Date: Wed, 24 Jan 2024 05:05:22 +0000 From: Jonah Subject: Harrovian Life chapter 2 Harrovian Life by Jonah It is a few years now since Nifty carried the story "A letter from America". A good few stories have succeded it and the action has moved about a bit too. In this one it is firmly back with Jonah in Harrow, but some twenty years later. Simon, Peter and Luke have grown up and in some cases have children of their own. This story comes immediately after "Whiteout". It is a work of fiction in every sense so, if you think you recognise yourself, or somebody else, in here - you don't. At least one of the characters was originally the creation of another author. I'd like to thank Jacob Lion, in the USA, for permission to use his characters. The story is about love - the real sort - so if you're looking for pornography, you'd best look elsewhere. Nifty doesn't charge either you or I to publish these stories, but it does cost money to publish them. Please consider donating to Nifty at https://donate.nifty.org/ so that he can keep these stories coming. chapter 2 "Call an ambulance, quickly," I told him as I siezed the roll of kitchen tissue and pressed it to the boy's wrist without even pausing to remove the cardboard core. I pressed it there with one knee whilst removing my shirt. It was the work of a moment to begin tearing that up since a convenient carving knife had been left on the floor. I reached onto the counter for the bread bin and pulled that to the floor. Holding the kitchen roll in position I lifted his wrist onto the bread bin. That would at least keep it higher than his heart. Not that his heart seemed to have any difficulty pumping the blood up there. With a strip of cloth I lashed the kitchen roll in place then wound another strip around his upper arm. I tied that off, slipped a pad underneath it then used a kitchen fork to tighten the strip. You shouldn't apply a tournique unless you've been trained to, but my St John's training was still in date. Peter was back in a few moments. "There's one on its way," he said. "Good. I've slowed the bleeding, but he's already lost a lot of blood. I guess you're going for a ride in an ambulance." I lifted the boy's arm and wound more cloth into the bandage. "From the looks of it you can't have too much bandage," I observed. "It's a lot of blood," said Peter. "Yes, and its bright colour tells me that its an arterial bleed, even if the pumping action of the bleed didn't. He's sliced his Ulnar Artery. That's led to a lot of blood loss in a short time." I eased the tournique slightly but then tightened it up again. Not for the first time I reflected that, in an emergency, you can end up doing things for the sake of doing them. That's probably because time seems to pass too slowly, as it was doing at that moment. Minutes passed before the familiar sirens told us that help was getting closer. It couldn't come too quickly. The doorbell rang and Peter, as the one with his hands free, answered it. I expected an ambulance crew but it was a police sergeant. "Sergeant Roberts," said Peter in apparent surprise. "We need that ambulance quickly Jason," I told him. I'd known Jason Roberts since he was a young constable. "It followed me from the railway station," he told me. "I was about to send a squad car but, when I saw the address, I decided to come myself. Leave the door open Peter. It'll save them knocking." "It's alright Jason. We're here," said the paramedic, pushing past him. He looked down at the barely conscious boy. "Can you get us the chair Helen?" he called to his partner on the stairs. "Has that tournique slowed it down enough that I can change that paper for a proper pad?" "I should think so, if you're quick. Do you want me to keep his hand elevated?" "Yes please," he said tearing open a plastic package. "Are you running on blues and twos to Northwick Park?" asked Jason. The term "blues and twos" referred to an old fashioned sort of siren, but they knew what he meant. "Yes mate," said the ambulance man. "I'll get you a couple of outriders," said Jason. "They'll meet you at this end of Church Street." Helen was there with the chair stretcher. "Is he ready to be moved, Pat?" she asked. Pat looked up at me. "He is if you can keep his arm elevated while we do the lift," he told me. I nodded. "Is one of you coming with him?" "His father had better," I said. He looked up at Peter for a second only. "No sir." he said. "You had better. His father would get picked up by the police in bloodsoaked clothing like that. Besides, he looks like he could do with a good stiff drink." I nodded. "Peter," I said. "Get changed then go and see Joe. Tell him what has happened and then stay there. I'll tell you when it's alright to come back here." I was sure that our friend Joe Davis would look after Peter. It was awkward maneouvering on the stairs because I had to stay alongside the chair, holding Adam's hand in the air. Once in the ambulance they had a loop on the vehicle wall to secure it to. Helen slid into the driver's seat while Pat climbed into the back with me and, sitting in the rearward facing front seat, pulled out a laptop. "Right sir," he said. "I need his name and date of birth." I gave all the details he needed so that he could pull up Adam's medical records. He then opened the instrument's microphone. "Yes Echo one to November Papa six please. " The laptop crackled. Pat continued, "November Papa six. ETA five, casualty Adam Khan, Nine years, Kilo Yankee oner, fiver, four, sixer, oner, niner. Arterial bleed, right Ulnar Artery, presume self inflicted. checked with pressure, elevation and tournique, bleed still extant. Blood Oscar positive, oscar positive." Pat had put on headphones so I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation. I could certainly hear the vehicle's siren as we sped through the traffic. the other two sirens from our motor-cycle outriders were noticeable too. We drove straight in to the ambulance entrance at Northwick Park and the rear doors were opened from outside the moment we came to a stand. A hospital porter and a doctor climbed in and maneouvred Adam out of the vehicle before Pat could move, the doctor elevating the boy's arm. "Go with them sir," said Pat. "You'll know where they've taken him then." We traversed a number of corridors and came to rest in a small treatment room off of a circulating area. A couple of medical types were already gathered. "Can you take a seat over there Sir?" said the doctor who had accompanied us. "We'll take over now." I sat down as bidden. After a while collecting my wits I stood up again and went in search of a payphone. It only took a few seconds to get connected. "Simon Ito," said my eldest son." "Hallo Simon, it's me," I said quietly. Simon said nothing for a second or two so I continued, "I'm at Northwick Park Hospital. While I was talking to you earlier, Adam took a carving knife to his wrist." Simon was making a valiant effort to sound calm. "How is he?" he said quietly. "Lost a lot of blood. He's in theatre now. They're trying to repair the ulnar artery, and stop the bleeding. I don't think they're going to achieve that in the next few minutes." "No," he breathed quietly. "Where's Peter?" "I sent him round to Joe's and told him to stay there," I replied. "You know those prayers you mentioned earlier?" "You've still got 'em," he said. "I think we need them," I almost sobbed. "Hang in there Jonah," said Simon. "We need you to do that. Is somebody going to stay with Adam when he regains consciousness? We don't want him finishing the job off." "God! I hadn't thought of that," I said. "I'll find out." "OK Jonah, Just hang in there." I returned to my seat and, I think, started to doze off. The last hour or so had taken a lot out of me. I was startled by a person sitting down heavily on the seat next to mine. I recognised the doctor who had taken charge of Adam, despite the fact that he hadn't removed his mask. "Well I hope he never tries that again," he said, probably to me. "Is he OK?" "Oh good God no. You can't lose that amount of blood and be OK. He's got a right wrist that'll hurt like hell, and he'll be very weak and probably feel nauseous. None of that is OK. Then there are the words the ambulance man said to me on the phone as he was bringing Adam in; "presumed self-inflicted". You're not OK if you are doing that to yourself. Have we any idea why he'd do that?" "No. We'd only just found out something was wrong and he didn't give us time to find out what." "Well we're keeping him here for tonight at least, and most likely for a few days. In view of what you've just told me, I want somebody from the mental health wing with him 24/7 until we can get the duty psychiatrist to check him out. We're moving him up to a post-op ward now and I want you to go up with him. He won't come round yet but it's best that he knows you were here and you'll know where to find him. Once we've settled him in, I want you off the premises and preferably at home in bed. Hospital waiting rooms are not good places to sleep and we're going to need you awake tomorrow. "perhaps his father will..." "Pat said it's best if you're there for him, and perhaps his father later. In my experience, Pat usually knows about these things. Now, unless you've got anything more pressing, I'd like to see you on the ward at about eleven in the morning" "What time is it now?" "Quarter to midnight. Too late to get a taxi." "Oh dear. I'm not sure..." "Pat and Helen have brought in three more patients for us since they brought Adam in," he said. "Every time they come in, they ask after Adam. Come back down here after we've got Adam settled then, if you go right at the end of this corridor and head for reception, I wouldn't be surprised if you found them hanging around there. They'll want to know that he's on the mend and I'm sure they'll give you a lift back."