Freeing Kirsty Ch. 07

SO FAR: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro. The spirited Kirsty Fallon (25) finds she has become attracted and follows the photo-journalist to his homeland and begins working with him. Merrick deals with a retriever sent to return Kirsty and then travels to New York and wins her freedom from Spiro. The couple are now in Los Angeles for their wedding, The New Zealand party take their hosts out to dinner and during the evening Merrick spots his ex-brother-in-laws wife Margaret (Marg) being attacked by a knife-wielding man, probably a thief.

*

The assailant in the passage heard Merrick running at him and pushed Marg away. She hit the wall on her left side with a sickening thud which is when Merrick's lack of recent training in his martial art proved almost fatal for him. He focused for a split second to check on Marg again and that gave the attacker freedom to lunge forward, his knife aimed at Merrick's belly.

Merrick sensed, rather than saw he was in grave danger. He twisted him body and lunged down powerfully with his right arm, deflecting the knife lunge.

The blade sliced open his arm and dug into him, low down. Merrick fell to the floor with a groan, his arm bleeding profusely and now blood spurting from his leg.

The thief ripped off Merrick's diving watch, scooped up Marg's purse and ripped off her necklace – a wedding present from Brian. He then race away through the restaurant kitchen to the rear entrance,

Responding to Marg's scream moments before she hit the wall, Brian was already running to her, but Stan was even faster and was cradling Marg who had regained conscious and was moaning with pain. She's taken a quick horrified look at Merrick.

"Go to Merrick, Brian," she called. "I'll keep – he's bleeding to death.

By now the restaurant was in an uproar, the screams of staff adding to the confusion as some patrons pushed and shouted to get out of the room.

Kirsty came against the flow, clutching Bella with Bess right behind them.

Brian had checked Merrick, turned and saw Kirsty coming towards him.

"Get a sharp kitchen knife, tea towels and a heavy linen table cloth; hurry."

Bess took Bella and Kirsty was off to the kitchen.

The manager appeared with two waiters.

"A container of clean hot water; call an ambulance," barked Brian.

"A rescue unit is already on its way," the manager said. He ordered one of his waiters to get the hot water and the other to keep people clear.

The manager then called the police and asked for a police escort to lead the rescue unit to the emergency hospital.

"Good man," Brian shouted, hearing that call. "Now phone the hospital. Tell them we've got a femoral artery breach.

Kirsty raced back, white-faced but relatively calm with the items Brian wanted.

"I'm here darling," she said to Merrick, and he smiled. He'd earlier ripped off his shirt to attempt to stem the worst blood flood in his mid-thigh.

Brian concluded that Merrick must have deflected to knife and it plunged into his thigh, piercing an artery. He hoped that the blade tip had pierced the artery longitudinally rather than severing it completely which would give Merrick a chance.

"How's Marg?" Brian snapped as he worked on Merrick.

Marg managed to answer him herself. "Wowsie, darling. I'm concussed I'm afraid. Banged my head heavily but can't feel pressure of internal bleeding."

"Thank Christ for that," Brian said reverently. He worked quickly ripping the heavily tablecloth into strips assisted by his mother Mary.

He instructed his mother to fold that tea towel into four and place that pad over the wound. He shouted to the manager to fetch something to act as a rod – a knife steel or a heavy long handled spoon,

Mary had placed pressure on the pad just over the wound, but blood was still spurting.

"He'll by OK if this works as it should," Brian said, trying to sooth Kirsty who was now emitting huge sobs at the sight of so much blood.

Brian wrapped two lengths of tablecloth strips over the pressure pad and began using the ladle handle like a winch winder. The bandage snapped.

Four more strips please, Brian said evenly; Mary thrust them at him.

"Stay steady mate," Brian said to Merrick. We've almost done here."

"The arm is under control," called Kirsty, having stopped that bleeding by ripping Merrick's shirt into strips and tying them tightly around the arm. She was no longer sobbing heavily.

The four-ply strop held as the tourniquet was tightened.

"Good – that's stopped most of it, Brian declared, relief in his voice.

"Good work Kirsty – it looks as if you've got that arm secure.

"Anyone got lipstick?"

A waitress handed Brian her tube.

"We need to let medics know the exact time we applied the tourniquet. My watch says ten fifty-five. Is that right?"

"Yes," called Mary and the manager almost simultaneously.

Everyone watched at Brian wrote 'T – 10.55' on the forehead of the now unconscious Merrick.

Brian slipped across to check on Marg who was slipping into unconsciousness.

"Keep awake, Marg. Do you hear?"

"Yes, dear. I'm s-o-o-o s-l-e-e-p-y."

"Keep urging her to keep awake Stan. She's concussed."

Meanwhile Kirsty had dug into Merrick's back pocket and extracted his wallet. Removing a small card she handed it to Brian. "Here, this will save time. He's a blood donor – the card verifies his blood type."

"Brilliant, Kirsty," said Brian. "He is doing fine."

"Sirens sounded and in less than a minute emergency medics were at Merrick's side.

Brian identified himself as a registered medical practitioner from New Zealand and drew attention to the tourniquet on the thigh, and two pressure pads covering the long slit on his arm.

"Two knifings – I belief the femoral artery has been slit open – a straight incision," he said.

The medics thanked him and the senior one inspected the tourniquet. He decided to leave it in place but applied his own one over it.

Completing their assessment and emergency aid to both patients, the medics took both victims out to the emergency vehicle.

Brian grabbed Kirsty's arm and asked Mary to look after Bella.

"Both of them are going to be OK, baring any unexpected developments," he shouted. "We'll try to go with them."

The medics were apologetic but really not interested in taking two passengers. Brian didn't argue. Spotting the police vehicle in front of the emergency vehicle ready to lead it off with lights and sirens opening up the route ahead, he approached a police officer, identifying himself and Kirsty as the victim's next of kin.

"Can you guys get us to the hospital?" asked Brian.

"Sure, you go in the lead car," said the sergeant.

"Mike," he yelled to a policeman standing at the driver's door of the lead vehicle. "Take these two civilians with you – partners of the two injured parties. Get statements from them at the hospital."

"Thanks a million," Brian said.

"Always ready to help the countrymen of Crocodile Dundee," grinned the police officer.

Brian had no time to give the friendly officer a lesson on accents and geography.

At the hospital Merrick was rushed on to surgery when a team was waiting to repair the damaged artery. Although the major artery appeared to have been cleanly punctured rather than severed which in many instances proves fatal, Merrick had suffered a significant blood loss. Blood had also flowed from his arm wound. A transfusion commenced immediately, using the blood type shown on his blood donor's card.

The surgeon later congratulated Brian on an accurate assessment. The femoral artery had indeed been slit lengthways, allowing a straightforward and relatively fast repair which meant the tourniquet being removed and full blood circulation being returned to the limb with appropriate procedures being followed to minimize the chance of infection and other nasty side-effects such as gangrene.

The senior surgeon complimented everyone involved and said, "All in all, our Mr Jamieson is a very lucky man; exceedingly lucky."

Kirsty was allowed to visit Merrick in the recovery room. Brian was in the emergency department with Marg. She had superficial injuries – one small cut, abrasions and was developing quite severe bruising. She was admitted for 48-hour observation for concussion. So far there was no evidence of internal bleeding or clots.

Four hours later Brian and Kirsty returned to Sam and Bess' home, satisfied by hospital staff assurances that both patients appeared out of danger and it was now only a matter of time under observation to ensure they continued to progress.

Relieved and able to relax at last Brian asked Kirsty who was the man in a leather jacket she'd been talking to in the hospital.

"A reporter, chasing the story about the knifing. But he seemed to lose interest when told that Merrick was out of danger. The reporter had one more try, asking if Merrick was a 'somebody'."

"And?"

"I said, 'To me yes, very much so, but to your readers no'."

"And?"

"He said he'd file a couple of paragraphs and it probably would get published because of the fact of patrons fleeing the restaurant almost in terror. Then he said a rather sweet thing to me – 'I hope that one day I meet a lady who will think of me as a somebody as you describe your man'. I'd regarded all reporters in big cities as cynics, tough and rude."

"You're been watching too many B-grade movies, lady," interjected the cab driver. "They now have sweet dames covering crime and city beats on the big Met papers these days. Even the cops have gone soft. My police precinct even has several declared homosexuals on its staff. In the old days the homos would have been used as punching bags and the dames working as frontline cops would on have been used in decoy work."

Later that night Marg awoke and buzzed a nurse. She asked about Merrick and was told he was in the room next door, sleeping.

"I want to sit with him."

"I'm sorry, but you must stay in bed and lie still. If you develop a blood clot in your head it could be life threatening."

As soon as the nurse had gone Marg went to the room next to hers, checking the name on the door before entering. It was the right room; Merrick was soundly asleep – drugged no doubt.

Sitting right up to him, Marg stroked his face. His whiskers were growing, feeling like fine sandpaper. She wanted to play nurse, and shave him. She felt love for him and that warmness seemed to flow through her stroking fingertips. She could feel it, she wondered if he could, in his sleep. Resting her head gently against his chest she thought that rarely had she felt so serene.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, Merrick," he whispered. She began imaging him carrying her off somewhere and fell asleep.

Forty minutes later she was shaken awake.

"Mrs Raymond – I must insist you return to your room," said the nurse who'd spoken to her earlier. "You must return to your bed and stay there."

A little later Marg returned to Merrick's room, showering his face with gentle kisses, barely touching his skin. She then wept for him, and for herself, before drifting off to sleep. She was discovered later during the routine nursing inspection.

"We are sorry, Mrs Raymond, but for your own protection and well being, we must so this," the tubby blonde nurse who had escorted Marg back to her bed said sympathetically. A wrist strap and an ankle strap were attached to Marg, the other ends of the leashes fastened to the frame of her bed which was pushed against the wall.

The two nurses tested their handiwork and one went off to write up a report.

"You have enough slack to turn," said the blonde, Nurse Gollins. "But you will not be able to get out of bed unassisted. Call if you require assistance." She added that Marg would probably be allowed to breakfast with her friend Mr Jamieson in the morning – "I'll suggest this in my night report," she said. "We realize you will have an attachment to your friend as we hear he probably saved you from a potentially more serious attack. He was very brave. Good night."

Marg closed her eyes and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Margaret Guest was the youngest of five children – "Tail end Margaret" her father, who owned a supermarket, used to tease.

Before she turned six Margaret had decided she wanted to become a nurse. As soon as she could sit up as an infant, she became the baby in the games of her three sisters and 'the patient' when they played hospitals.

In her early teens Marg, as she called herself by then, went to films featuring nurses, watched TV shows that romanticized nursing and read books about nursing, hospitals and medicine. Her favorite author was one of her mother's favorites as a teenager – Frank G Slaughter, a qualified surgeon, born in Washington DC in 1908, whose books sold more than six million copies.

Marg was accepted into nursing training by a whisker, being the minimum age for acceptance. Her birthday fell eleven days from the date she applied – exactly on the closing date for applications.

As a junior nurse Marg was on night duty one evening when a new house doctor – Dr Brian Raymond – entered the ward to perform a post-operative check. Marg took him to the patient, already having being briefed that 'the ruggedly handsome son of Dr Kildare is as green as grass'.

The patient complained that the operation area on her femur just above the knee felt hot and sticky.

"Your pressure bandage is probably just a little tight," Brian had said confidently.

Mary felt the woman's forehead. She was hot and sticky. "Something's not right," she murmured, but was ignored.

"Make yourself decent Mrs Skipper," Brian smiled, giving the elderly woman a couple of seconds to make sure her night dress was in place.

Brian flipped back the bedding, tool one step backwards and said, "Jesus!" The upper leg was lying in a pool of blood.

"Get the crash team," Brian ordered.

Marg pushed the buzzer and placed the end-piece in the patient's hand, asking her to keep pressing the buzzer. Brushing past Brian, Marg started undoing the tight bandaging.

"No, wait for the crash team."

"Can't – we must act now."

"Do you know what you're doing – what the risks are?"

"Yes." "Right," said Brian. "Let's go!"

He held up the patient's leg while Marg quickly unrolled the bandage, re-rolling it as she went. She got it completely removed from the operation site at the top of the femur and the blood flow increased significantly.

"We've got to get the first few winds over this pressure pad very tight – you do it, you'll be stronger than me. As tight as you can – you won't damage anything. I suspect a stitched blood vessel has ruptured."

Marg comforted the patient while holding the woman's leg up to allow Brian to roll the bandage under her thigh.

A senior nurse came running in. "Problem?"

"Was," Marg said. "We seem to have got it fixed. Please call a senior registrar urgently."

"You've done it," Marg said to Brian, who grunted, sweat dripping down his brow. "There is no new bleeding."

Marg turned to the patient. "We had to stop a blood flow, dear. You'll be heading back in surgery in a few minutes for repairs. These things happen sometimes, it's just routine. You are going to be quite all right."

Marg reached from one of the patient's towels behind the bedside locker and wiped Brian's brow. He looked at her gratefully. He washed up and then went back to the patient to calm her further.

When she came on duty next evening there was a bouquet of flowers waiting for her – "Thanks. Brian" was all that the message said. Fortunately she flipped over the card. Scrawled on that was the message – Dr Kildare's Café, 7.30 in the morning.

That café – its real name The Kapai Café – was in a row of shops opposite the main gates of the hospital. A novel could be written about the romances, intrigues, broken hearts and sobbing confessions that swirl around the tables in that place. Marg, mindful that her mother had made her promise to always be a good girl, had resolved never to enter that dingy den of immorality where allegedly one's propriety can be stripped away in seconds by an evil seducer or perhaps more than one.

Marg looked through the doorway before entering, nervously, ready to turn and bolt at the sight of a bare penis or a fornicating couple or even women pulling each other's hair out watched by evil-faced men.

She stood, surprised. It was as dirty and untidy as any other second-rate café she knew of – certainly nothing unusual there. A night porter called Jack was almost falling asleep over his bacon and eggs; Mrs Black from admissions was looking into her cup at the tea leaves while Liz, who'd be late reporting for duty, was shyly holding hands with the new porter already dubbed with the nickname of Stallion.

Marg marched forward, now aware that tales of Mr Ratanui's café might be over-exaggerated – or were mornings not the time for dramatic events to unfold? It was 7.40 and she worried that he might not turn up – house doctors were notoriously unreliable, mainly as a result of being over-worked, over-sexed and getting insufficient sleep. To her surprise there was Dr Brian Raymond, in the far corner of the room.

"I thought I'd been stood up – nurses are notoriously unreliable," he'd said, something Marg would always remember, plus the first thing she said: "I'm taking you home to bed as soon as we've had breakfast."

Marge froze. She'd not meant to say that, only to think it. People around them were grinning.

"OK," Brian replied. "Why don't you sit and look at the menu – you look famished."

His boyish grin eased her embarrassment. What had made her utter such a thought aloud?

He learned over the table to her. He smelt nice and friendly. "If we go well together in bed, I'd be interesting in dating. You seem to have it all together."

Marg looked bewildered. "How did I get myself into this position?"

"I'd call it job stress – your mind stops working and instinct takes over. Your instinct expressed itself so beautifully."

Mary though, I'm going to marry this man. She slapped her hand over her mouth, but a few seconds later realized that thankfully she'd not said that out aloud.

Brian looked up from his menu. "Are you married or spoken for?"

"Neither. And you?"

"Neither."

She told Brian she wanted bacon, eggs, tomatoes, chips and milky white coffee and wanted to share the bill.

"Medically what you have ordered is good for stamina. I'll add steak to mine, and payment is not open for negotiation.'

"Add steak to mine, please and tell the waitress to hurry when you place the order."

Marg had become interested in a phantom called Merrick. Merrick had not been produced to meet her, and Brian rarely talked about him but everyone else around them did. She came to suspect that Brian was keeping Merrick away from her, perhaps fearing an illicit seduction.

God, what a turn on; she couldn't wait to see this mysterious chap to give him the come on. But seriously, she thought, the guile of Brian pleased her as too often for her comfort he became too rigid in the pursuit of being correct, well-mannered - becoming even a tad subservient to maintain his desired social equilibrium. Few things pleased Brian more than over-hearing himself being called 'what a nice man' or 'what a lovely doctor'.

Get a life, Brian – live a little dangerously at times.

At her instigation they both purchased bicycles months after they first met. They began to ride regularly – at least as regularly as their jobs would allow – through suburban streets and open space reserves. Brian became an enthusiast and replaced his old sports car with an even older Holden station wagon so they could dump their bikes in the back (he was now so liberated that he was calling them bikes instead of bicycles) and they tootled off farther afield, much to their mutual pleasure.