‘Doc?’ A voice carried from outside the door. One of the ambulance crew stuck his head back inside. ‘We might have a problem.’
* * *
He was stuck between trying to reassure Kristie and trying to reassure himself.
The weather was abysmal. No helicopter could land on Arran or take off in the next few hours. It seemed he was it.
This happened. This was island life. Thankfully it didn’t happen too often, but in the modern age lots of people didn’t really understand what living on an island meant.
Kristie was pacing outside as Rhuaridh read Gerry’s twelve-lead ECG and rechecked his observations. Normally people with a myocardial infarction would be transported to hospital and treated within two hours. But those two hours were ticking past quickly and Gerry had no hope of reaching a cardiac unit.
Most people with this condition would end up in a cardiac theatre, with an angiogram and stent inserted to open up the blocked vessel. But there was no specialised equipment like that on Arran.
There were monitoring facilities and Gerry was currently attached to a cardiac monitor in one of the side rooms with an extra nurse called in to observe him closely for the next twenty-four hours.
Kristie couldn’t stop pacing. He hated to see how worried she was, but the truth was he couldn’t give her the guarantee she so desperately needed—that Gerry would be fine.
Rhuaridh put down the phone after talking to one of the consultants in Glasgow. Emergency situations called for emergency treatment.
‘What’s happening?’ Kristie was at his side in an instant.
He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Bloods and ECG confirm it. Gerry’s had a massive heart attack. If he was on the mainland he’d go to Theatre to get the vessel cleared and probably have a stent put in to try and stop it happening again.’
It seemed she knew where this conversation would go. ‘But here?’
‘But here I’ve given him the first two drugs that should help, and now we’ll need to do things the more old-fashioned way and give him an IV of a drug that should break up the clot.’
She frowned. ‘Why don’t you still just do that? It sounds better than Theatre.’
He gave a slow nod. He had to phrase this carefully. ‘Studies show the other way is better. But as that isn’t an option, this is the only one we have.’
‘That doesn’t sound good.’ Her voice cracked.
Rhuaridh put his hand on her arm. ‘It takes an hour for the treatment to go in, then we have to monitor him carefully. There can be some side-effects, that’s why we’ve called an extra nurse in to monitor Gerry all day and overnight.’
Kristie’s head flicked from side to side. ‘Right, where can I stay?’
He tried not to smile. He knew she would do this. ‘You can stay with me. I’m going to have to stay overnight too. We’ll pull a few chairs into one of the other rooms close by. Miriam, the nurse, can give me a shout if she needs me.’
He looked down at her white knuckles gripping the camera in her hand. ‘What are you going to do with that?’
She took a few breaths as if she were thinking about it, then she lifted her chin and looked at him. ‘I’m going to do Gerry’s job. I’ll film it.’
There was something in her eyes that struck him as strange. ‘Are you okay?’
Her jaw was tight. ‘If Gerry was the one out here, he would film. He told me back at the B and B.’ She nodded as if she was processing a few things. ‘And I’ll film you. You can explain what a heart attack is and what the medicines are that you’ve given Gerry.’ She paused for the briefest of seconds then added, ‘Then you can talk about the weather and why we can’t leave. I’ll ask you a few questions about that.’
He tilted his head to the side. What was wrong with Kristie? Something just seemed a little...off. He understood she was worried about her colleague. Maybe this was her way of coping—to just throw herself into work.
He gave a cautious nod. ‘Of course we can do an interview. But give me a bit of time. I’m going to set up the IV with Miriam and have a chat with Gerry.’
She pressed her lips together and swung the camera up onto her shoulder. ‘Carry on. I’ll capture what I can.’