Chapter 5

The “Resource Officer” redeemed himself when he routinely checked the bathroom. After briefly examining Archie’s body, he ran for the phone.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

“I’ve found another North High student, gravely wounded. Yes, ANOTHER student, a boy. I need everything RIGHT NOW.”

“Please hold.” “WHAT? NO!!!” Minutes ticked by.

“I have sent Rescue 51, they are 3 minutes away.” “Thank you.” “The police are coming and I will alert the medical center.”

Archie was, obviously, unaware. Jessie was still knocked out, and Bettie had not yet been contacted. The school had only her home number, not the warehouse where she was working, and Jessie couldn’t yet tell the authorities anything.

Cathie’s Dad was with her, but she had not seen Jessie’s part in the fight, so that added to the delays.

Jessie had been moved to neurology for her concussion protocols. Nothing could be done with her torn earlobe until her brain injury could be addressed.

Archie’s gurney had only briefly paused in the emergency department for transfusion before he was brought directly into the operating theater. Teresa, the surgical nurse, gasped as his bloody clothing was finally all removed. His abdomen was distended and discolored from internal hemorrhages. His testicles were a god awful mess. His nose and cheekbone were obviously broken.

Barbara Winslow was the surgeon on duty, and had received a preliminary report: a 17-year-old male, 178 cm, 64 kg, suspected internal bleeding, rib fracture, facial fractures, groin trauma. Everything before her was vexing. She called up to the chief medical officer. “He will need urological surgery, and we can’t do it here! Make it happen!”

With her other hand, she slathered Betadine disinfectant over Archie’s abdomen. “Sponge that!” She readied her blade. To herself: “If the descending aorta is damaged, he’s toast. I’m hoping I can repair his iliac artery instead.”

Two hours later, she was still deep into the abdomen. Unfortunately for Archie, the damaged iliac artery was on the same side as his impaired leg, and a malformation complicated Dr. Winslow’s work. It seemed like a gallon of blood had leaked away and been replaced with transfusions.

No family had yet been found for him.

Worse, Archie was showing signs of respiratory distress. Winslow knew he had damage to his ribs, and the possibility of pneumothorax (collapsed lung) could also be fatal.

Finally, it was six o’clock and Bettie had come home. The police were there, and brought her to the hospital with lights and siren. Her face, already drawn and tired from work, was ghostly. “Both my children!”

Dr. Winslow opened the door of the surgical waiting room. Bettie glanced at her bloody scrubs and fainted.