By Ross

“Ah-uh, man…” John Gage groused, as he came hobbling down the hall of Rampart General’s Emergency Receiving.

Dixie McCall recognized the grumbler’s voice and reluctantly raised her gaze from the work schedule she’d been busy juggling—er, re-juggling—er, attempting to re-juggle.

The complainer stepped up beside the counter in front of her Nurses’ Station and then stood there with his left thumb and forefinger alternately pinching and massaging the bridge of his nose. “I can already feel it comin’ on,” the paramedic pouted and quickly closed his squinting eyes.

“It?” the RN cautiously inquired.

John managed a glum nod. “Excedrin Headache # 218.”

Seeing as how the forlorn fireman was not forthcoming, Dixie turned to Roy DeSoto, who had appeared at his partner’s right elbow. “Okay. I’ll bite. What is Excedrin Headache # 218?”

“Beats me,” Roy replied with a shrug. “But—whatever it is—it can’t be anywhere near as bad as Excedrin Headache # 383.”

John’s eyes instantly re-opened. He aimed an annoyed glare in his butt-in-ski buddy’s direction before finally coming clean. “Excedrin Headache # 218 is: having to tell your Captain that he has to take the Squad out of service because you let two very valuable pieces of equipment get smashed…to smithereens.”

The RN’s right eyebrow arced. “Would one of you care to elaborate?”

“We were assisting 36’s with that MVA over on Addison Drive,” Roy obligingly began. “We had just gotten the last victim loaded into the ambulance when—”

“—an inattentive motorist,” John immediately interjected, “blows right on by the CHP officer who was directing traffic. The guy finally realizes he was supposed to stop, so he slams on his brakes—and goes into a sideways skid. I hear tires squealing and spin around—and there’s this completely out-of-control car heading right for our gear. I was just about to grab the Biophone and the HT when Roy, here, tackles me around the waist. The next thing I know, we’re both goin’ ditch diving. Landed right on a rock…bruised my left hip…and my left elbow. This was a new shirt,” the frowning fireman further lamented and motioned toward his grass-stained right shoulder.

Dixie’s lower lip promptly protruded and she gave the pouting paramedic one of her best ‘Poor baby’ looks. The RN’s right eyebrow then re-arced and she re-addressed the complainer’s ‘silent partner’. “What’s Excedrin Headache # 383?”

“Excedrin Headache # 383 is: Having to explain to your Captain how you let your partner become somebody’s hood ornament just because he felt obliged to try an’ rescue a couple a’ thousand dollars worth of equipment.” DeSoto draped an arm across his best buddy’s slumped shoulders. “I told you: Equipment can always be replaced. You can’t.”

“That…that’s very nice of you to say,” Gage gratefully acknowledged. “But you still owe me a new shirt.”

Roy’s face filled with disbelief. The paramedic aimed his dazed gaze in Dixie’s direction. “Saving the guy’s life wasn’t enough. Now he wants the shirt off my back.”

“Not so. I’d be willing to settle for one of the ones in your locker.”

DeSoto waved goodbye to the nurse and then began dragging his incorrigible companion off—in the direction of the nearest payphone. “C’mon, partner. You have a call to make.”

“Later, Dix!” John called back over his grass-stained shoulder. “Why do I have to make the call?”

“It’s your headache. Remember? I’d rather you had your headache than I had my headache, anyday.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess? By the way, grass stains are not permanent, yah know. In fact, Joanne—”

Roy’s voice trailed off down the hall before Dixie could learn of Joanne’s secret formula for removing grass stains. She was just about to start ‘juggling’—again, when Kel Brackett came storming up to her Nurses’ Station.

“Where the hell is Housekeeping?! I called them over twenty minutes ago! I’ve got a cardiac patient coming in—and no place to put him! I need 4 mopped up—NOW!”

“Right, Kel!” Dixie called after the rapidly departing physician. She was in the process of dialing Housekeeping, when Mike Morton—and his scowl—suddenly appeared across the counter from her.

“The overhead is still out in 2,” Mike complained. “Could you please find out why it’s taking Maintenance so long to bring me one lousy light bulb?”

“I’ll get right on it,” Dixie promised and dutifully placed calls to both Housekeeping and Maintenance.

The nurse had no sooner hung up the phone, when Doctor Early exited the Base Station.

“Dix, 45’s bringing a burn victim in. I asked the new girl to prepare 3 for me. Could you double-check and make sure everything’s been set up properly? I don’t think she knows her way around here, yet.”

“I’m on it, Joe,” she assured the doubting doctor and headed off in the direction of Treatment 3.

“Carol!” Miss McCall called out, upon spotting another one of her nurses in the corridor. “Beverly is in 3 setting up for Dr. Early’s burn patient. I want you to make sure that everything is in order.”

Doctors were not the only ones capable of delegating authority.

Carol acknowledged her assignment with a slight nod and then quickly inquired. “Am I cleared for Friday, yet? I have to show up at my sister’s surprise party. I’m the one who’s throwing it.”

“I’m… working on it.” Dixie glumly replied and glanced back at her counter, fully expecting to find a ‘COMPLAINT DEPARTMENT’ sign taped to the front of it. “Excedrin Headache # 702,” the woman in white mumbled beneath her breath, as she pushed through the door to Treatment 4. “Having your Nurses’ Station mistaken for a Complaint Department.”

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Stories by Ross        February Picture 2012