Whitey pulled up to a well-appointed rambler in a nicer section of town. Zane knew that most Silver Plummers would argue that a “nicer section of Bartlett” didn’t exist, but it looked pretty well-kept to him.The minute Whitey threw the ambulance into park, Zane and Melissa jumped out and ran up to the house.
A woman stood at the open door. “He’s right over here.” Her richly made-up face was smeared with tears, her voice reedy.
Zane quickly gave what he hoped was a comforting nod before stepping through the doorway and into the kitchen. The man looked to be in his sixties and was lying on the tile floor, his breathing rapid and erratic. He had a throw pillow under his head.
At least he’s breathing—and at least I’ve never seen him before.
Zane, Whitey, and Melissa got to work. He knew from the dispatcher’s message that the man had been having chest pain and his wife had called right away.
“Mr…?” Zane tossed a glance at the trembling woman crouching near the man’s head.
“His name is Scott,” she supplied, her fingers a blotchy red from wringing them.
“Scott, your job is to stay with us, okay?” Zane fitted an oxygen mask over the man’s head, careful not to snap the elastic against the back of his bald head. “We will do everything else. We’re here to help. Just focus on breathing.”
The man’s face, still beet red, cleared his throat as if to try to speak.
“Try not to talk, Scott,” Zane said.
Possibly a heart attack. One of the deadliest emergencies there was. At least the man still had some color. Still, Zane felt the blood rushing in his ears.
“His heart rate is stable, Zane,” Melissa said. “BP is one-twenty-six over eighty-four. Swelling in the face and neck. No swelling in the legs.”
They looked at one another, and Whitey, kneeling next to them, said what they were all thinking. “It might not be the heart.”
Okay, if the chest pain didn’t seem to be heart-related, then what was it? Zane felt along Mr. Jorgenson’s throat and neck, his movements quick and deft. Maybe anaphylaxis.
“Is he allergic to anything? What medications is he on?” he asked, fighting to stay calm. It could be any number of things, but they didn’t have time to sit there and play “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.”
His wife was already bringing a prescription bottle over. “He started this two days ago. He doesn’t have any allergies.”
Cefuroxime. It was great for strep throat but sometimes caused allergic reactions.
Once Zane’s mind shifted to allergy, things fell into place. He injected epinephrine into Scott’s thigh muscle and then positioned the stretcher next to him. Once he was properly secured, they were ready to mobilize.
“Prepare to lift,” Zane told his team. “And lift.”
This was the part where Zane could finally relax a fraction. This was more straightforward, the steps and calls and movements so ingrained from years of paramedic work. Just seeing Scott’s breathing settling a bit, his head and body secured on the stretcher by straps, helped calm Zane.
We’re on the right track.
Scott’s wife followed them out to the street then drove her car behind the ambulance as Whitey sped to the hospital in Rexburg.
Now that Scott was mostly out of danger, Zane could breathe. But breathing meant his mind could get back online, and he’d start thinking and remembering. That was one of the worst parts of this job, the memories. Memories of the times when things didn’t go as they hoped. When they were too late or when they witnessed too much.
His thoughts tumbled to Mabel—as they usually did. Maybe she would be there. If they were on better terms, he might know if she still had the same clinical.
Within minutes of arriving and handing over Scott to the ER team, two things were clear: Scott was going to be okay, and Mabel wasn’t on shift.
Dang. He always wanted to see her, but especially when there’d been such a close call. When there was so much stress and adrenaline involved, the thought of seeing Mabel seemed like the only thing that would help. In fact, being around Mabel usually took the thinking right out of any equation he was dealing with.
“It’s Zane, isn’t it?” Scott’s wife approached him. She’d cleaned her face with some tissues.
She pointed down the hall. “They’re going to let me be with him in a few minutes. They’re just getting him set up with what he needs. What you did at the house was amazing.” Now that the biggest dangers had passed, her face shone with worn-out admiration.
“I’m just glad we figured out what was going on. And there still could be some heart-related stuff too. They’ll probably send him up to the second floor for a full workup, to make sure.”
She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. He knew this look. Of someone who’d nearly lost the most important person in her life.
