Читать книгу The Doctor's Devotion - Cheryl Wyatt - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Mitch and his sparse trauma crew sprinted toward the field. Reporters and onlookers chased.

“Stay back!” Mitch commanded the engulfing crowd. Lauren skidded in her steps. Did she think he meant her?

He waved her to follow, but she froze in place. Her wind-tousled fiery hair rose up from her face like a crown of silken flames. Remarkable emerald eyes darted awkwardly between him and the landing choppers. Abject terror wrestled other emotions on her face. She was concerned. Conflicted. Stricken.

His heart was full of compassion for her as it had been in the car when she’d mentioned the tragic way her parents had died.

Lem once told him that she’d been traumatized by not knowing how to help her parents she’d found barely breathing. That tragedy birthed her dream to become a nurse who had moonlighted as a CPR coach so other families wouldn’t have to live her nightmare.

Mitch didn’t make a habit of questioning God, but what a terrible twist of fate it had been for sweet Lauren to lose her first patient off her obstetrics orientation a year ago.

Lem said the subsequent lawsuit also raked Lauren over the coals. Mitch knew because Lem, in his love of telling stories concerning Lauren, had left nothing out.

According to Lem, the ordeal had so devastated her, she had not only bolted from nursing, she had pulled away from God, faith, friends and family. Then wrapped herself up in her only other skill—sewing. Something Lauren’s mom had taught her and was their special mother-daughter connection before her mom died.

Mitch’s heart broke for Lauren now, seeing in person the unleashed emotion on her face. The unshackled fight-or-flight reaction in her eyes. He knew it.

That instant a veil lifted, allowing Mitch to see the huge gaping wounds Lauren’s own trauma had left her with. Hurts she had yet to be healed from.

The moment suspended Mitch in time and made him wish for words that would heal and not harm.

For Lem, Mitch wanted like crazy to comfort her but he’d have others to focus on soon. He couldn’t be everywhere at once.

But Someone could.

Jesus, rescue her. Show her the truth. Draw her back.

No idea what the last phrase encompassed, but that’s the prayer that pressed out of him so he let it fly.

He maintained eye contact with Lauren as long as possible to keep stride and still send visual cues that she was not only welcome to help, but worthy and needed.

Apparently misinterpreting his directive gaze, she whirled toward the encroaching crowd. “Cameras off!” Lauren yelled above chopper noise to reporters. “They may have real victims here.”

They? By that word, Mitch knew Lauren no longer thought of herself as part of the medical community, which saddened him.

Nevertheless, the authority in her voice impressed him because even the most aggressive reporters complied instantly.

The crowd stopped as one unit and fell back in silence. Concern infiltrated faces. Mass murmurs rose.

Mitch trudged forward. “I hope this is someone’s idea of a very bad joke,” he told Ian. Ian’s jaw clenched as he nodded.

But when a crew medic jumped from the chopper before it fully landed, Mitch knew with sick certainty it wasn’t. The strained look on the man’s ruddy face confirmed it.

“Incomiiiing!” Ian yelled.

Mitch’s team rushed ahead, leaving him to obtain report and issue orders.

As when overseas, they worked like neurons not having to be told their duty.

Ian and Kate met one chopper. Mitch’s circulating and triage nurses approached another.

Gratitude for their professionalism filled him.

His pre-op and scrub nurses weren’t flying in until next week, and his recovery nurse had pulled out to reenlist. Mitch would need to replace her ASAP.

He grabbed a man with a microphone. “Clear paths. This isn’t part of the ceremony. We have injured on the way.”

The microphone man complied. Officials looked as baffled as Mitch felt. “But are you set up for that?” one sputtered.

Mitch’s risen hands both halted and calmed them.

The mayor jogged to keep up. “Sir, you’re not officially open… .”

“We are if those choppers have wounded in them.”

The mayor’s face turned grim. “They radioed they were coming to see the trauma center opening, but not with patients. Dr. Wellington, I fear something terrible has happened.”

Mitch’s sentiments exactly. “We’ll handle it, Mayor. We’ve handled worse situations before.”

Respect gleamed from the mayor’s eyes. “I’m sure you have. What can I do?”

“Send any available Eagle Point EMTs and other first responders. And thank God choppers were right there.”

“Yes, indeed, but are you sure the center is ready to—?”

“Absolutely.” We’ll make it ready. Mitch turned, ending the conversation. The crowd parted as he plowed through. He paused to focus on a third approaching chopper.

What had just happened?

If distant smoke billowing above trees lining the interstate was an indication, something massive.

A horrible thought struck. There was one major road in and out. If this was a northbound motor vehicle accident, the victims had most likely been on their way here to the ceremony.

So in building the trauma center, he’d created catastrophe?

No. He refused to believe that or doubt God’s goodness.

Until another medical chopper ripped through the clouds. Disbelief coursed through him. How many more casualties would come? No matter. They’d handle it.

Mitch peered into the domed windows of medical choppers to get an idea of how many patients occupied each.

Rushing air and the high-pitched whup-whup-whups of whistling rotor blades pushed all other sound away.

Mitch mentally counted his staff. Not nearly enough. More nurses were flying in next week. He needed help now.

Instantly Mitch thought again of Lem’s granddaughter.

He turned, scanned the crowd.

Lem had said her biggest regret was that intense college years had prevented her from visiting Lem. Hadn’t he mentioned something about her working as a surgery tech while in school?

If so, that meant she had the experience he needed. Mitch hoped like crazy she hadn’t let her license or certifications lapse.

He ran toward the throng of people. Found her huddled next to Lem, whose eyes rivaled hers for biggest and roundest of the crowd.

Gauging that his staff was triaging the ground choppers and he still had a minute until the others landed, he sprinted over.

Mitch faced Lauren and placed firm hands on her shoulders. Willed her to look him in the eye. “Lauren, are you current?”

“Wh-what?”

“Your nursing license. Is it current?”

“N-not in this state.” She blinked furiously.

“In Texas?”

She nodded slowly, looking confused as to why he’d ask.

“Are all of your emergency certifications up to date?”

“Y-yes, but—”

“That’s good enough. You’re legal in a mass casualty situation, which is what I fear we have here.”

“What? No, you can’t possibly ask—”

He could and he would.

“Lauren, listen to me. I need your help.”

She shook her head vehemently.

He swiveled his neck to watch the next chopper prepare to land, its flight crew frenziedly working over someone.

No time to argue.

Facing Lauren again, he increased hand pressure, hunkered his shoulders and got nose to nose with Lem’s granddaughter. “Nurse Bates, I’m not asking. I’m ordering. Triage chopper number three, then meet me at four.”

Desperate hands came up to clutch his. “Mitch, please,” she rasped. “I can’t. I’m not qualified for trauma. I worked OB.”

Compassion vying for impatience, Mitch leaned close to her ear. “Lauren Esther Bates, I’ll tell you what a wise man told me when I doubted I had what it took to be a doctor.”

He eyed Lem respectively, then Lauren pointedly. “God doesn’t call the qualified, He qualifies the called. I’m convinced He put you here for this precise moment. I don’t have enough hands. People are dying. We need you. Go.” He gave her shoulders a nudge—okay, more like gentle shove.

Rage streamed from her eyes, then tears.

She spun and ran to the chopper. He caught the piercing cry she hurled at him upon turning.

Her scathing reaction promised she’d never forgive him for this. But practicing triage medicine wasn’t a popularity contest. He had a job to do and people to save.

He faced Lem. “Sorry, but—”

Lem shook his head. “Just do your job, son. I’ll get a ride home.” Lem affectionately clasped his shoulder.

Mitch eyed the last chopper hovering above a windblown field. “I meant sorry for speaking to Lauren in that manner.”

“She’ll be all right.”

Mitch hoped so as he observed her taking a report from the third chopper crew on his way to meet the fourth.

She probably wondered how he knew her middle name. But Mitch knew nearly everything about her because, true to what he’d said in the car, Lem never stopped talking about her.

He’d already known how her parents had died, but had asked out of sensitivity in order to gauge how many details Lauren knew so he wouldn’t mistakenly speak of it.

Mitch had heard many times how she was named after the Biblical Esther at Lem’s request at her birth.

If Lauren Esther was made of the same moral fiber as her namesake and as her grandpa, she wouldn’t bail on him, his skeleton crew…or the people injured in those choppers.

Lord, I hope like the end of hiccups that You bestowed Lem’s courage, compassion, intelligence, recall, integrity and unflappable grit upon Lauren.

The next two hours would tell.