The stretcher with a girl on it was wheeled into a room almost directly inside the trauma center. A nurse with a cropped haircut moved to help the emergency responders as they lined the stretcher up with the bed. Trailing them, Eleanor O'Hara buttoned up her white coat so she didn't get any blood on her expensive clothes underneath. Her heels clicked impressively on the tile floor as she made her way into the room and beside the bed.
"On my count," she declared, her British accent making her words seem more regal than they really were. She reached across the bed to aid in the transfer and counted: "One, two, three." The team fluidly pulled the girl from the gurney onto the bed, and quickly, Eleanor began to work. "Does she have a name?" she asked, examining her as the nurse buzzed around, setting up IV fluids.
"ID says… Julia Waynes," one of the EMTs replied.
"Julia?" O'Hara asked, taking inventory of what she was working with. "Julia, can you hear me? I'm Dr. O'Hara. You're here at All Saints Hospital. We're going to help you. I just need you to keep breathing for me, alright?" She began to give orders to the nurses. "I want an MRI and a CT scan immediately, and can someone call up to Dr. Harlow in cardiology? I'm not sure how much blood she's lost." With her orders done and her nurses working, O'Hara used her stethoscope to listen to her heartbeat. "You're going to be okay, Julia" she told the girl firmly.