Alfie

I don't remember what I said in response.

It's not my job to care, and not about that.

The girl's eyes were half open, her hands were clammy, loosely clutched over her chest, sat in dress torn to allow for heart monitors.

Her blood pressure was through the floor.

Her oxygen levels were no better.

Beneath the pad of gauze, her wound was jagged and strange, but despite its depth, it was no longer bleeding.

The ragged flesh looked grey and almost dry.

I didn't have time to think beyond assessing that this wouldn't be the thing that killed her right away.

With trauma, it's about priorities, and right then what we needed to do was whatever we could to get as much fluid into her system as possible.

She came in pre-hooked up to IV fluids.

Ambulance Terry's work was nimble and efficient as always.

The girl's breath was becoming heavy and slow.

That's normal when your blood pressure is low, but it's not a good sign.

When you first start losing blood, your heart beats faster and your breath speeds up.

There's less blood in the system, so your body is working extra hard to make sure that what is left is being used as best it can be.

When things start to slow down like that, it means your body's running out of steam.

It was very clear the girl on the gurney was almost entirely steamless by that point.

She was in shock.

What I remember really distinctly was she looked at me with those half-shut eyes and she tried to say something, but I don't know what it was.

I couldn't hear her, so I just smiled and said something generic, like, we're going to look after you, like I would to anyone.