[PAST SCENE] Emergency Room | Set July 2007
Lachlan whimpered almost inaudibly as they reached the entrance to the ER. Tara was gripping his hand, probably unaware of her own strength in the gesture, and Pat was bracing Lachlan around the waist. He stopped walking again, for about the sixth time since they got out of the car, and hunched over, clutching his cramping gut. "I need to sit down," he moaned, nothing more than a couple of seconds before vomiting spectacularly all over the linoleum floor in front of them.
"Shit, buddy!" Pat hissed, bending with his friend and rubbing his back. Lachlan had already made quite an entrance to the ER, and a cleaner, somewhere, already had a job on their hands. No sense trying to fan out the effect.
Tara sighed helplessly, smoothing Lachlan's blond hair back as she looked up. "I'll get someone," she said, just as a familiar face rounded the corner and she couldn't help but laugh out a gasp of relief. "Dr Anderson!"
Dr Alexis Anderson was Senior Attending for the ER that shift and new colleagues Tara Brennan and Patrick Preston well. However, the poor lad they were trying to hold up between them was a new face. She suspected he was the new Scottish haematologist employed to the ER, but as yet she hadn’t shared a shift with him. She knew the newbie was Preston’s best friend, so she was merely trying to connect the dots. She drew some fresh latex gloves from the nearby dispenser and pulled them on, coming over quickly. “What have we got here?” she asked, glancing between Patrick and Tara before stooping to place her hand on the ailing man’s arm.
Tara looked worried, then helpless, then sheepish, and then her expression turned into utter mortification. "I poisoned him!" she wailed.
"No, you didn't, darling," Pat jumped in.
"Yes, I did, you big pain in my butt!" Tara snapped.
"You don't need to be cranky, precious! It's not my fault you didn't get laid!" Pat cried.
"It was the first time!" Tara hissed.
Lachlan moaned, trying to pull away from Pat to sink to the floor, his legs feeling like lead. "Oh my fucking god," he groaned. "I've got it in stereo!" he whimpered.
“Okay, okay,” Alexis jumped in, trying not to be amused by the chaos. “Does someone want to explain to me what is going on here? Who patient is would be a good start,” she added pointedly. She hailed down a passing nurse. “Can we have a wheelchair for this patient please?”
Pat shook his head insistently. "She didn't poison him, darling. He’s Dr Lachlan Campbell. Your newest ER addition. And he's going to be fine," he said, patting Lachlan's back. "Aren't you, buddy?"
Lachlan put his hand to his head and responded with another pained retch into the bag he'd been thankfully given.
Pat looked wryly at Dr Anderson. "That wasn't really the response I was after," he replied lightly.
Alexis patted Lachlan’s shoulder sympathetically and helped ease him into the wheelchair when the nurse returned with it. “Let’s get him to Bay Five, please. What exactly happened? Has the vomiting just started?” she prompted.
"Tara's cooking happened," Pat jumped in with a smirk.
Tara turned bright right and shot a glare at Pat. "Genuine suede sofa," she hissed through clenched teeth before turning back hesitantly to the doctor. "He got really sick not all that long after eating dinner last night. It’s been consistent ever since," she admitted.
“Any other symptoms? Known allergies? Has he taken anything?” Alexis continued.
Pat winced as Lachlan buried his face in the bag again. "He's only allergic to bee stings and bananas, that we know of," he started, watching as Tara knelt down beside Lachlan and gave his shoulder a soothing squeeze. "I don't think it was a bee that was biting him last night," he said mischievously. "He's been burning the candle at both ends, darling, so to speak. Crampy guts and we think he has a fever, but Tara couldn't find her thermometer."
Alexis pulled the curtain back from around Bay Five and indicated to the bed. “I’ll just get some admission forms to be filled out and we’ll be on our way. I think first stop is to get some IV fluids into him and we’ll take some path to check for anything else that might be causing the vomiting.” She lowered the bed so it would be easier for Lachlan to get onto it and squeezed his shoulder again. “We’ll get you feeling better soon, Doctor,” she promised.
Tara looked gratefully at the doctor. "Thanks so much, Dr Anderson. We really appreciate it. We also give you permission to tranquilize Pat if he says one word about leather interior, Levi jeans or suede sofas." She rubbed softly at Lachlan's back. "You okay, honey? I know it sucks being a patient, but you'll be fine."
Lachlan turned in the chair and tried to curl up in a ball with his head buried in his elbow. "Just kill me," he requested, his throat raw from throwing up.
"Tranquilize! I'm not a dog!" Pat complained, deeply put out.
"No, just a bitch," Lachlan offered weakly.
Pat pursed his lips. "I'll let you off for that comment because I'm scared you're going to puke on me again."
Lachlan just mutely gave him a brief thumbs up, head still buried in his elbow.
Alexis took a clean gown from the supply cupboard and placed it on the bed. “We need you to just strip down to your knickers and put this own so I can examine your belly. Hop up on the bed for me once you’ve changed. There’s a warm blanket here in case you feel cold. I’ll give you a few moments and be back with the forms to sign.” She gave them a small nod and left, pulling the curtain back around the bay for privacy.
Lachlan looked at the gown and then up between Pat and Tara, blinking tiredly. He sighed and started to lethargically peel his t-shirt off over his head - which was actually one of Tara's father's shirts she had insisted Lachlan put on when he perspired right through the form-fitting one he'd arrived in. He tossed it on the bed and held his hand out for the gown. "Can someone hand it to me, aye?" he asked weakly.
Tara probably would've reached for the gown simultaneously with Pat if she could drag her eyes away from Lachlan's bare chest, and the tattoo there. It looked to be a crest of some sort and up to this point, she had only seen the Celtic knot design around his bicep. She hadn’t anticipated for the mouth-watering hotness of him having other tattoos under the scrubs. She spotted a third tattoo lower down on his hip, just peeking over the top of his pants. Crossed Scottish flags, the Saltire and Lion Rampant. She had never felt so patriotic for another country in her life and she suddenly found the bay to be very hot. She quickly averted her eyes, turning red when she realised she was basically perving on Lachlan two steps from being in his sick bed, when the lad was clearly just feeling plain miserable.
Pat didn't miss the look on Tara's face or the obvious way she froze when Lachlan shed the shirt. He had to stifle making any comment, and instead of just handing Lachlan the gown, he helped him slip it over his arms and fastened it behind his back. This gave way for Lachlan to cover himself and ease out of his dress trousers from under the gown.
"Stand up, buddy. I'll help you into the bed," Pat ordered gently, holding his hand out for Lachlan.
The minute Pat helped him into a standing position, the nausea was back at its worst and Lachlan leaned over the bed, putting his head down on the mattress as he clutched his stomach. "I really think I might be dying," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.
Tara put her arm around his shoulders. "No, I'm not sick enough of you for that yet," she teased gently, rubbing the top of his arm. "I think you're just dehydrated, honey. Dr Anderson will have you all sorted before you know it."
Tara's hug was comforting, but not healing, he unfortunately realised when his stomach gave a particularly nasty churn. "I need to use the bathroom," he whimpered, looking around and wondering where the bathroom was that he needed urgently.
Pat pulled the curtain back and spotted the patient bathroom across the corridor as he plucked out a fresh sick bag from the supply cupboard and handed it to Lachlan. "Across there, darling," he said, pointing and handing Lachlan the bag to take with him. "Will you be right? Do you need me to come, bud?"
Lachlan shook his head and exited the bay as quickly as he could, gripping his stomach and wishing he could just curl up in a ball and die without the hassle of being dragged to hospital for treatment.
"I can see the way you look at him, darling," Pat said with a smile on his lips, leaning back and resting a hand on the narrow bed. "He's as sick as a dog and you still can't stop picturing him naked. You've got it baaaa-aaaad, honeybunch."
Tara pursed her lips, starting to pace anxiously. "I poisoned him," she muttered. "Don't make me seek out the circumcision cupboard, Pat. I'm not in the mood."
Pat immediately snapped his mouth shut and fell silent.
A short while later, Lachlan walked slowly and painfully back to the bay, hunched over. "Pat, help me lie down?" he asked meekly, leaning against the side of the bed and wiping his sweaty forehead on the back of his hand.
Pat helped Lachlan into bed slowly, not surprised when his best friend curled up into a ball onto his side. "You're a doctor, buddy. You've not got appendicitis or anything, have you?" he asked, starting to worry over the state Lachlan was in.
"No," Lachlan groaned. "I dinnae think so. The pain is cramping, not constant. It's not consistent with appendicitis. I'm going to need another bag," he warned, letting out a slow breath.
It was Tara's turn to supply him this time, tucking the bag into his hand taking his other hand to rub it, a fruitless attempt to give him some comfort. "At least you won't be at Pat's anaesthetising mercy," she murmured. "How are you feeling now?"
Lachlan didn’t have a chance to answer before Dr Anderson was back. She had a bag IV fluids in her hand, the tubes curled around her fingers. She placed a clipboard beside Lachlan on the bed. “I just need you to sign the admission for, Dr Campbell and I’ll get you started on the IV fluids. Are you okay with that as a first port of call? We’ll start them running and then take some bloods and urine to test.”
Lachlan looked at the bag in the doctor’s hand and nodded. "Aye, whatever you need to do," he agreed, awkwardly signing the sheet as requested. "Can I possibly get something to stop me throwing up?"
Alexis nodded and hung the bag on the IV pole. “I’ll give you a shot of Metclopramide in just a minute. Do you know of any allergies to drugs?” she asked.
Tara watched, biting her lip and watched Lachlan had settled back on the pillow, eyes already dropping tiredly as he shook his head. She waited just a few more moments and then politely slipped out of the bay so the doctor could do her job. The last thing Lachlan probably wanted was the audience of a stranger when he was being treated.
"Shit, buddy!" Pat hissed, bending with his friend and rubbing his back. Lachlan had already made quite an entrance to the ER, and a cleaner, somewhere, already had a job on their hands. No sense trying to fan out the effect.
Tara sighed helplessly, smoothing Lachlan's blond hair back as she looked up. "I'll get someone," she said, just as a familiar face rounded the corner and she couldn't help but laugh out a gasp of relief. "Dr Anderson!"
Dr Alexis Anderson was Senior Attending for the ER that shift and new colleagues Tara Brennan and Patrick Preston well. However, the poor lad they were trying to hold up between them was a new face. She suspected he was the new Scottish haematologist employed to the ER, but as yet she hadn’t shared a shift with him. She knew the newbie was Preston’s best friend, so she was merely trying to connect the dots. She drew some fresh latex gloves from the nearby dispenser and pulled them on, coming over quickly. “What have we got here?” she asked, glancing between Patrick and Tara before stooping to place her hand on the ailing man’s arm.
Tara looked worried, then helpless, then sheepish, and then her expression turned into utter mortification. "I poisoned him!" she wailed.
"No, you didn't, darling," Pat jumped in.
"Yes, I did, you big pain in my butt!" Tara snapped.
"You don't need to be cranky, precious! It's not my fault you didn't get laid!" Pat cried.
"It was the first time!" Tara hissed.
Lachlan moaned, trying to pull away from Pat to sink to the floor, his legs feeling like lead. "Oh my fucking god," he groaned. "I've got it in stereo!" he whimpered.
“Okay, okay,” Alexis jumped in, trying not to be amused by the chaos. “Does someone want to explain to me what is going on here? Who patient is would be a good start,” she added pointedly. She hailed down a passing nurse. “Can we have a wheelchair for this patient please?”
Pat shook his head insistently. "She didn't poison him, darling. He’s Dr Lachlan Campbell. Your newest ER addition. And he's going to be fine," he said, patting Lachlan's back. "Aren't you, buddy?"
Lachlan put his hand to his head and responded with another pained retch into the bag he'd been thankfully given.
Pat looked wryly at Dr Anderson. "That wasn't really the response I was after," he replied lightly.
Alexis patted Lachlan’s shoulder sympathetically and helped ease him into the wheelchair when the nurse returned with it. “Let’s get him to Bay Five, please. What exactly happened? Has the vomiting just started?” she prompted.
"Tara's cooking happened," Pat jumped in with a smirk.
Tara turned bright right and shot a glare at Pat. "Genuine suede sofa," she hissed through clenched teeth before turning back hesitantly to the doctor. "He got really sick not all that long after eating dinner last night. It’s been consistent ever since," she admitted.
“Any other symptoms? Known allergies? Has he taken anything?” Alexis continued.
Pat winced as Lachlan buried his face in the bag again. "He's only allergic to bee stings and bananas, that we know of," he started, watching as Tara knelt down beside Lachlan and gave his shoulder a soothing squeeze. "I don't think it was a bee that was biting him last night," he said mischievously. "He's been burning the candle at both ends, darling, so to speak. Crampy guts and we think he has a fever, but Tara couldn't find her thermometer."
Alexis pulled the curtain back from around Bay Five and indicated to the bed. “I’ll just get some admission forms to be filled out and we’ll be on our way. I think first stop is to get some IV fluids into him and we’ll take some path to check for anything else that might be causing the vomiting.” She lowered the bed so it would be easier for Lachlan to get onto it and squeezed his shoulder again. “We’ll get you feeling better soon, Doctor,” she promised.
Tara looked gratefully at the doctor. "Thanks so much, Dr Anderson. We really appreciate it. We also give you permission to tranquilize Pat if he says one word about leather interior, Levi jeans or suede sofas." She rubbed softly at Lachlan's back. "You okay, honey? I know it sucks being a patient, but you'll be fine."
Lachlan turned in the chair and tried to curl up in a ball with his head buried in his elbow. "Just kill me," he requested, his throat raw from throwing up.
"Tranquilize! I'm not a dog!" Pat complained, deeply put out.
"No, just a bitch," Lachlan offered weakly.
Pat pursed his lips. "I'll let you off for that comment because I'm scared you're going to puke on me again."
Lachlan just mutely gave him a brief thumbs up, head still buried in his elbow.
Alexis took a clean gown from the supply cupboard and placed it on the bed. “We need you to just strip down to your knickers and put this own so I can examine your belly. Hop up on the bed for me once you’ve changed. There’s a warm blanket here in case you feel cold. I’ll give you a few moments and be back with the forms to sign.” She gave them a small nod and left, pulling the curtain back around the bay for privacy.
Lachlan looked at the gown and then up between Pat and Tara, blinking tiredly. He sighed and started to lethargically peel his t-shirt off over his head - which was actually one of Tara's father's shirts she had insisted Lachlan put on when he perspired right through the form-fitting one he'd arrived in. He tossed it on the bed and held his hand out for the gown. "Can someone hand it to me, aye?" he asked weakly.
Tara probably would've reached for the gown simultaneously with Pat if she could drag her eyes away from Lachlan's bare chest, and the tattoo there. It looked to be a crest of some sort and up to this point, she had only seen the Celtic knot design around his bicep. She hadn’t anticipated for the mouth-watering hotness of him having other tattoos under the scrubs. She spotted a third tattoo lower down on his hip, just peeking over the top of his pants. Crossed Scottish flags, the Saltire and Lion Rampant. She had never felt so patriotic for another country in her life and she suddenly found the bay to be very hot. She quickly averted her eyes, turning red when she realised she was basically perving on Lachlan two steps from being in his sick bed, when the lad was clearly just feeling plain miserable.
Pat didn't miss the look on Tara's face or the obvious way she froze when Lachlan shed the shirt. He had to stifle making any comment, and instead of just handing Lachlan the gown, he helped him slip it over his arms and fastened it behind his back. This gave way for Lachlan to cover himself and ease out of his dress trousers from under the gown.
"Stand up, buddy. I'll help you into the bed," Pat ordered gently, holding his hand out for Lachlan.
The minute Pat helped him into a standing position, the nausea was back at its worst and Lachlan leaned over the bed, putting his head down on the mattress as he clutched his stomach. "I really think I might be dying," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.
Tara put her arm around his shoulders. "No, I'm not sick enough of you for that yet," she teased gently, rubbing the top of his arm. "I think you're just dehydrated, honey. Dr Anderson will have you all sorted before you know it."
Tara's hug was comforting, but not healing, he unfortunately realised when his stomach gave a particularly nasty churn. "I need to use the bathroom," he whimpered, looking around and wondering where the bathroom was that he needed urgently.
Pat pulled the curtain back and spotted the patient bathroom across the corridor as he plucked out a fresh sick bag from the supply cupboard and handed it to Lachlan. "Across there, darling," he said, pointing and handing Lachlan the bag to take with him. "Will you be right? Do you need me to come, bud?"
Lachlan shook his head and exited the bay as quickly as he could, gripping his stomach and wishing he could just curl up in a ball and die without the hassle of being dragged to hospital for treatment.
"I can see the way you look at him, darling," Pat said with a smile on his lips, leaning back and resting a hand on the narrow bed. "He's as sick as a dog and you still can't stop picturing him naked. You've got it baaaa-aaaad, honeybunch."
Tara pursed her lips, starting to pace anxiously. "I poisoned him," she muttered. "Don't make me seek out the circumcision cupboard, Pat. I'm not in the mood."
Pat immediately snapped his mouth shut and fell silent.
A short while later, Lachlan walked slowly and painfully back to the bay, hunched over. "Pat, help me lie down?" he asked meekly, leaning against the side of the bed and wiping his sweaty forehead on the back of his hand.
Pat helped Lachlan into bed slowly, not surprised when his best friend curled up into a ball onto his side. "You're a doctor, buddy. You've not got appendicitis or anything, have you?" he asked, starting to worry over the state Lachlan was in.
"No," Lachlan groaned. "I dinnae think so. The pain is cramping, not constant. It's not consistent with appendicitis. I'm going to need another bag," he warned, letting out a slow breath.
It was Tara's turn to supply him this time, tucking the bag into his hand taking his other hand to rub it, a fruitless attempt to give him some comfort. "At least you won't be at Pat's anaesthetising mercy," she murmured. "How are you feeling now?"
Lachlan didn’t have a chance to answer before Dr Anderson was back. She had a bag IV fluids in her hand, the tubes curled around her fingers. She placed a clipboard beside Lachlan on the bed. “I just need you to sign the admission for, Dr Campbell and I’ll get you started on the IV fluids. Are you okay with that as a first port of call? We’ll start them running and then take some bloods and urine to test.”
Lachlan looked at the bag in the doctor’s hand and nodded. "Aye, whatever you need to do," he agreed, awkwardly signing the sheet as requested. "Can I possibly get something to stop me throwing up?"
Alexis nodded and hung the bag on the IV pole. “I’ll give you a shot of Metclopramide in just a minute. Do you know of any allergies to drugs?” she asked.
Tara watched, biting her lip and watched Lachlan had settled back on the pillow, eyes already dropping tiredly as he shook his head. She waited just a few more moments and then politely slipped out of the bay so the doctor could do her job. The last thing Lachlan probably wanted was the audience of a stranger when he was being treated.