Pen name: Amymorgan
Derivative Fanfiction: Twilight
Disclaimer: All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognized plots, characters, etc. mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without their express written authorization.
The party at Mike Newton's house was raucous and loud. Four kegs had brought out all the UW froshies and sophomores from the frat and sorority houses. Mike's parents were on a buying trip in Minneapolis and Chicago, and their son took full advantage of their absence at the Seattle residence.
The full-beer bladders kept the downstairs bathroom busy. About midnight, a logjam line occurred, and Mike heard complaints about someone "must be having sex in there". He got the bathroom key out, and opened the door.
He was shocked to see a pretty coed lying still on her side, with what looked like vomit around her lips.
"Oh crap," he exclaimed and pulled out his cell phone. He knew he was in deep shit, but that girl was cool to the touch. He dialed 911.
"This is Michael Newton at 2216 Broadmoor. I need paramedics and an ambulance. A girl is unconscious in the bathroom, and she's puked. She's been drinking. Please hurry."
Firefighter paramedic Edward Masen and his trainee Ben Cheney arrived within four minutes. Masen had an uneasy feeling. This looked like alcohol poisoning, by the size of the party in progress. He hit his radio button: "Police backup requested for crowd control at Broadmoor address, please."
"Ben, bring the portable suction and the drug box." With twenty-two days' experience, and in awe of Masen, the trainee hurriedly complied. As they entered the narrow hall of the kitchen, the police arrived with lights and sirens. Fifty kids ran out the back door and sliding patio door in a hurry.
The young woman in the bathroom had fresh vomit on her lips. She was pretty, brunette, about 5'4", maybe 105 pounds. Ben had set up the portable suction, and Masen inserted the tubing into her throat and twisted it. He got about 15 cc return. He listened to her lungs quickly; she was lucky, no aspiration into the lungs. Good thing she had been on her side and not her back, he thought.
While Ben applied the oxygen at 10 liters per minute by nasal cannula, Edward took her vitals: BP 83/46, resps 10, pulse 46. He did a quick fingerstick blood glucose with the shocking result 32: extreme hypoglycemia. He tapped her left antecubital vein quickly with a saline lock, withdrew a red top vacutainer tube for EtOH analysis, and quickly pushed 50 cc of glucagon and 100 mg of thiamine. The thiamine was on board just in case she was a young alcoholic, to prevent neurological side effects. He hung a 500cc bag of D5NS. He affixed an arm board on her left arm, keeping the elbow immobile.
The police had cleared the house and the shift supervisor Sergeant Allen had brought in the gurney.
They loaded the young woman and had her in the Mobile ICU in seconds. Ben was driving to Seattle General while Edward monitored the autocuff vitals. He slipped the vacutainer sample into the blood analyzer and hit ethyl alcohol. A minute later, .08 flashed. Legally drunk was .04, and so she was drunk enough for TWO people, and weighed half as much as a typical male.
He looked in her jeans pocket, and found her driver's license. She had just turned nineteen. Isabella Marie Swan. Edward Masen blinked hard. She'd been a junior at Forks High when he was a senior. They'd worked on the yearbook together.
Damn. Bad night for a reunion, he thought as he continued monitoring her vitals. He rechecked her blood sugar and it was 94. Within normal limits. But how long was she out? Was there brain damage?
Edward stroked her brown hair. "Hang in there, Bella. You're not out of the woods yet."