the same problem; with his wildly coloured hair and seemingly permanent scowl, the thought of him working as a children’s doctor might be met with similar incredulity.
“Thank you,” she said. She gave him a small smile. “Though you seem to have chosen a challenging specialty, too.”