Chapter 6 Sloane
Sloane
WE LOSE HIM.
Sometimes, no matter how much blood, sweat, and tears you pour into someone, your best just isn’t good enough.
Gary Saunders, twenty-seven, bleeds out on the table, while Dr. Massey and I battle to save him.
His internal organs were minced, though, and sometimes that’s all there is to it.
I’ve learned to accept outcomes like this.
I feel no guilt. I’m a human being, capable of only so much.
People forget when they walk through these doors that they’re putting their trust in mere mortals.
I am not God. I’m not even close to a miracle worker.
Some days, there are people you can save, and those are the lucky days.
The good days that make it feel like the sun is shining that little bit brighter.
But then there are the shitty days, too. Days like today.
I’m in charge of telling Gary’s pregnant wife that he’s dead.
I get handed this job a lot. My colleagues think I have a skill for breaking terrible news, when really I’m just the same as any of them.
It still hurts like hell. The difference between me and them is that I can distance myself from the pain.
I’m an expert at distancing myself from pain.
If it were an Olympic sport, I’d be a gold medalist. I head to the family room and knock quietly at the door.
Inside, a brunette woman with a swollen belly twists in her seat, and my stomach bottoms out.
The chart I’m carrying crashes on the floor.
“Lex? Alexis?” I realize my mistake a split second after the name tumbles out of my mouth. It isn’t her.
This woman is older than Lex would be now. Her eyes are a different shade of brown—slightly lighter, bordering on hazel. She frowns at me. “Do I know you?”
“No, no. Sorry. For a moment I thought you were someone else.”
“That’s okay. I’m just glad to see another member of the human race.
I’ve been waiting here for hours. No one’ll tell me anything.
Can I go see Gary now? He’s going to be so mad if he has to miss work.
He’s never taken a sick day in his life.
” She’s rambling. The smile makes a lot of sense—she’s plastered it on to keep from crying alone in this strange room.
She can act as easy breezy as she wants, though. She knows. Or she at least suspects.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Saunders. Could I sit with you for a moment?” The charade crumbles. When she slumps back into her seat, she’s already entered the first stage of grief: denial.
“No. No, they said he was going to be fine. You’ve made a mistake. Please… can you go and make sure you’re supposed to be here?”
I’m the Grim Reaper. A physical representation of death.
My face is one they will forever associate with the worst news they are ever likely to receive.
“My name is Dr. Romera, Mrs. Saunders.” I close the door behind me, sealing us into the room.
“I’m one of the doctors who operated on your husband.
I’m afraid I am supposed to be here. I’m so sorry, but Gary didn’t make it. ”