Bette didn’t notice the wobble in the right front wheel until they’d maneuvered Shane into the wheelchair and were taking turns pushing her through the automatic doors that hissed as they opened and shut. They pushed her up to the desk and waited until they could get someone’s attention. Through the swinging doors to the ER proper, Bette could hear orders flying back and forth.

“Get a type and cross match stat!”

“Saline bag’s almost empty. Get a new one.”

“Call x-ray, get a mobile unit down here.”

“Jeez, she’s a mess!”

The triage nurse finally turned to Bette. “May I help you?”

“Yes,” Bette said gratefully, noticing the nurse’s badge. Carla Jacobs. “Thank you, Ms. Jacobs. Our friend … she needs….”

Carla stood and looked down over the counter at Shane, slumped in the wheelchair, face an unreadable blank. There were no signs of trauma that she could see.

“What happened to her? Did someone….”

“She got upset,” Marina offered.

The triage nurse raised one eyebrow and looked at her.

“Her girlfriend…she left her and …well, she took it pretty hard.”

“I should say SO!” the nurse shook her head. “No fight? I mean, her girlfriend didn’t hit her?”

Bette shook her head.

“What about drugs?”

Bette and Marina looked at each other. “I don’t think she’s taken anything lately,” she answered after a long delay.

“Look, we just got a trauma case in here and we’re finishing a couple of other admissions. We’ll get your friend back for a look-see as soon as we can. Meantime, wheel her into the little room to your right, and I’ll start the basics.”

The nurse was quick and deft as she checked Shane’s eyes…pupils were equal and reactive, no sign of head trauma. She took her temperature, which was a degree low, and blood pressure, which was within normal limits. She noted that when she lifted Shane’s arm to put on the blood pressure cuff, it dropped back limply to the arm of the chair. Hopefully that was a good sign. Catatonics would often hold a limb in whatever position you put it in, sometimes for hours.