Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
And unfortunately for us that shit is currently coming down with a vengeance.
Like Hell has actual scheduled plans to fucking freeze over.
“Pretty sure he’s got two that are cracked,” Garcia describes as Kid angles his face at the phone and I slip her ring back in my pocket, “maybe one and a half, but my bigger concern at the moment is if it punctured a lung. I know that’s the difference between pop and stop or stop and go.”
My head cocks to one side in tandem with me leaving my hand resting on Kid’s back. “Pop and stop?”
“Pop pain killers and stop regular activity,” Demián educates, “versus stop all activities and go to the ER.”
“Which,” Garcia forcefully interjects, “is fucking far and the roads are currently an injury lawyers wet dream, hence, why I’m trying to get a prelim examine done here.”
“And one that’s also off the books?” his father good naturedly goads.
“For legal reasons, I am not going to confirm that information.”
Demián lightly laughs and shakes his head. “I assume you do not have the stethoscope I got you as well as insisted you keep in your emergency vehicle medical bag?”
“Sí.”
“Apuesto a que desearías haberlo hecho.”
“Dad,” gripes his son out of frustration, “time is a bit of a fucking factor.”
He lifts a hand in surrender prior to stating, “You need to make one. Do you have a plastic funnel?”
“Of course,” leaves me. “What else?”
“Paper towel roll and duct tape and Woods needs to remove his shirt.”
“Naked Arts and Crafts time, Kid,” I playfully poke during my exiting. “Your favorite.”
Grumbles of unhappiness precede me promptly grabbing everything indicated.
Thankfully, getting the contraption taped together isn’t difficult; however, not laughing while Garcia arranges the questionable device on top of my fiancé’s bare chest definitely is.
At least until I see the deep bruises from where he was beat with a wrench.
How one spot looks to be protruding slightly more than the others.
I’ll kill ‘em.
I’ll kill ‘em all.
“Find his heart,” Demián calmly instructs, “once you confirm you can hear it beating and how fast it’s beating, that’ll verify your little elementary school STEM project is working and that we can move on.”
Minimal movement of the clunky object as well as his ear against it is followed by a thumbs up.
“Find the lungs. You’re gonna listen to two full respiratory cycles at the auscultation sites.”
“Huh?”
“The ribs spots on each side of his sternum,” his dad sighs in irritation. “Just start at the top of the lung on one side and then go lower. Then switch to the other side. We’re gonna do two rounds of this shit since you’re using DIY disparates.”
I relocate my hand to give the back of Kid’s neck another small soothing rub with my thumb. “And what’s he listenin’ for?”
“Anything abnormal. Wheezing. Crackling. Gurgling. All these indicate you need to hang up this phone and get him to a hospital.”
We nod our understanding.
“Woods,” calls out the doctor, “I’m going to need you to do something you’re gonna hate me for.”
“What’s that?”
“Take in a really fucking gran aliento.” He demonstrates the level of breath he wants to see. “Repeatedly.”
“Fuckkkk,” grumbles the injured male. “Okay. When?”
“Now.”
Kid sucks it in, entire body straining against the evident pain, but he doesn’t complain.
Or speak.
Or flinch.
Or quit.
He simply lets my other best friend move the device around and examine the territory for what I am praying like hell isn’t there.
Because he can’t go to the hospital.
Not right now.
No.
Right now, I need his ass where I can see him.
Where I can protect him.
Where I don’t have to wonder if this doctor or that doctor has been bought off or tampered with.
Or if this nurse or that nurse is secretly gonna pump him full of drugs to finish the job the mercs didn’t.
Rather than announce his findings on the more damaged side, Garcia merely moves to the opposite.
Cycles through the exploration.
Shuts his eyes and truly focuses on the task at hand.
When he’s finished – what feels like four heart failures later – he warmly nods his head. “All clear.”
“No sounds?”
“Everything seemed soft. Real low pitched. Oddly calming.”
“Was that…like…a…compliment?” the man I’m glad he saved confusedly questions. “Like a Pinto make compliment?”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Garcia snaps back in sync with lowering the device.
“Notable but sad,” I translate.
Demián doesn’t leave time for the conversation to veer further off course. “Likely nothing was punctured, which is good; however, I do suggest continuing to steadily monitor the situation for at least the next twelve hours, every hour, to ensure there is no progression. If he starts getting a fever, coughing, or struggles to breathe, get him to a hospital. Understood?”
“Sí.”
“As for those broken ribs? Do not wrap them. Simply pop some anti-inflammatory, get some ice on it – use a towel for a soft barrier – do some deep breathing, and rest. No strenuous activity. No heavy lifting. No running or other quick movements. They’re gonna have to heal on their own and that’s what’s necessary for that to happen.”