Jasher shouldn’t even think about conducting this operation—whatever it was going to be.
Where was the x-ray tech with the results?
Jasher couldn’t sit around in here anymore. He had to know. Now. He stepped out into the hallway, where he ran into the imaging tech.
“There you are.” She held a file in her hands with the printouts. “I was about to page you. I have the results on both Barry Michaelson and Cade Calhoun.” She handed them over, and Jasher whipped the folder open and held the printouts up to the inadequate hallway light. Still, he could see the damage.
“Broken ribs.” Those were Michaelson’s. “Head injury?”
“Nothing broken, but a cracked skull.”
Hairline fracture. Good, but still not good. “We’ll have to keep Barry Michaelson under observation for brain hemorrhage.”
Now, for the second file. The dreaded one. “Calhoun’s?” he asked, stating the obvious as he flipped it open.
The imaging tech took a step away, as if she knew what bad news was coming. “I just take the images, doctor. I don’t analyze them.” As if to say, Don’t blame me when they contain terrible news.
It was clear in a flash. Between the broken vertebrae and the potential complications of tearing the dura and creating a spinal fluid leakage during transport, there was no longer an option of transporting the rodeo king to another facility.
“Mr. Calhoun is in grave danger. Please, could you contact Dr. McGreeley and ask whether he has any experience assisting with back surgery?” Any at all was better than none. “If so, let him know I’ll need his assistance.” Jasher glanced at the clock. “We need to initiate this operation as soon as possible.”
“Yes, doctor.” The tech gave a curt nod. “And I assume you’ll have Sage assist with anesthesia. She is a steady hand. Better than Babbage any day—particularly a day when Babbage had six broken fingers. You’ll be glad she’s there at your side.”
So the tech could see it, too. “Thank you,” he said. “Let’s get this surgery underway.”