Callum walked over to the nearby trolley. The nurse had already just brought out some antibiotic supplies. He pulled up a bolus of cephalosporin into a syringe, looked at the clock on the nearby wall and started administering it directly into the venflon on Donovan’s hand.
Grace couldn’t help herself. She pulled the thin sheet back from Donovan’s chest. The tiny red and purple-hued petechial spots seemed to be materialising before her eyes. She knew exactly how serious this was. She grabbed his hand. It was colder than the rest of his body. He didn’t even flinch when she squeezed his hand. Her eyes went to the clock as she watched Callum slowly push the first dose of antibiotics into Donovan’s vein. She was trying to do some calculations in her head. This seemed to be a very rapid onset. Was it some kind of bacterial meningitis? She could only pray that he didn’t become septicaemic, with all the complications that could ensue.
She looked around her and pulled up a chair. She didn’t care what else was going on. She was going to stay here by Donovan’s side.
She met Callum’s gaze and stared hard. She would say the words out loud if she had to. She didn’t care who heard.
He finished administering the antibiotic and reached across the bed, putting a hand on her shoulder. His Scottish accent was heavy, the way it always became when he got emotional. ‘I’ve contacted the DPA. A replacement team is on their way.’ He looked down at his colleague. ‘He needs a CT scan. There isn’t one available here. He’s also going to need ITU facilities.’
She nodded as a single tear snaked its way down her cheek. She couldn’t bear the way his hand didn’t feel the way it had the last time it had touched her body. It was clammy, cold. It didn’t feel like Donovan’s hand. Not the warm hand that had stroked her skin. The lack of response from him was more than disturbing.
She picked up his chart. ‘Can we give him some steroids before we arrange the transfer?’
Callum nodded as he picked up another glass vial and started pulling the liquid into a syringe. ‘On it.’ He hesitated. ‘Grace, do you want to go on the transfer?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t falter for a second.
She didn’t care what anyone thought. Although it helped matters greatly that none of the team had commented at all. In fact, most of them seemed quietly supportive. She didn’t doubt that Callum had shared the information about them kissing. He’d had to. If they’d first suspected Marburg virus, they had to know Donovan’s every contact.
Would there be repercussions now their kiss was out in the open? They were two consenting adults, it was hardly criminal behaviour. But she already knew relationships between team members weren’t really approved of. If she was going to be allowed to remain in fieldwork she would be transferred to another team. That had become the norm after Sawyer had lost his wife.
Callum injected the steroid slowly. It would be hours before they had an official diagnosis. But in suspected cases it was always the case of treat first, ask questions later. Cases of meningitis had been known to kill in twelve hours.
It didn’t matter that it would probably be a helicopter transfer and she’d never been on one before. She didn’t care that even the sound of helicopter rotors made her nervous beyond belief. All she could focus on was the man lying on the bed next to her and the fact the last words she’d said to him had been in anger.
The phone rang shrilly outside. One of the nurses darted out to answer it. The other came and fastened the blood-pressure cuff around Donovan’s arm.
Grace gave her a smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do his observations. I’m going to be here anyway.’
‘Dr Ferguson, that’s Panama Health Care about the transfer to ICU.’
He paused in the door way and gave her a resigned sort of smile. ‘Don’t worry, Grace. Donovan will be fine.’
She could only pray he was right.
CHAPTER NINE
ONE FRANTIC HELICOPTER transfer later Grace was beginning to lose hope.
Donovan’s blood results had gotten steadily worse, edging closer and closer towards septicaemia. His blood pressure had bottomed out, his temperature had shot sky high and he’d needed assistance with his breathing. His body was in shutdown and she didn’t need anyone to tell her that.
Not the nurses that hovered around his bed, not the machines that alarmed at all times of the day and night, not even the admin assistant who’d told her where she could find some clean scrubs and a shower.
She didn’t want to leave his side. She couldn’t leave his side.
Callum was always phoning the ICU. Another team had arrived to assist in Florida and things were under control at the hospital. She was glad. Because right now she couldn’t focus on anything but Donovan.
Was there really a huge difference between Callum Ferguson, the Granddad of Disease, not being able to focus on his job and her? He might not be sitting by her side, but he seemed to know every one of the staff members on the unit on a first-name basis.
She shifted in her seat again. The worst part of all of this was that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that Donovan had been right all along.
When the worst had happened, she’d fallen to pieces. She hadn’t been able to function. She’d been unable to focus. There was no way they could work on the same team in the future. No matter what happened between them. She couldn’t go through this again.
His hand twitched and she was on her feet immediately. He’d had a few involuntary muscle spasms in his legs but nothing like this.
The accessory muscles around his chest started to move and his eyes flickered open. Panic. He was sensing the ventilator and starting to panic.
‘Nurse!’ she shouted. ‘He’s waking up.’
The nurse was at her side in an instant, obviously used to dealing with the clinical situation. She adjusted some dials on the machine and leaned over Donovan, speaking softly.
‘Hey, Dr Reid. I’m Marcie, one of the nurses here. You have a little tube down your throat to help you breathe and some medicines to try and assist you. How would you feel about getting that tube out? Can you blink for me or give my hand a squeeze?’
Donovan blinked as if his life depended on it and the nurse called over a colleague. They sounded his chest, whilst Grace waited impatiently at the side. His sedation, which was already minimal, was stopped, the ventilator disconnected. And after a few painful coughs from Donovan the tube was removed.
Grace shifted nervously as the nurse blocked her view. She was still talking quietly to Donovan as she adjusted his position on the bed and gave him a few tiny sips of water to help his throat.
After the longest five minutes of her life she finally moved and gave Grace a smile. ‘We’ll be doing fifteen-minute obs and one of our medics will come and check Dr Reid over. Would you like me to give Dr Ferguson a call?’
Callum. Of course. The old devil had charmed all the nurses in here with his thick Scottish accent. ‘That would be great, thanks.’
She pulled her chair closer to the bed and sat down next to Donovan, waiting for the nurse to be out of earshot before she spoke.
Feeli
ngs of pure relief were washing through her. He was awake. He was conscious. His temperature was coming down and he’d been extubated. A few hours ago she’d feared the worst.
She took a deep breath and tried to appear casual. ‘Well, you certainly know how to cause a commotion.’
He leaned forward and lifted his arm, taking a sip of water through the straw on the table placed in front of him. His voice was dry and throaty. ‘It’s a special skill.’
He sagged back against his pillows. Just taking that drink had looked like a gargantuan effort.
She smiled. It was definitely Donovan. He was back. There was a slight tremor in his hands and he was definitely pale and thinner, but she’d never seen someone look so good.
‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’ His voice was strained.
She waved her arm out, ‘Welcome to Panama Healthcare ICU, Donovan. It seems that taking over the kids ICU wasn’t enough for us.’
Deep furrows lined his brow. ‘I had Marburg?’
She wondered how much he would remember. Meningitis could have lasting effects—sometimes even brain damage. But Donovan appeared to have all his faculties and was just trying to orientate himself.
She shook her head. ‘No. You didn’t have Marburg—though they did suspect it at first. You had meningococcal meningitis.’
‘Me?’ He looked incredulous. That was a danger of working in a fieldwork team. After a while the team members—no matter how good their training—started to think they were impervious to certain diseases.
‘You.’
‘What type?’
There were lots of different strains of meningitis. ‘W135.’
‘But I’ve been vaccinated against that.’ He rubbed his hands over his face as if trying to make sense of all the facts. The staff at the DPA were vaccinated against everything they could be.
‘And that’s probably why you’re still here. You and I know that vaccination isn’t infallible. If you hadn’t been vaccinated things could be a whole lot different.’ She couldn’t hide the shiver down her spine. She was trying to talk like a fellow professional, giving him the information he needed to fill in the gaps in his head, but her body was reacting in a much more personal way.