Josh Lehman flung his arm aimlessly toward the nightstand. "It can't be time...it can't be," he groaned as he groped for the alarm clock, only to find that the annoying sound was not coming from the clock at all. He tried to ignore the clamor, but to no avail.
He finally reached the phone and removed the receiver. The sleep-shattering noise that rudely awakened him abruptly ceased, but the shouting voice from the dangling hand piece kept him from drifting back into his peaceful slumber.
"Josh...damn it, wake up!"
Again, he tried to ignore what he heard and replaced the receiver. Immediately, the ringing started again. He couldn't ignore it any longer and made up his mind ahead of time that he was going to be plenty pissed off at this intrusion.
He was sure it was Luke's voice that he heard before he hung up the phone.
He picked up the phone and screamed. "Luke, what in the hell do you want? It's three o'clock!"
"Josh, get your ass out of bed. I need you here...now!" said Luke.
"I'm sending an ambulance for you...should be there any minute."
"What the hell for?" he asked.
"We've got major chest trauma here...probably a ruptured pulmonary artery. I'm fighting every minute to keep him alive."
"Herrington has taken over surgery call," Josh said. "I just finished my last case less than two hours ago. Call Herrington!"
"He's here now, jerk!" Luke yelled. "He can't handle it. You know that."
"Look, man, I'm wiped out. I couldn't even shave myself safely."
"I don't give a crap about how tired you are," said Luke. "This guy is dying and you are the only one who can turn this around. The old man is on my ass to get something done."
"What old man?"
"Bradford, dammit!" Luke answered. "It's his son...it's Donnie. He crashed his new BMW convertible into a brick wall." Why did he have to ask? thought Luke.
"Let the son-of-a-bitch die," said Josh. "I'm going back to sleep."
"Josh, damn it," pleaded Luke, "do this for me. I know how you feel, but this is me begging."
There was a long pause. "Josh!" he yelled.
"I'm moving, Luke," he said, "but my heart is not in it."
"Thanks, Josh. Race to your front door and climb into the ambulance. Don't take time to dress. Go in your skivvies. They'll make a 'red light' run. As soon as you're in the ambulance, put on a scrub suit. When you hit the dock you'll be wheeled up here by chariot...straight to the operating room. Herrington will be scrubbed in to assist by the time you get here."
"You're going to owe me, Luke."
"We'll talk about it."
The wailing of the siren in the distance, the flashes of red light across the ceiling and walls of his bedroom, then the sound of the ambulance coming to a screeching halt in front of his condo shocked Josh into the reality that he had to move fast. His mind rapidly cleared—a ruptured pulmonary artery! What chance did he have of getting it repaired quickly enough to save Donnie's life? Not very great. He hit the deck, barefoot and wearing only shorts, and flew down the stairs, hardly touching every third or fourth step.
No sooner had he climbed into the back of the ambulance than the door slammed shut and they were in flight toward the hospital. He donned a scrub suit, operating room gown, and shoe covers—even though there were no shoes to cover. This will be a first, he thought, as a faint smile crossed his face, doing an operative procedure barefoot. Dr. Dubonet would have a good laugh if he knew.
The few minutes before they arrived at the Emergency Room entrance gave Josh time to organize his thoughts.