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It was a Thursday, when it happened.
It had been a long, long double shift at work. The ICU was busy, and I’d been non-stop, bounced from code to emergency to code and back again. I’d been almost sorry, to leave Dr Cox with the mess, but he’d taken one look at the rota, realised how long I’d been there, and shaken his head firmly.
“Go home, kid. I can manage.” For once, there’d been no sarcasm in his tone. I know he’d have appreciated a bit of back up, another pair of hands, but he and I both knew about working long hours, about needing to get out of the place every now and then.
I should have just gone home.
But I hadn’t been ready to, not quite yet. The damage of the day was still a little too raw, a little too fresh. We’d lost two patients, Dr Cox and I, and though they had both been pretty much foregone conclusions, it still took its toll.
Turk had met me at our favourite bar. Tonight there was no messing about, no goofing off. I wasn’t here to get smashed. I was here for a couple of drinks, to take the edge off, and a bit of companionship.
Turk was just visiting the men’s room and I’d gone to wait for him outside, gulping down lungfuls of the cool night air and still trying to let go of the day when I felt the hand clap over my mouth from behind me.
I was dragged, bodily dragged, round the corner out of sight, and I felt hands searching my pockets. They found my wallet, opened it, pulled out the few notes that were in there. “Where’s the rest, bitch?” a gravelly voice hissed in my ear. The hand over my mouth was released.
“There’s no more,” I panted. “I’m a doctor; I’m broke.” I thought for a split second, then proffered my wrist. “Take my watch?”
They seized my wrist roughly and wrangled with the strap a second before it was freed. The hand over my mouth had moved to my throat and it tightened uncomfortably. “That’s it?” The same voice growled. “Pathetic.”
One of them moved in front of me for the first time, and I saw his face obscured by a hoodie and a hat pulled down low.
The right hook he delivered had me seeing stars momentarily, my breath still painfully restricted by the hand, tight on my throat.
And then I felt a burst of searing hot pain erupt through my abdomen.
I was released, and I heard their footsteps, pounding away.
I could do nothing except sink to the ground, my hands instinctively flying to press against the biting pain in my side. I felt sticky wetness there, and knew there was blood. A lot of blood. I dropped to my knees and as I did so, heard a strange, pained yell reverberate around me. It took me a few seconds to realise it had come from me.
Turk appeared around the corner, apparently drawn by my cry. He looked confused initially, but as I looked at him, my vision beginning to swim, his expression shifted, and he looked horrified.
Then he was at my side, and his hands were a blur as he scrambled to call an ambulance, and told me things like ‘Stay with me, man’ and ‘You’re gonna be okay, it’s gonna be fine, I’m here, I’ve got you’. I was tipping forward, unable to stay up on my knees any longer. I felt hands on me, and flinched, but they were gentle, warm hands, guiding me to lie down on my back.
More pain in my side, and apologies fell from Turk’s lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I gotta stop the bleeding.” He was learning over me, pressing something against me.
Dark patches were beginning to expand in front of my eyes, and I could hear my breaths coming, shallow and fast and wheezing.
A terrible chill started to set in, spreading from the tips of my fingers and toes and expanding inwards, insidious, fingers of ice creeping over me.
“’m cold,” I murmured.
“I know, man, I know. Just hang on. Ambulance is nearly here. Stay with me.”
I saw him fumble with his phone again, and then snatches of conversation. My heart was thrumming in my ears. “Get an OR prepped…soon…been stabbed…blood loss…prep for transfusion…type O neg…what…of course I know…JD…”
I heard him say my name, through the sound of sirens, growing louder. They were for me, I realised dimly. “JD…JD. JD!” Turk’s voice, more urgent, persistent.
When did my eyes close? I dragged them open to see his face hovering above me. He looked frightened.
“’m scared.”
“Don’t be,” he said, instantly. “You’re gonna be fine, JD. I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear.”
I felt comforted by that. “Love you, man,” I muttered.
“Love you, too, JD,” he said, and I felt his hand close around mine.
***
The next thing I was aware of was the strange flickering of lights speeding past me overhead, like streetlights on the freeway. It took me a moment to recognise that it was me moving, and not the lights, like I had initially thought.
The realisation came to me all of a sudden.
I was being rushed along corridors on a gurney.
How many times had I rushed along corridors trying to stabilise patients as we sped them into an OR? Countless. I couldn’t even begin to guess. I could hear now, though, the familiar squeaking of sneakers along the floor, the rumble of the wheels of the gurney.
The awful pervasive cold was still blanketing my body but I became aware, abruptly, of a point of heat. Fingers, wrapped round my own, feeling as hot as the sun against my chilled skin.
Then a voice, rough and strained with emotion, with fear, but familiar to me as my own, sounded in my ear. “Don’t you fucking dare do this to me, Newbie. Don’t you dare.”
Dr Cox was with me. Was holding my hand. He was going to take care of me.
I would be alright.
***
I’d felt only annoyance when my phone went and I’d looked down to see it was Gumball calling me.
“What?”
His voice sounded oddly constricted when he spoke. “Calling to warn you, you need to get ready, there’s been a stabbing and there’s an ambulance on the way, we’ll be there soon.” Oh, shit. “You need to get an OR prepped,” he went on.
“Okay, what’s the ETA?”
“No idea, but soon, the ambulance is almost here, I can hear it. He’s been stabbed in the abdomen, there’s heavy blood loss, you need to prep for transfusion, he’ll need it as soon as we arrive.”
“Gotcha.”
I was already heading down to the ambulance bays, compiling lists in my head of equipment to gather. Then Gandhi was talking again.
“I’d say you’ll need at least two bags of O negative.” There was a brief pause. “At least two.”
“And just how the hell do you know that? We’ll test him when he gets here.” Unless the guy had a donor card or something…in which case, what were they doing wasting time looking that up?
“What?” Gandhi echoed me. “No, he needs O negative, there won’t be time to test him.”
“You know that for sure?” I pressed. If he got it wrong and we gave the wrong blood type…
“Of course I know,” he snapped. “Dr Cox – it’s JD. It’s JD that’s been stabbed.”
Whoosh. My stomach stayed exactly where it was, several feet behind me and counting, as I rushed down flights of stairs. I felt abruptly sick.
“What? Is this some kind of joke?”
“I wish,” he said. “Hey – JD. JD. JD!” He sounded fretful. “Gotta go.”
The next minutes were a whirlwind of activity as I roared around issuing instructions and preparing for their arrival. I didn’t let myself think too hard about who was coming in that ambulance. I needed to be operating at full power.
All too soon, I heard the wail of sirens scream up outside the doors and then Gandhi appeared, looking ashen and scared. His hands and clothes were smeared with blood – JD’s blood, I realised, with a jolt. Then the stretcher was being wheeled in and – christ. The kid’s skin was white, almost grey, his eyes closed and his head lolling unpleasantly with each jolt of the trolley. One of the EMTs had a hand pressed tightly to his stomach but there was – there was so much blood.
As soon as he was transferred to a gurney, I reached for his arm to set up a line to get the blood transfusion going. I’d taken his word for it and had the blood ready and waiting. It took an extremely tight tourniquet to get a vein up, and even then, it was faint, but I took a breath, stilled my hands and slid the needle in. The nurses were gathered around, working to get him hooked up to the monitors. One of them had taken over the job of compressing the wound.
Blood now pumping quickly into his system, I reached for the scissors to cut off the scrubs which he still wore from the shift I had so recently sent him home from. He still had his name badge clipped to his chest, god. I quietly slipped it into my pocket as I pulled away strips of his blood-soaked shirt.
The nurses, one by one, were withdrawing, their work complete. I checked that the bag of blood which he was receiving was securely attached to the trolley, and then barked, “Let’s go!” He was going straight into the OR, which was prepped and ready to receive him.
I glanced at the monitors. Despite the tourniquets, the nurse still applying compression to the wound, the blood being put back into his system, his blood pressure was still dropping, his heart rate was climbing…he could crash any second. We had to get him to the OR and get the bleeding stopped – five minutes ago, ideally.
Gandhi appeared on his other side, looking haunted. We all crowded round the bed, and I kicked the brake off. There was no pretending the urgency wasn’t paramount. His BP was still falling, his heart rate was still climbing…
We raced down the halls, sneakers squeaking on the polished floors.
Beneath my hands, I saw JD stir slightly. On a complete whim, I seized the fingers of his hand that was lying, limp, on the bed next to where I was pushing him. They were frighteningly cold in my grasp. He didn’t seem to be quite conscious, his eyelids fluttering but not fully opening, his breathing stuttering a little. I glanced again at the monitors. Shit.
“Don’t you fucking dare do this to me, Newbie. Don’t you dare.” The words were out of me before I could stop them. Why the hell was the OR so far away? We rounded a corner and I saw the double doors up ahead and had never been more relieved.
For all of half a second, anyway, for it was at that moment that the monitors began to issue loud alarms, informing us that the heavy blood loss had finally become too much for the kid’s heart, which was buckling under the strain.
We crashed through the double doors, and I bellowed, “Need a crash cart! He’s in v-fib!”
God bless the surgeons for having one waiting. We slowed the gurney to a stop, I kicked the brake back on, then we all backed off, and I watched in horror as they shocked him…as his body jolted unnaturally underneath the paddles. The monitors kept wailing. The defibrillator whined, and the surgeon barked ‘Clear!’ and applied another shock.
The monitors quieted somewhat, the lines squiggling wildly but denoting that his heart was beating out a normal rhythm.
For now.
***
I could barely get my eyes open. They felt supremely heavy, like there were lead weights attached.
God, everything was so fuzzy. It felt like I was trying to peer up at the world through a blanket of cotton wool. My body felt like it had trebled in weight, my limbs heavy and slow. Every sound was muffled, as though a thick scarf was wrapped around my ears. I felt strangely adrift, alone, at sea.
“You’re okay, kid,” a soft voice murmured in my ear, close enough that I could hear through the fuzz. I felt something – fingers – squeeze at my leaden hand. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”
Who was I to disobey?
***
It took a few more attempts to defeat the cotton wool cloud pressing down on me – though, each time I tried I found fingers still wrapped around mine and a gentle voice in my ear – but eventually I came round to eyes that seemed willing to open. The sounds that drifted into my ears were clearer than they had been yet, and my body seemed more compliant and happy to follow the commands I issued it.
Well, I was in the hospital, that much I could tell. The clinical whiteness, the beeping of the machines…I felt like my midsection had been run over by a truck.
I must have made some sound, because the hand I hadn’t yet registered around my own tightened minutely, and there was movement to my right. I tilted my head.
Dr Cox’s blue eyes, softer than I’ve ever seen, were staring back at me. As I looked at him, his lips curved up into the hint of a smile. His jaw was covered with stubble, like he hadn’t shaved for a few days.
“Hey there, kid. Welcome back. How you feeling?”
I tried to talk, but my mouth was like the Atacama Desert. Before I could think it, almost, he had a cup of water pressed gently to my lips, and he helped me take a few mouthfuls. I carefully unpeeled my lips from my teeth.
“Like I’ve been run over,” I told him, hoarsely. “What…what happened to me?”
His face grew sombre. “You, uh…you got attacked, kiddo. A lunatic stuck a knife into you.” The hand around mine tightened again, and when he spoke next, his voice sounded oddly constricted. “Thought we were gonna lose you. I’ll thank you not to scare me like that again.”
I stared at him, wordlessly, snatches of memories ricocheting around my head. I remembered blinding, flashing lights overhead and a warm hand holding mine…words tumbling from his lips in fear…that same hand, still holding onto me, every time I surfaced from the haze, however briefly.
He stayed.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
He shook his head. “You hardly have to apologise, Newb, it wasn’t your fault. Just…” He trailed off and looked away. He was silent for a moment, before, “Just…don’t die, okay?” The words were spoken so quietly, his voice strained.
I stared at him. “Dr Cox, I-”
“It’s fine, kid. You don’t have – I don’t – I just…just…don’t die, will you?” He tried to pull his hand from mine. I squeezed at his fingers – I’m sure the pressure was pathetically weak, but he stopped when he felt it anyway, and looked up at me.
“Y’alright? JD?”
My breath caught. He said my name.
“Thank you for staying with me,” I murmured.
His gaze softened. “Where the hell else was I supposed to be?” he asked gently.
I tried to reach across with my other hand to hold his hand in place, but it didn’t want to come. I turned my head to see why. The IV tube was caught up in the morphine drip. I frowned and tugged harder.
“Newbie,” Dr Cox said. “What are you doing?”
“The tubes,” I muttered, and tugged again. Then there were strong hands on my arms, restraining me.
“Hey,” he said. “You’ll rip your cannula out, take it easy. Here, let me…” He deftly untangled them, manipulating the tubes and unhooking where one of them was caught up. “There you go. Believe me, kid, you don’t wanna be going without morphine just now, ‘kay?” His fingers caught under my chin and tilted my face to look at him. He pulled a penlight from his pocket and flicked the light across my eyeballs.
I tried not to think about the fact that one of his hands was splayed across my head, his fingers in my hair. He gave a small hum in the back of his throat.
“Better,” he said, pocketing the penlight once more, and, to my disappointment, removing his hands from me. They didn’t go far though – there was a table beside him, and he picked up a jug of water and poured another small cup.
“I don’t mind telling you it’s been a long four days, Newb,” he murmured as he poured.
“Four days?!” I suppose that explained the stubble growth.
He shot a glance at me, his face very pained. “Yeah.” He brought the cup to my lips once more and tilted it carefully so I could take a drink. I raised my hand automatically to grasp the cup, and ended up clumsily clutching at his fingers, but the water was so good in my still-icky mouth that I found I didn’t care much. I drained the little cup and licked my lips.
“Thank you.”
He gave the tiniest of smiles and sat back down.
“How’d you know I stayed?” he asked quietly after a few moments of silence.
“Well,” I said. “Apart from the facial hair…” I was gently teasing, and he gave a ‘fair enough’ face and reached to stroke the bristles.
“You were there,” I whispered. “You were with me. When they were pushing me down corridors you were with me, and then every time I didn’t quite wake up, you were there. Your hand, holding mine. Your voice, reassuring me.” I swallowed. “It was so…I felt better. Knowing you were with me.”
He was staring very hard at the bedsheets, an odd expression on his face. “You remember that?” he whispered. “When we were…taking you to the OR?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I was so cold. And your hand was hot on mine. And you told me not to do it to you.”
He huffed a humourless laugh. “I did, and you didn’t listen. Right after that you dropped into v-fib. Thought we were gonna…” he tailed off. His eyes were bleak.
“But I knew you were with me then,” I pressed on after a moment. “And…I wasn’t scared anymore. ‘Cause I knew if you were there then I’d be alright.”
I paused, remembering the certainty I’d felt then that everything would be okay, because he was there. I heard his breathing hitch a little, but he didn’t say anything, so I went on.
“And then I kept trying to come round…but it was like…like I was under a huge blanket, or something. Like I couldn’t quite move, and everything felt muffled. But every time, there you were, telling me it was okay. And I could hear you through the fluff.”
“You were never alone, kid,” he said gruffly. “Not for a second. I made sure of that.”
I watched him for a few minutes. His shoulders were hunched tightly, and his jaw was clenched, and his fingers were curled into fists on his lap. I was getting an idea of the way the wind was blowing here, but...it still felt like an enormous risk. Was I brave enough?
But if I couldn’t say it now, after I nearly died…then when? I took a deep breath, and he heard, his head snapping up, presumably to check I was alright. His eyes were a little wild.
“You didn’t have to worry,” I said, very, very softly. “I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t have left you,” I added, when he looked like he was about to retort. He shut his mouth again. “Not…without…telling you I loved you.”
There. It was said.
I shut my eyes, not wanting to see his face, not wanting to see rejection there, still not certain I had not terribly misread everything.
There was silence for a few long moments, and I didn’t dare peek.
Then a hand reached to cup my cheek.
“Oh, Newb,” he murmured. I risked a glance, scrunching one eye open. His face was close, and he looked…soft. Happy. Happier than maybe I’d ever seen him, in a quiet kind of way. I opened the other eye. It didn’t look like he was about to take off running, at any rate. A wave of pain flitted across his features.
“Never do this to me again,” he whispered.
“I swear not to get on the wrong end of any more maniacs with knives,” I joked weakly, and lifted my own hand to touch his face.
“You’d better not,” he responded, his eyes blazing strangely. “Because…” He shook his head slightly. “Ah, hell. Because I can’t lose you, Newb. I can’t. I love you. So you just…stay in one piece, alright? Stay safe, please.” He brought his other hand up, so he was cradling my face in his large palms. “You hear me? I love you, JD.”
And he pressed his lips softly against mine before I even had time for my breath to catch at him saying my name – again – and he was kissing me. Finally, he was kissing me, and it was sweet and gentle and chaste, because it had to be, but there would be time, later, at home and in private, for passion and urgency and desire. For now, this more than enough.
When he broke away, I reached for his hands, my eyes never leaving him. “I love you,” I told him, revelling in the fact that I was apparently allowed to say it now.
And if I was still holding his hand and smiling dopily at him, drugged up on both morphine and the biggest hit of dopamine I’d ever had, when Turk and Carla showed up, well, frankly, I didn’t give a damn.