Biker's Claim The Broken Angel is Mine (Cora and Jake) novel Chapter 50

Cora POV

The rest of the morning went quickly. I was no longer shadowing Bluey when a car crash came in, while she was suturing a child’s leg, and theaded to the ambulance bay with Scrubs. Two people were in the crash. Scrubs listened to the paramedics report and left that one to me, him waiting to hear about the second one before deciding which to deal with first.

Mine had a neck injury, a possible spine injury, a broken arm and a broken leg. Luckily, there was no sign of internal injury. I started the paperwork after stabilising him as best I could. The IV was already in by the paramedics, and I strapped him up and gave him more pain meds till I could get the doctor to sign off on the X–rays.

“Report,” Scrubs demanded when he reached me, fifteen minutes later.

I told him what he needed to know, and he signed off for the X–rays, and I called for a portable X–ray machine to come to the bed, as I didn’t want to risk further damage to his neck or spine, till we could see

what the damage was. They came, and I oversaw the X–rays, and they soon popped up on my tablet. I love some of today’s technology.

Leaving the patient to sleep after giving him pethidine, which often puts patients to sleep, and finding Scrubs, he was working on a child in another ambulance. I didn’t see a rush in getting back to my sleeping patient, so I assisted Scrubs with the child. The child, who had been screaming and crying, looked at me, and his tears soon dried up as I spoke to him softly, pointing to one of the animals on my shirt with a bandage on its arm and saying how cool it would be for him to get one too. His mother arrived soon after, tears in her eyes, and was relieved it was only a broken arm, and nothing too serious. I gave Scrubs a rundown on the man, and he took over that case and asked me to plaster up the child’s arm. Once the plaster was done, and I put a sticker on the wet plaster, it would stay till he had the plaster removed. The mother would take the child home after Scrubs filled out the discharge paperwork.

Two other doctors were working on the floor, but I hadn’t had much time with them. Bluey had left me in Scrubs care while she worked the floor. So much for shadowing her for a week; it didn’plast even a day.

All the urgent cases were done, and we were down to the average: coughs, colds, broken bones, and scrapes that needed stitches.

“Cora, go have lunch, we got it for now.” Bluey tapped me on my shoulder as I was headed to the waiting room to collect the next patient.

Lunch was a Tuna Mornay. I heated it in a microwave, made a coffee, and relaxed for half an hour, checking emails, not work ones, because I didn’t have any in there yet, first day and all, but personal ones. I received a reply from one of the recipients of my complaint, who thanked me for such an informative complaint, suggested improvements, and said they would look into bringing it up at the next meeting. Although they said this, I didn’t hold my breath that they would. I had learned years ago that promising to bring it up at a meeting would be a side piece that often got shoved to the back, and if the meeting went

Tapter 50

en too lung, it would be missed altogether.

After lunch, I went back to find Bluey ten minutes early.

“You still have ten minutes. What’s up?”

“Need a DNA done, please.”

Bluey took my blood, gave me the sample, and directed me where to take it. I handed the sample over to the guy, and a locket that had both my mother’s and father’s hair in it. My mother had once said, ‘One day, I will need it. At the time, I had no clue what she meant. Now, I do. Mum wanted me to find out. But she didn’t know how to tell me. It was around the time we learned that dad was cheating on her, and action was being taken to cover me in the future.

Bluey and Scrub had gone to lunch.

Paramedics called a man on the way. I met them at the ambulance bay.

The patient was one of ours, another prospect. Apparently, a car jumped the curb and hit him from behind,

throwing him into the windscreen. The driver was on the way too, but only because of shock; there was no

injury, but the police wanted us to administer a blood test for drugs and alcohol.

I got him into bed; he was unconscious. As much as I didn’t want to, I phoned Scrubs.

“What?” He barked tiredly.

“An ambulance just came in, we have a patient in bed A–10. Can you come now? I know you still have ten

minutes, but it’s one of ours.”

“On my way, report.” I gave him what the paramedics gave me, plus what I had observed about him. I didn’t like it, possible head and internal injury. I had to do an intubation; his breathing was almost non–existent, and I thought his throat was collapsing.

Scrubs and Bluey arrived and took over. I moved away and left them to themselves, since they appeared to need to take over, and not include me. I wasn’t upset over it, the guy would get the best treatment with

those two.

r

It was busy, getting broken bones set and plastered up, cuts stitched, the two doctors were rushed off their feet, and I hardly noticed, because although this was non–stop, it was normal, about what I used to

do at my old job.

“Cora, need a hand here.” One of the nurses called out. She was young, and this was her first year as a trained nurse, with a lot still to learn.

“Hey, Becky, what’s up?” I asked as I opened the curtain. A child of about seven was on the bed, crying, his mother beside him, crying. The father was nowhere to be seen. Typically, they are at work, in the pub, or out in the waiting room, not wanting to handle the crying child. Many men can’t handle the emotional side of it. It doesn’t mean they don’t care; they don’t know what to do, and are helpless in this situation. Occasionally, it’s the other way round, and the dad is there, the mother is missing, but not that often.

Chapter 50

con’t settle him down enough to suture his arm” I looked at the crude bandage covered in blood. Took a look at the notes; it had been signed off for his arm to be stitched; nothing broken.

“Leave it with me.” The nurse rushed out of the curtain, leaving me with a sobbing mother and her child.

“What’s your name?” I asked the boy as I got things sorted.

“His name is…” I raised my hand to her, to stop her, and she did, interesting.

I took a seat on the caster stool and rolled to be next to him, a tray beside me with what I needed, after washing my hands and putting on gloves.

“Sam.” He sniffled, looking between me and the tray. I was opening the packages, getting ready to stitch his arm, letting him see all that I was doing.

“Sam, is that short of Samuel?”

“Yes, but no one calls me that except the teacher calling out the roll.” His tears had stopped, and so had

his mother’s. I hadn’t done anything to make them stop, just calmly spoke to them.

“I like your animals.” He pointed to my shirt. The animals each had a bandage somewhere on their body, it

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