“Ah, what a day. Behind curtain one, there’s a child biting everyone that comes in, a man who thinks he’s Napoleon behind curtain two, a drunk sleeping it off behind curtain three and a train wreck that is sure to pass on in trauma.” Marge Littman, the senior nurse in ER, narrated as she walked me through the beginning of rotation for the evening. There was always something happening, and none of it was good. There were a few sunspots in the mix, but it usually didn’t last long. I had no sympathy for the alcoholics or the overdoses. Seeing more than my fill at home was enough education in that part of the medical field. I intended to continue through pre-med and go on to medical school. At least that is what I had planned before I found I was pregnant. Six weeks, six whole weeks and I already could see a protrusion in my stomach. I guess it could be my imagination, but my clothes said differently. They were starting to get tight and morning sickness was starting to become all day. It was hard to believe I was just a little over a month and I was already experiencing these types of symptoms. Somehow I had to get through this shift. It wouldn’t be easy with others puking and retching around me. Odors were another problem. There some I hadn’t experienced, and I knew it was coming.
“This is where we will be tonight,” Marge directed as she walked down the long white hall. It was void of anything colorful. White walls, floor and little to no décor. Yep, it was a thing of beauty. Clinical and cold. Our first patient for the evening is in room one. A young woman, and I use that loosely. She complains of abdominal pain. Julia is sixteen and claims she and her boyfriend were trying out some sex toys and it’s possible she could be pregnant.” When we entered the room, I could understand why Marge was put out. For her to be so young, she looked like she was in her late fifties. Her expression was hard and sharp. She sat with her gown half tied with one shoulder showing off her tiny frame, and her hair pulled up into a messy, dirty bun. One leg up in the stirrup as she sat and the other on the step of the exam table, her hands draped between her legs as she looked down at her cellphone. Not very lady-like, but I don’t think she cared much.
“Julia,” Marge greeted as I followed behind. “I see here that you wish to have a pregnancy test, can you tell me when your last cycle was?” The young woman looked at her like she had two heads. “She pulled an earphone from her ear and gave a look of who cares and began, “Gee, I don’t know, maybe a month, maybe two. I don’t keep track of that sort of thing.”
“It’s important Julia for you to watch your body. Pay attention to what’s happening so we can care for you properly.”
Julia dropped her leg from the stirrup and nonchalantly revered Marge. “If I am, it’s not like I’m going to keep it.” She rolled her eyes and jutted her chin. “I’ll go to the home down from the house and have it gotten rid of?”
Marge, not sure of what she was meaning asked her for clarification. “You mean you’ll get an abortion?”
“No. I have an Uncle who takes care of these sorts of things.”
“What he may be doing is illegal and can be dangerous.”
As they continued to discuss her treatment, my mind went to my situation. Is that something I would do? Would I go as far to abort my child? Lord knew Theo wanted nothing to do with it. He wanted nothing to do with me.
Hours passed and the night drug on as one patient after another made their way to the Emergency Room, simple things to catastrophic. I sat in the small break room with my feet up in the chair next to me sipping on my third cup of coffee. I would pay for it later. Either it would be heartburn or the inability to sleep. Sleep wasn’t something I got much of anyway so I guess it didn’t matter.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. In the moments I sat there, the young man that had rescued me kept coming to mind, his face just wouldn’t leave my memory. I didn’t even get his name. Did I? If I did, I couldn’t remember it? Things happened so quick that much of what occurred was a blur. His green eyes saturated my memory. They were piercing. Something about him kept me on edge. A feeling that haunted me since that night. It had been almost a week, and he still invaded my thoughts and my dreams.
“Harper,” Marge burst through the door awakening me from my little fantasy. “We have a shooting coming in about five minutes. Keep on your toes and stick with me. This is going to get sticky.” I wasn’t ready for this. Already my ankles were swelling, and it took little to turn my stomach into a wrecking ball. Pulling my jacket together, I slung my stethoscope around my neck and followed Marge as she prepared for the victim. It didn’t take long before the sirens were audible and rang in the darkness of the night. Within seconds the doors to the ER opened in a rush, and the squad members from 9:1 hastily pushed one of two victims through the threshold.
“Male, twenty-eight years old, involved in a shooting. Wound to the left chest wall with entrance and exit site. Alert and oriented. He experienced loss of consciousness for an unknown period. Questionable to if he was struck or hit the concrete. There’s a load of officers outside. He’s one of their own.”
Marge and the Physician quickly assessed him as he moaned through the oxygen mask. The officer’s shirt was torn open, blood staining most of it. “Let’s get an IV of Ringers going, get me a chest x-ray, EKG, CBC, Chemistry and a CT. Let’s get on this; we need to get to this quickly people,” Doctor Matterson said in a stern but calm manner. It was a controlled but hectic environment. Each person had a job, and they were fulfilling it efficiently.
“Harper, why don’t you try for a second IV line while I work on this one?” Marge instructed as she sliced through the arm of the officer's shirt. Quickly I washed away some of the blood and cut the sleeve to see his arm. When I placed the site without difficulty, I counted myself lucky. His volume had to be low, leaving him dehydrated and anemic.
As I picked up the trash from around his arm and threw it away, the man moaned again muffled by his oxygen mask. His face was dirty and bloody, his cheek swollen and red. I felt a tug on my arm, and he looked over at me with heavy-lidded eyes, his strength leaving him. “Don’t let me die, “he mumbled, “The guys depend on me.” That voice. I knew his voice. It was him, my hero.
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