The Nurse's Special Delivery

‘No problem.’ Her boss smiled and said in a voice that everyone would hear, ‘For the record, how you choose to have your child is no one’s business but yours and I think it’s wonderful. Put me down for babysitting duties. Now, out you go.’

It was the beginning of spring, so theoretically Queenstown should have been warming up from the previous long cold months, but there was still a good dusting of snow on the tops of the mountains and a cruel wind whipped across the helipad, liberating Abbie’s unruly mane from the clips and elastic that were supposed to hold it all in place. Really, longer length was theoretically easier to look after but would she get a mum’s bob when the baby came? Her heart thrilled a little at the thought, and she laughed at the image in her head of her being all mumsy with a short, neat, practical bob, at the thought of being a mumsy mummy after so long trying.

She was trying to fix the wayward hair neatly back under control when a chopper’s chugging split the air. No time for vanity.

What am I supposed to do?

She ran through the protocols in her head and hoped she’d remember them under stress. But the Intensive Care Paramedics and crew knew what they were doing; she’d learnt that much over the last few months. She’d met them all and been impressed with every one so far.

Soon enough the chopper door slid open and a man dressed in bright red paramedic dungarees jumped down. Shane, the town’s senior paramedic and old family friend, wrapped her in a hug, said something she couldn’t hear over the chopper blades and bundled her towards the helicopter.

Through the open door she could see more crew. Oh. A new one. He had a shock of dark hair. Celtic colouring, like her late grandad. Irish heritage, maybe? Perfect skin. Blue eyes. Nice mouth. A smattering of stubble, which made him look rugged and a little dangerous.

Back to his eyes—because she wanted to take a second look—they really were quite the brightest of blues, like the Queenstown sky on a crisp winter morning.

Where the hell had that thought come from?

Mr Nice Eyes raised his eyebrows as he met her gaze. Out of nowhere she felt a strange fluttery feeling in her stomach.

A medivac! Exciting! She was moving up in the world!

Shane coughed, nudging her forward, and she drew her eyes away from the new guy. Now...what the hell was she supposed to do?

* * *

With the touchdown being as choppy as a protein shake in a blender, Intensive Care Paramedic Callum Baird’s stomach had been left somewhere ten metres above Queenstown hospital. He breathed in the rush of cold air blasting through the open door.

November. New Zealand spring, apparently, and it was still freezing; as cold as a Scottish winter and windier than the top of Ben Nevis.

A diminutive girl had appeared in the doorway. Her face was almost covered by earmuffs and a bright red woolly hat with huge pompom, plus a matching scarf pulled up over her mouth. All Cal could see was her eyes. A dark penetrating brown that showed her to be at once apprehensive and excited. A common rookie air ambulance reaction. She pulled down her scarf and grinned. ‘Hi, I’m Abbie. Staff nurse in ED. I was told to hitch a ride, see what you do out in the wild.’

‘Er...hello.’ Cal shifted over in the tiny space, glancing over at his companion, Shane, who was leading this shift.

Shane nodded back and smiled at the girl; clearly he knew her and liked her.

‘Where should I sit?’ Her eyes danced around the cabin, her hands moving as she spoke, a vibrancy he hadn’t seen before in anyone.

Shane lumbered up into the chopper, wheezing as he sat down. Poor bugger was just at the back end of the flu and letting everyone know about it. ‘Shift over, Callum, make some room for our guest.’

It was none of Cal’s business, but there was barely enough room in here as it was. Plus they’d have to fit the patient on the gurney and work on him if necessary. ‘Going to be cosy.’

‘It won’t be for long. We can see Ben Lomond from here.’ Abbie shuffled in next to him and buckled her belt. ‘So, be gentle with me, eh?’

He looked at those dancing eyes and couldn’t help smiling at her. ‘First time?’

‘First medivac. Not first time in a chopper. Don’t you know, it’s the only way to travel in Queenstown?’ She bit her lip and explained, ‘There’s a lot of heli-sport here; heli-skiing, heli-hiking, that kind of thing.’

With a lurch they ascended. Helicopters didn’t usually lurch. ‘It’s blowy, that’s for sure.’

‘Coming off the Remarkables. Along with snow, I reckon. There’s a southern blast coming up from Antarctica.’ She nodded and looked away, gripping her hands together. From this angle he could see the fine shape of her jawline and some tiny wrinkles by her eyes. Not as young as he’d first thought, then. Hair sticking out at all angles from under her hat. Long eyelashes. Geez, it was real cosy in here if he was paying attention to her eyelashes.

Kind of cute, too.

He gave himself a mental telling-off. He had no business thinking any woman was cute. Not when he had responsibilities elsewhere.

Still, a bit of window-shopping never harmed anyone...

‘Great view, isn’t it? I wouldn’t live anywhere else on earth.’ Having raised her voice a notch above the chopper blades’ racket, Abbie pointed to the town below them. The deep blue lake stretched out as far as he could see, fringed on one side by the bustling centre of Queenstown. A string of gondolas swung directly beneath them, slowly scaling one of the mountains that framed the town. A zigzag luge was hundreds of feet below, where kids and adults alike risked life and limb—and had a lot of fun in the process—racing on go-karts down curved tracks to the valley. The girl grinned. ‘You’re not from here, right? Have you been on the luge yet?’

‘Nah. But I’ve scooped a kid up from it and taken him to ED. Nasty grazes and a fractured elbow.’

‘Makes you wary, then, does it? The adrenalin capital of the world?’ Her eyes danced again.

If only she knew. Adrenalin was his best friend, and his worst enemy. Before he could answer, the earth started to come up to meet them and the pilot was saying something about a body at two o’clock. Cal scanned the snow, the steep ridge, the jutting rocks and thought he saw something that looked out of place. A flash of blue. Then, yes... ‘He’s over there. I can see him.’

‘Yes. Yes. Watch out, it’s going to be slippery,’ the pilot shouted back, his words barely audible under the chug, chug, chug of the helicopter rotor blades. He’d made a spectacular landing on the only flat bit of mountainside—it took some skill to do that. ‘Got your crampons?’

‘Och, yes. I’ll be fine, no worries.’ If there was one thing Callum Baird knew it was snow. Every kind. The wet, seeping-through-your-clothes kind. The fluffy make-a-decent-snowball kind. And this, the melted and frozen again ice that meant getting a foot grip was challenging. Especially in the sixty-knot winds and poor visibility at the top of Ben Lomond. That last kind of snow was why he was here in the first place. To learn how to make amends, to try to fix things that probably couldn’t be fixed, but to make things better, at least.

He hoped.

Funny, how he’d travelled halfway around the world and found himself on the top of a mountain bearing the same damned name as the place he’d left. Almost as beautiful, too. If the clouds disappeared, and with a bit of spring sunshine it’d be stunning...but he wasn’t here to admire the view.

Bracing against the wind, he jumped from the helicopter then turned and grabbed his paramedic backpack. The crampons slipped on as easily as the memories. He shook the latter off. He was used to doing that. Some days they did as they were told and slunk away, and he managed to get through twenty-four hours before he was drawn back to that fateful night of cold and wet and ice. Other days they hung around him, a sopping, freezing bone-deep helplessness he couldn’t shake. ‘From what I could see, our guy’s up there, to the right—it’s fairly rocky, so we’ll have to do a bit of scrambling. He told Dispatch he’d heard a snap, so we’d best take the scoop with us, too. Hope you enjoy a bit of ice-skating?’

‘Preferably on the flat.’ Abbie assessed the terrain, shook her head, then passed the scoop down. ‘I’m not sure I’d manage a triple Salchow on this hill.’

‘I’m not sure I’d manage a triple Salchow, full stop.’ So, she had a sense of humour. That worked. Especially in conditions like this.

Due to the deteriorating weather, it had been touch and go whether to bring the chopper up here at all, but a man’s life hung, literally, on the edge, so they’d made a call. A good one, as it turned out. The ride had been bumpy, but the wind seemed to be dying down, for now. Which meant hypothermia would be less of an issue for all of them. Two months living in New Zealand and the only thing he could predict about the weather was that it was unpredictable.

‘You got crampons?’

‘Doesn’t every woman carry a pair in her handbag?’ He watched as she delved into her backpack and pulled out a pair of ice shoes, which she fastened like a pro. ‘Ready.’

Although giving him a reassuring smile, she looked frozen through. A tiny waif, with huge eyes and that mess of dark hair that was tumbling from clips in every direction. The huge hi-vis jacket swamped her, and she looked out of her depth on every level.

But determination shone in her eyes.

‘Right. Let’s get to it.’ It was hard going—one step forward, steadying your grip. Another step. The snow had frozen to sheer ice in some places. In others, tufts of grass poked through. The wind pressed them back, the ice halted their steps, so they made it to their patient as quickly as humanly possible.

He was a crumpled heap in bright blue and black walking gear. Alone. Like many walkers here. Starting out on a pleasant day trip, but at least he seemed suitably dressed for the occasion, unlike some Cal came across. Still, even full walking gear didn’t always prevent disaster from striking. You could be perfectly prepared for a night stranded on the mountain, but not for unexpected and complicated fractures, blizzards, nowhere to hide from the biting wind. Frostbite.

A brother lifeless in your arms and there is nothing, nothing you can do but pray. As they neared, Cal did a primary survey. Breathing. Bleeding from his forehead. Bluish lips. Thank God for cell-phone reception, or who knew when he’d have been found. Phoning for help had saved his life.

That was, if they could get him down quickly enough.

The wind might have died a little, but it was still fresh as all hell up here and their guy was shaking. Cold and shock, or worse. Cal remembered to keep his words slow. Enough people had told him they didn’t understand his Scottish accent already. ‘Hello, there. I’m Cal, your knight in shining hi-vis.’

Abbie rolled her eyes. ‘And I’m Abbie. That guy down there is Shane, and we’re going to help get you off the mountain. Now, can you tell us what happened?’

So, she was all about the process. Okay.

‘I’m... Marty... I think I’ve...’ Dazed and shivering, the patient tried to sit up.

‘Whoa. Hold still, mate. Tell me what happened.’ Secondary survey was underway. There was blood on the ground. Which meant consideration had to be made for internal bleeding too. Blood on the floor and five more. Consider thoracic, intra-abdominal, retroperineal, pelvic, long bones.

‘Slipped. Fell down from the ridge. Hit my head, I think, on a rock. Chest... Leg snapped...’ He reached a hand to his right fibula and grimaced. Long bones.

Plus, a head injury—couldn’t rule out neck damage too. ‘So, first things first, we need to put a neck brace on to protect that neck. Steady as you go. Hold still. Stay still, mate.’ Cal slipped the neck brace into place, watching as Marty clenched his fists to counter the pain. Then bent his undamaged knee. At least he could move all his limbs. Good sign.

Cal had a closer look at the forehead wound. ‘Looks pretty deep, needs a few stitches. Luckily, they’re very good at sewing down at Queenstown General.’ He taped a dressing over the wound, noting other minor cuts and grazes that would need attention, when they had more time, and in the warmth of a hospital ward.

Cal felt Marty’s radial pulse. Nothing. Carotid showed a rapid, thready heartbeat. ‘Guessing the systolic pressure is lower than ninety. No radial pulse. I’ll do a quick check. Needs some fluids.’ Needed surgery, actually. Fluids and stabilisation were the best they could do, especially up here on the steep arc of a mountainside with thick black clouds coming in from the west. Cal’s heart rate sped up a little.

Great. A suspected life-threatening injury and the mother of all storms.

Luckily, fighting the odds was what he was good at.

Shane finally made it up the mountain. Breathless and wheezing, he probably shouldn’t have been up here at all. He should have said his chest wasn’t up to it. But Cal kept that thought to himself.

The two-way radio crackled. It was Brian, the pilot. ‘Weather coming in fast. We need to get off this mountain and quick. Over.’

‘Things turn to custard pretty quick round here.’ One minute it was sunny, the next it was a white-out. But they had to make Marty safe before they left. ‘Okay. Let’s have a look at your leg. I’m going to have to cut your salopettes. Okay? Damned shame, because it’s good kit.’

Keeping the patient talking and conscious gave them a better chance, so Cal went with his usual patter. He nodded at Shane, who was assessing the obviously broken leg. The bone had cut through the skin. Needed a splint at least to stabilise it. Needed surgery.

Needed to get off the mountain, and fast.

Again, Marty pushed to sit up. ‘I can’t breathe... I can’t...’

Cal shot a look at Abbie, who’d turned her attention to Marty’s chest. Could be one of a dozen things. He prayed there wasn’t any surgical emphysema. Dodgy lungs in thin air at the top of a mountain were a nasty prospect. ‘I’m going to put a line in your left arm, mate. Give you some fluids to keep you hydrated and something to make you more comfortable.’

‘Left lung clear, but can’t hear much in the right base. You want to check?’

‘Yep. Let me have a go. To check.’ Not wanting to disbelieve her or undermine her, he listened as carefully as he could to the beat-up chest. Suspected right pneumothorax. Great. The odds were starting to turn against them. It was freezing up here; his hands were starting to ache with the cold.

‘Oxygen in situ. Pain relief administered.’

‘Leg splint inflated and in situ.’ The distant clouds had become very real, thick and dark and heavy. Flakes started to spot their coats, Marty’s hair.

‘Pass me a survival blanket, will you? Right. Thanks. Now, we’ve got to get you onto this scoop.’

The radio crackled. ‘Cal, come in. You have two minutes. Over.’

‘Just getting Marty on the scoop. Over.’

Cal positioned the scoop alongside their patient and somehow they managed to shift him over, keeping his neck as still as possible.

‘Let’s go. You all okay?’ Shane took the lead, carrying the scoop at the feet end. Cal was at the head and Abbie walked at the side, carrying equipment and making sure Marty was stable and as comfortable as possible. It was like a game of slip ’n’ slide getting them all down the hill.

‘You fancy some tobogganing, Marty?’ It was only half a joke. Apart from a few rocks it was a vertical skating rink.

They started to inch gingerly down. The sun had slid behind a cloud and the wind whipped round them, biting through their clothes. They made it a few metres then suddenly the scoop lurched sideways and forwards. Next thing Cal knew, Shane was yelling and tumbling head first over rocks and ice.

Down. Down. Down.

CHAPTER TWO

‘SHANE! SHANE!’

The boss had come to a halt a hundred metres or so down the hill, splayed against the rear of the helicopter. He wasn’t moving.

Cal reassessed, looking from Shane to Marty and then back down the slope again, allowing himself the briefest moment for his heart to thump hard and fast against his chest wall. Damn. Damn. Then he closed off all emotion.

Panic didn’t help. Helplessness didn’t help. Just action. He’d learnt his lesson the hard way. Had been learning for two long years.

Two patients now. One scoop and a fledgling helper.

Their patient took priority. Getting him down the hill now was going to be a challenge.

Somehow Callum had managed to keep a firm grip on Marty’s scoop. ‘You okay, mate?’

‘Holding on,’ he groaned. ‘Just about.’

The scoop listed at a sharp forty-five-degree angle, from where Cal had maintained his hold and height, to where Abbie had been twisted by the sudden lurch sideways and pushed to the floor. She was just about managing to hold the scoop aloft with her arms outstretched underneath Marty, bearing his weight in a desperate attempt to keep their patient still and secure. There was an ooze of blood on her head. ‘Abbie? You okay?’

She grimaced, her body contorting in an effort to hold up the scoop and the man, who must have weighed three times what she did. ‘I’m fine. It’s okay.’

‘You’re bleeding.’

‘It’s nothing. I caught my head on a rock as I fell. It’s just a scratch.’ She shook her head, trying hard to pretend she was okay, but he could see right through it. ‘You should see the other guy.’

‘Sadly, I can see him.’ The boss looked knocked out and flat. Marty was groaning in agony in the tipped-up scoop. And Abbie had a cut head.

It looked worse than just a scratch, but he had to believe her because he just couldn’t do this alone. She seemed orientated and fine. Feisty, actually. He’d have a closer look once they were on safe terrain and out of danger. ‘Right then. I’m going to lower him down so we can right the scoop, then we can wait for Brian to come help.’

‘He’d be better staying down there, don’t you think? To see if Shane’s okay?’

‘I’ll talk to him.’ Cal shouted towards the chopper but couldn’t make himself heard. He flicked on the two-way. ‘Hey. Did you see Shane? He took a bad fall, he’s at the rear. Roger.’

‘I’m on my way. How are you going to manage with the scoop? Slide it down?’

‘Not sure yet. Over.’ There were too many rocks sticking out of the ground to make sliding a feasible option.

‘She’s a little thing. Roger.’

‘We’ll be fine.’ It was Abbie, glowering. She had the affronted air of someone who would not be underestimated. He knew that trait well. Too well. Someone who insisted on overstretching...and then paying the consequences. She’d lowered her side of the scoop now and was brushing the snow and ice from her clothes. As she bent to the left she winced. ‘Just give me a couple of seconds.’

They barely had one. The weather was closing in. This was all falling apart, but he needed to stay in control. ‘Are you hurt? Is it something more than your head? Did the scoop hit you?’

‘Just winded me.’ She shook her head again but he could see the way she flinched as she turned. ‘Let’s do this.’

‘I can call back-up. You won’t be able to manage.’

‘Says who? I could be a champion weightlifter for all you know. I could have won the Queenstown Primary arm wrestling competition in 1997.’ She flexed her arms, but all he could see was the huge coat covering her from neck to knee. With the head wound and her wayward hair and the enormous coat she looked like a bag lady rather than the professional she was proving to be. ‘What do you think, Marty? Am I stronger than I look?’

‘I hope so,’ Marty groaned. ‘Yes.’

She gave Cal an I-told-you-so grin that made her eyes light up and his stomach feel strange, then she shuffled to the end of the scoop and bent in readiness to pick it up. ‘So, let’s do this. What choice do we have?’

‘We could wait for back up. Or Brian.’ But even with the space blanket, Marty was shaking with cold; they had to get this done and quick.

‘He’s with Shane and it looks like he needs help too.’ Too true. Brian was trying to lift Shane up, but the senior paramedic kept buckling forward. She glanced at the swirls of snow falling around them. ‘There isn’t a choice. We have to do this or we’ll all freeze to death.’ Without any further chance at a conversation she bent at the end of the scoop and shouted, ‘Ready? On my call. One. Two. Three.’

They were badly matched size-wise, but if he kept his arms straight and stooped down low they were just about able to maintain a satisfactory balance. But it was slow going. He could see every muscle in her hands tighten and strain as she bore the weight of the hiker.

She doesn’t have gloves on.

Somewhere along the way she’d taken them off—to work the IV and draw up drugs, probably. And hadn’t had the chance to put them back on. Her fingers were white—with strain? With cold?

That was all he needed. Frostbite.

Frostbite. The enemy of the winter hiker. Could do untold damage from the inside out.

The dread swamped him along with the memories. He wasn’t going to let that happen. They were getting off this mountain without any further incident. Stooping low, he gripped harder and tried to take more of the weight. It was impossible without upending the whole thing. Regardless of how strong she thought she was, she was starting to tire—steps becoming slower as she navigated the rocks. She needed to rest without losing face, he got that. ‘Stop. Stop, Abbie. I need a minute.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ Very gently she lowered her end of the scoop then straightened up, twisting slowly left and right to ease out her muscles. Her hands were still in crooked fists and even from this distance he could see red marks on her palms. More blood?

‘Brian! Brian, come here and take over.’ They were about fifty metres from the chopper. Shane was sitting slumped against the landing gear holding his shoulder. ‘You go down and take over from Brian and he can come and help me with this.’

‘I can do this.’

He kept his voice level despite his growing frustration. ‘And I’m telling you not to. Your hands are cut and cold and there’s no need for you to lift anything if we can get Brian to do it. I need you down there to sort out Shane. He’s not looking happy. Brian’s just a pilot—he can’t assess anything. I need your nursing skills and his muscle.’

‘Okay. I’m gone.’

He was impressed with the agility and speed with which she made it to Shane, crossing paths with Brian and stopping for the briefest of handovers.

He watched as she tripped lightly over the rocks, that jacket swamping her tiny frame. She had guts, that was for sure. In another life he might have...

No, he wouldn’t.

No point in wishing. He didn’t have space for a relationship; and definitely not with someone a million miles away from his home. That would never work. No point starting something.

He pressed forwards, forcing all his attention to the here and now, not the murky past or his short-circuited future.

* * *

Finally, they were all settled into the chopper. Two patients. One more than they’d bargained for.

Brian gunned the engine. ‘It’s going to be a bit bumpy, but we’ll be back in no time.’

She looked a little green as they rose into the air and shunted sharply east as a rogue gust caught them. For one second she looked terrified, then she regained her composure and started to chat to Shane, keeping him orientated to time and place. Her voice was like music cutting through the grim roar of the engine and the beeping of the portable ECG machine that monitored Marty’s heart trace.

She was laughing, but it was gentle and lyrical. ‘So, Shane, your crampon front-ended and you did a spectacular cartwheel down the mountain. If you want to train for the gymnastic world championships you could do with finding a more level place to do it.’

‘Er...what’s...happening? Did we have a patient?’

There was a flicker of a frown, then she recovered. ‘Yes. He’s just here, next to you. Marty’s had some ketamine so he’s doing okay. No. No, stay where you are, love. We need you to keep as still as you can.’ All the while she talked, her eyes roved over first one patient then the other, assessing, monitoring, smiling.