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The sound of metal clanking against the floor and glass shattering stood out to her even over the usual humdrum of the Emergency Department.
Lennox looked up from her tablet just in time to see a gurney tip over, the patient in Bay 3 – a young man who had been brought in by the paramedics not even five minutes ago, suspected drug-induced hallucination – now wielding a metal IV pole like a baseball bat, his restraints now hanging uselessly on his wrists.
“We need security, now!” a nurse yelled, moving away, Lennox moving towards the guy. It wasn’t a conscious decision, no, but someone had to stop the patient before anyone else was harmed. She approached the bay.
“Back up,” she ordered the nurse who had yelled for security, as well as another patient who was being discharged at that moment, “Give him some space, please… I need…”
Lennox didn’t finish her sentence – the patient spun around, wild-eyed, not seeing the doctor as a doctor, but as a threat. He lunged with the pole.
Dr Lennox scrambled backwards, but the pole extended the patient's reach, knocking her off her feet. She fell hard, her head ricocheting off the tables in the centre of the ED, her left hand snapping out instinctively to try to break her fall any further.
All that did was worsen the situation – a gasp left her as pain radiated up her arm, and then she went limp.
*
“Caitlin?”
Someone was calling her name.
“Caitlin, look at me.”
Lennox blinked, her vision coming back to her, someone’s face swimming into view far too close for her liking.
Dr. Mitch Ripley.
Great. He looked fucking terrified.
Another thing for the nurses to gossip about.
He hovered over her, and she realised all of a sudden his hand was on her shoulder.
“Hey, are you back with us?” He asked, noticing her finally opening her eyes.
Lennox groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as a dull throb started behind her temples, “What?”
“You were unresponsive for about ten seconds, Lennox.”
Caitlin pushed herself up onto her right elbow – the ED was still in chaos, security still trying to wrestle the patient onto the gurney, albeit further away from her.
“I’m fine, geez, stop idling, everyone,” she chastised the other docs and nurses crowding around her like she was the patient.
“You were unconscious,” Ripley countered, moving to support her as she sat up, “which is the opposite of fine. That’s concussion protocol.”
“I don’t have time for a protocol,” Lennox snapped, grabbing Ripley’s forearm and hauling herself to her feet, and then grabbing the counter to keep herself upright, “the ED won’t run itself.”
Ripley didn’t let go of her arm, but instead, despite her protest, led her away from the chaos and into a bay at the far end of the ED.
Something was definitely wrong if, despite protest, Lennox let him keep his hand wrapped around hers and didn’t try to tug away as he sat her down on the bed, examining her once again.
“You know you scared me there, Lennox,” he admitted, and he froze, watching her narrow her eyes at him.
“I appreciate the concern, Mitch, but I am fine. And you do not have to keep bringing up what happened to us every time I get injured. It’s a hazard of the job,” she told him as he shone his penlight into her eyes, evidently satisfied with what he was seeing.
She made a move to stand up again, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go attend to the fever in Bay 5.”
“Frost is taking Bay 5, and you’re not going anywhere with that hand,” he said, and Lennox froze.
“Excuse me?”
Ripley nodded to her left hand, hanging limply by her side, “You’re guarding it, and I don’t like the look of your fingers at all.”
Lennox looked down – she hadn’t felt it at all. The adrenaline and the headache had masked it completely. But now that she looked down at it, she couldn’t look away.
That was her hand?
Her index and middle fingers were swollen to twice their size, and the skin was no longer the colour it should be. They were bent slightly, and her attempt to straighten them with the rest of their hand sent more pain coursing up her hand.
Inadvertently, a whimper of pain escaped her, and she cradled her injured hand against her chest, deciding that maybe, just maybe, it was best to heed Ripley’s advice.
“Let me see, Caitlin,” he said, and reached for her wrist gently, just assessing the damage.
“Swelling is massive,” he noted, “and the angle on your index? Definite break. I’m getting you an X-ray.”
He pulled over the portable machine from the corner.
“Stay put,” he told her, angling her hand correctly, his diagnosis confirmed with the imaging.
“Yeah, that’s two breaks and a fracture of your pinkie,” he showed her, and Lennox’s spirits dropped. Mitch was right.
“I’m gonna be in a splint for six weeks,” she mumbled.
“I also want to send you upstairs to get your head scanned, Lennox. Please, don’t fight me on that.”
“Fine, I won’t,” she said, thinking about all the plans she was going to have to change with her injury.
“I’m going to get you up to splint those fingers, but for now, you are happy if I give you something for the pain?”
“I thought you were never going to ask, Dr Ripley,” she teased him, and he rummaged through the trays, injecting the painkillers into his colleague.
“That better?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Much,” she admitted, her eyes following Ripley’s as he checked over her once more.
“Any other pain, Lennox?”
“Just my head and my hand. Definitely my pride too. But I’m fine, and yes, I’m going to take the rest of the day off, before you ask me.”
“Good. I thought I was going to need backup in here.”
“You will if you ask me if I’m fine regarding what happened three weeks ago one more time.”