Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(52)

“A little,” she said.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. Put her on the gurney in the back of the truck, you beside her holding the Ringer’s and monitoring her pressure, and if you think we have to stop for any reason, you bang on the window. The black bag goes with you—you have oxygen, a portable defibrillator in the truck bed, and I want you to draw an eppie and atropine right away, to have ready.” He went back to the gurney, pushed it into the very narrow space in the back room, and lowered it. He shook out and spread a large, heavy wool blanket over the sheet and said, “Okay, Connie.”

Managing the IV bag and tubing, Mel supported Connie under the arm so that she could be transferred from her chair to the lowered gurney. Doc lifted the back slightly so that she wouldn’t be lying flat, then wrapped the blanket around her and strapped her in. He put the oxygen canister on the gurney between Connie’s legs, then said to Mel, “Have Joy hold up the bag of Ringer’s while we get her out of here.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for an ambulance?”

“Not the best idea,” he said while together they lifted the gurney to its former upright position. As they rolled out of the store, Mel once again in control of the IV bag, Doc said, “Joy, as soon as we get out of here I want you to call Valley Hospital and ask them to get a cardiologist to meet us in E.R. Tell Ron to meet us at Valley.” Doc and Mel released the legs on the gurney and slid it in the back of the truck. Doc took off his heavy wool coat and draped it over Connie. As he would have headed for the driver’s door of the truck, Mel grabbed his sleeve.

“Doc, what the hell are we doing?”

“Getting her there as fast as possible,” he said. “In you go. You’re going to be cold.”

“I’ll manage,” she said, climbing into the truck bed beside Connie.

“Don’t bounce out,” Doc said. “I don’t have time to stop and pick you up.”

“Just drive carefully,” she said, already dreading those narrow, curving roads and sheer drops, squeaking by big logging trucks, not to mention the darkness and drop in temperature as they passed through the towering trees.

He jumped in, pretty spry for seventy, and put the truck in gear. He made a wide turn in the street, Mel in the back of the truck, holding the Ringer’s above Connie’s head because there was no IV stand on this old gurney. As they drove out of town, Jack was just returning. But Mel’s attention was focused on Connie. She balanced the bag of Ringer’s on the gurney above Connie’s head, and dug around in Doc’s black bag for syringes and vials, drawing her drugs quickly despite the hectic driving and bouncing. She capped the syringes and took up the IV bag again.

Just don’t arrest, Mel kept thinking. Just to be safe, she used one hand to open the portable defibrillator case, having it handy to be switched on if necessary. It was the kind used on commercial airlines; rather than paddles, there were patches that adhered to the chest. Rather than bare Connie to the cold before it became necessary, she decided not to attach the patches to her chest. Then, with one hand over her head, she leaned her body close across Connie’s to keep her warm.

She had to give Doc a lot of credit for fancy driving. He managed to move down the mountain at a pretty fast clip, braking suddenly for the sharp curves and picking up speed for the straightaways while avoiding potholes and bumps. Mel was freezing, but Connie was taking steady breaths and her pulse was even and slower, when from the sheer fright and the ride in the back of the truck, it should probably be racing.

“That Doc,” she said breathlessly into Mel’s ear. “He sure is bossy.”

“Yeah,” Mel said. “Try to rest.”

“Oh, sure,” she whispered.

Mel had to switch the arm that held the Ringer’s several times, she got so sore. And even when she stayed low in the bed of the truck, the wind was chilling her to the bone. May in the mountains, under the shade of huge, towering trees, was not warm. She tried to imagine doing this in winter, and she got colder. Her cheeks were numb, her fingers nearly without feeling.

After just over an hour ride, they pulled into a parking lot in front of a small hospital where two med techs and a nurse stood ready in the parking lot, waiting with their own gurney.

Doc jumped out of the truck. “Take her on my gurney—I’ll get it later.”

“Good,” one said, pulling the gurney holding Connie out of the back of the truck. “She have any meds?”

“Just an aspirin and a nitro tab. Ringer’s TKO.”

“Gotcha,” he said. “Emergency staff standing by,” and off they went, running with the gurney across the parking lot.

“Let’s go, Melinda,” he said, moving a little more slowly now.

Mel began to realize that waiting for emergency transport could have been a tragic mistake—it could have turned that trip into three hours. As she waited with Doc in the emergency room, she learned that Valley Hospital was small but efficient, serving the needs of many small towns. They were capable of labor and delivery, C-sections when the infant and mother were not at major risk, X-rays, ultrasounds, some general surgeries, lab work and outpatient clinic, but if something as serious as emergency heart surgery or major surgery were required, a larger hospital was needed. It was a while before the doctor finally came out. “We’re going to run an angiogram—I think we’re looking at blockages. She’s stable for the moment, but they may be considering bypass surgery as soon as possible. We’ll transport her by helicopter to Redding for that. Has her next of kin been notified?”