2. You Lose Some…
Chapter two
You Lose Some…
Drake
“What are his vitals?!” I yell over the noise of beeping machines and other EMTs calling out numbers at each other.
“BP is 95 over 38!”
“Someone give him a shot of adrenaline please!”
I used to fall in love with the chaos of working as a critical care doctor.
You never know what you’re going to get on any given day, which keeps me on my toes and my brain active.
The thrill of adapting to new situations and ensuring that my patients come out of life-threatening experiences is a badge of pride I like to parade around on any given day.
But as of late, it’s been starting to wear on me.
After almost five years of seeing the very worst things that can happen to the human body, my very existence has been tainted by all that blood, gore, and viscera.
My life has become nothing but macabre, from when I wake up to after I go to sleep at night.
The imagery has started to plague my dreams as of late, leaving me feeling restless and ill-tempered every morning.
I would never share this with the others, though; my work is too important to walk away from it.
You could say I’m something of a perfectionist: if I’m not the one doing the work, then something is going to go wrong and I’ll have no one to blame but myself.
Most of the staff thinks I’m just a workaholic, but I don’t think they understand the ramifications if I don’t oversee the work myself.
“Do we have a John Doe here or do we have a name for this patient?”
One of the nurses is already cutting the clothes off the silver-haired man. His face is already swollen and bruised—slightly unrecognizable—likely from colliding with the deployed airbag. The rest of his body, however...
“Benjamin Gardner,” someone replies.
His legs are twisted the wrong way, a nurse has a large gauze pad pressed to his chest that is quickly soaked through with blood, and one of his shoulders is dislocated.
When the gauze is taken away, I can see a broken rib just poking through. Blood is bubbling up around it.
Goddammit. Punctured lung.
“Intubation!”
The gurney is wheeled past all of the urgent care cots to the back of the hallway, where the more intensive procedures are performed. Surgeries, stitching bleeding wounds shut, removing objects from places where they shouldn’t be, you name it.
“Someone get Doctor Matthews down here. Thoracic surgery, punctured lung, broken rib!”
A nurse not involved with the patient’s care dashes out of the room to make the call. Thankfully, Matthews is just upstairs in his office, so it shouldn’t take him long to get down here. But honestly, I don’t know how hopeful I can be…
An hour later...
I press my face into my hands as I watch the nurses wheel the gurney away to take to the morgue, a thick white sheet covering the man’s body. Another failure, another life lost.
Why do I keep doing this?
What I do know is that I can’t be here right now. I need to be anywhere else before I throw up on my shoes.
Something plastic collides with the side of my head. I look up and see a nurse handing me a bottle of water, an empathetic stare on her face.
“You were looking a little pale. Go give yourself a few minutes.”
My gaze shifts from the bottle to her face and back again as if I have no idea what to do with the thing. The nurse rolls her eyes and undoes the cap before handing it to me again.
“Drink. Then get out of this hallway before I throw you out myself.”
There’s something about the attitude of a nurse that inspires a healthy dose of fear and respect.
Maybe it’s because they have to deal with difficult people all day and know how to get the wheels turning.
Either way, I’m thankful for the stern tone.
I take a swig of the water and crawl my way up the wall until I’m on my feet.
The excitement has died down somewhat, though I can still see new patients being brought in every other minute.
The nurse punches my shoulder.
“What did I say?”
“Right. Right.” I hold out my hand and she places the bottlecap in the center of my palm. Without another word, I book it out of there before she gives me another glare that will melt my shoes off my feet.
Maybe a breath of fresh air will do me some good.
“Fancy seeing you here...”
Edward Gutierrez. One of my long-standing friends since medical school. It’s a miracle that we got hired to work at the same hospital, especially given our differing areas of expertise.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take a break during your shift,” he jests as he claps me on the shoulder. I try my best to put on a fake smile, but from his reaction, he’s definitely not buying it.
“Okay, you looked like someone skinned your dog. What’s the problem?”
I run a hand through my hair as I let him lead me out of the building and into the parking lot.
“Car accident victim. A man in his fifties, a broken rib, punctured lung. I did everything I could, I even got Matthews involved to see if...”
“Drake, stop.” Edward grabs me by the shoulders and forces me to look at him. His eyes are cold and serious, the fading sunlight reflecting brightly off his bald dome. I squint against the glare of it.
“You did everything you could have done, and then some. You should know by now you can’t save everyone, no matter how hard you try. No matter how many hours you stay here past your shift. Some things are just—”
“Don’t you think I know that?!” I yell in his face, the pent-up emotions finally flowing out. Once the dam bursts, it’s impossible to stop the flow.
“I had to look at that man’s face and convince both of us that everything was going to be okay. But it was all a lie, Ed. All I ever do is lie anymore.” I shove his hands off me but he steps in my way to stop me from leaving.
“Get out of my way, Ed,” I growl between my teeth. I know that he’s just doing what he thinks is best, but for the moment, I don’t want to be around anyone right now.
“Just listen to me, Drake. For two seconds of your life. Am I really asking too much?”
My bitterness says yes; my reason tells me I should at least give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Close your eyes and think about everything that you did in that emergency room. Every procedure and recommendation that you made.”
“Okay...?”
“Now you tell me, if anyone else was standing in your shoes, would they have made different calls? Would they have wasted their time with other options that wouldn’t work?”
My mind pores over the details, examining the other branches my choices could have gone in. All of them came to a dead end.
When I open my eyes, he sees it on my face. There was nothing else I could have done.
“You did everything you could. So stop beating yourself up over something out of your control.” His gaze softens and he takes a step back to give me some air.
He’s right and I know it. But that doesn’t make the sting of the loss any worse.
“So instead of fixating on the things you can’t change, how about we look at the things we can? You need to contact his next of kin, consider what you’re going to tell them, all of that other stuff. See if he has a donor card. What did you say his name was?”
I hadn’t. My mind has been treating him like another John Doe since his passing, forgetting that he was once a living person with a name and a life that he can no longer have.
“Benjamin Gardner, I think his name was.”
Ed’s face turns sheet-white.
“Did you know the guy?” I ask, afraid that I shared something I wasn’t supposed to.
“No... no, I was just... A woman delivered twins today, she had some friends with her. One of them was talking to someone on the phone named Ben...”
“You don’t think...” I shake my head. “It has just to be a coincidence.”
Right?
“I... I don’t know, my gut is telling me bad things.”
Ed’s gut is usually never wrong, but I don’t know if I want to trust it in this situation.
“That could be indigestion.”
“I’m not kidding, Drake.”
Neither am I, but why not make light of a terrible situation?
“I think you should go talk to her. She should be waiting at the front of the hospital. At least, that’s what I heard her say over the phone.”
“So, what? I stroll up to her and ask if she’s waiting for a dead guy?”
“No, numb nuts. You ask her if she’s waiting for someone called Benjamin Gardner and see how she reacts. You’re overthinking it.”
He makes it sound so simple. Maybe it is.
“Where did you say she’ll be?”
“At the front of the maternity ward, I’m sure. Short woman, black hair. Looks like she used to be a ballet dancer.”
That’s the vaguest description I’ve ever heard, but it’s something to go off.
Ed and I arrange for a dinner later this evening to help smooth things over before I depart and head toward the maternity ward.
I keep repeating the words in my head, trying to get them to sound right so that I don’t fumble.
But what do I say after that? What if she does know the guy? What do I do then? I don’t remember seeing any woman named Maria listed as his next of kin, but I could also be forgetting a lot of details due to the emergency situation.
I stop in my tracks when I get closer to the maternity ward and see a woman standing there, a pout on her face as she stares down at her phone. She’s tapping her foot impatiently; she’s waiting for someone.
Goddammit.
I close my eyes, take a breath, and pace myself. Rushing up to her isn’t going to make things any better.
Ed was right about one thing, though. She does look like she used to be a ballerina. Her slender figure barely fills the flowy summery dress she’s wearing. Her slightly olive skin radiates in the setting sun and catches on every strand of her dark hair.
I’m about to make this woman’s day the worst in her life, I tell myself as I saunter up to her, trying to keep my cool as much as possible.
The closer I get, the more I can see how upset she is. And that makes me feel even more guilty for what I’m about to do.
“Excuse me...”
She wheels around, surprised, and the annoyance is quickly wiped from her expression. She shoves her phone into her bag and pretends as if nothing is wrong.
“Yes?”
Her eyes roam over me; she sees that I’m a doctor. Probably confused about what I’m doing here talking to her.
“Can we speak inside, please?”
“Is something wrong? I was told I could wait out here until the nurses were done inside...” The surprise quickly turns to fear that she’s done something wrong.
I can feel my stomach churning.
“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I... I just need to ask you something inside, if you don’t mind.” I gesture to the door, hoping she’ll follow my lead.
She nods, still confused, and thankfully leads the way. Once inside, I take over and take us into a small, private room just off the front waiting room, closing the door behind me.
“There’s no easy way to ask this, but were you waiting for a man named Benjamin Gardner?”
The recognition on her face breaks my heart. Shit.
“He’s... late. He should have been here over an hour ago. I tried calling his phone, but he won’t answer... How do you know Ben?”
“I think you need to sit, ma’am.”
The screams and howls that fill the private room are more than I can bear. I stand to one side of the door, watching this woman fall apart at the seams from what I’ve just told her. I still don’t even know what relation he is to her, but he was obviously someone she cared about deeply.
Ten minutes go by before I put aside the role of doctor and remind myself I’m a human being.
I take the seat next to her and put an arm around her shoulder, offering her the comfort she needs right now while she’s alone.
She doesn’t hesitate to rest her head on my shoulder and silently sob into the fabric of my white coat.
God knows it’s seen much worse than just tears.
“We have counseling in the hospital if you need to talk to someone,” I offer quietly. I would be content to just sit here for as long as she needs to get it all out, but I can’t serve the role she’d need after I have to leave. The best I can do is steer her in the right direction.
“No. I— I think I’d just like to sit here for a while. Would you mind staying with me?”
I take a quick glance at my watch and grimace.
“I’m sorry, I have to... There are patients I... I can have someone come in here and check on you.”
I leave before she can say anything else. I can’t explain the sudden sensation that washes over me. Guilt mixed with curiosity? I don’t even know why I offered to keep her company in the first place. It’s not my job, and she probably has friends here who would do a better job than I would.
Why do you keep doing this to yourself?