8. Miley
W hen I offered to bag the intubated patient for Rohit, I knew that I’d likely have to stay well beyond the end of my shift. That’s medicine, though. You don’t always get out on time, and patient care always comes first. Rohit couldn’t be in two places at once, so I was happy to pitch in, even if it meant staying a little later.
Now, finally dragging my feet from the hospital to the residency housing, I’m utterly exhausted. The summer heat is still stifling at this time of night, but the short walk allows me time to process the events of the day. A difficult intubation is always distressing, but it’s especially harrowing if the person is so young.
For a moment there, my heart stopped. The patient was already paralyzed and I couldn’t see his airway; couldn’t get the tube in. Not having clear visuals—and him not being able to breathe on his own—meant a delay in allowing me to help him get the air he needed. I never want to lose a patient, especially not because I couldn’t do my job, even if the circumstances were out of my control. That’s not something I ever want to fuck around with.
Cars honking all around me shake me from being lost in my own thoughts as I wait at the crosswalk. I can hear an ambulance in the distance, probably en route to our emergency room. Finally, the walk sign appears and I cross the street.
I step into the lobby and turn into the mailroom that houses all our mailboxes. The small room is empty except for a discarded flier on the ground advertising a yoga class.
I dig my hand inside my tote bag to find my key, but I’m not sure why I bother. I haven’t done any online shopping recently, so I don’t expect anything of significance in my mailbox. I generally just take all the junk mail out and throw it directly into the trash.
Opening the mailbox, I’m pleasantly surprised. A large envelope, embossed with my name, Dr. Miley Chen, is waiting for me. I trace my fingers over the fancy script and smile, knowing exactly what’s inside. I rip open the envelope to read the invitation.