X-ray Chapter 7, part 8

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Ian, another twelve feet further under the train with the second patient, grinned quietly as he struggled with the laryngoscope. "I'm in," he told Marcus, inflating the balloon and attatching the bag valve.

Marcus listened to the patient's lungs with his stethoscope. "Equal," he said a moment later.

Ian secured his tube, noted the lip line at 22, and slipped an OPA in beside it. Marcus tapped an ETCO2 detector across the patient's chest, but Ian shook his head. "I don't think I can fit it without kinking the tube. What's the oxygen at?"

Marcus glanced at the regulator. "About 900."

Ian glanced at the monitor, still sinus, then his watch. Ten minutes they'd been here already.

Andy was also facing problems with his patient, though of a different nature. He was alone with his patient because he had learned almost too late that Jeremy was claustrophobic. "Your knuckles are white, Jer," he told him, "Jer, you're crushing, Jer - Jer!"

"I'm fine. Fine, I'm fine."

"You're claustrophobic."

"No I'm not."

"What do you mean you aren't. Go away, away!" he pulled a liter of saline from his ALS bag and threw it at Jeremy, who retreated a few feet but sat there, looking uncertain.

"Go." Andy said. "Go." He chased Jeremy from under the train, "Go. And don't come back. Sorry about that," he said to his patient, "What were we talking about?"

The jaywalking laws. Which led to traffic, busses, back to the subway. Oops.

"I don't want to die." Andy's patient said. This was definitely a problem.

"I won't let you die," Andy said. "I will not let you die."

"I'm cold."

"We're lying on wet cement beneath a subway. It's normal to be cold. You think I'm not cold?" he smiled.

His patient smiled, too, then shivered once. Andy reached out to the one hand he could see and took it.

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