Pool_1

noises were from some deep place, not groaning, exactly. It was more of a of low throat resonance which meant this was indeed looking to be a long day with another long evening, second full night in a row. Translation, seventy two straight hours of speed. He had done this many times, and knew the potential, Not at my best. Not at my best. Fatigue. Every slows and drags. And what do you do when something unforseen and beyond your power delays a case? Curl up on an OR table, sleep, and hope nobody takes your spleen out. Given the choice, though, between spleen and sleep? Shit, he thought, give'em the spleen, I can operate without it. His mind dance finally bowed to resolution. There were no choices here. "Shannon, expedite it," he blurted, "Track every step... the transport... no limo's, get Interservice over there... mmm... everything. Have the peds residents set up whatever is needed, meet'em at the door. Call Rashaad, I think he's around. Oh, Shannon, find out more. Get the details. Difficult is one thing. Emergency is another. Let's be ready.... ." There were a few additional procedural possibilities and preferences quickly discussed before the phone was cradled. The forecast of rain went out to Mina. Five silent, even somber, minutes later Shannon called back. The details, a high fall with a shattered elbow in more fragments than they could count with wicked displacement. Not bleeding, skin badly stretched but not breached, yet. "THEY said yet," she quickly added before he could ask whose yet that was. Finger tips were pink. The victim, a girl ten years old, was crying so badly that it was impossible to know what specific sensory function in her hand was intact or absent. "T'sall I got, Mac." That was plenty. His grimace was not hidden by the mask.