The Boxer or The Bag

Ch 6

 “Still no heart beat!” I yelled, glancing at the monitor. I resumed CPR while one of the other nurses screamed for the crash cart. I concentrated on counting my chest compressions, willing the patients heart to start beating again, on its own.

I hadn’t realized that the nurse had returned with the crash cart until I heard her yell, “CLEAR!” I jumped back and she shocked the man’s chest. He convulsed on the gurney and we all looked at the monitor.

“Still flat lined,” I said. “Again.” The other nurse rubbed the paddles together and yelled “clear!” shocking him again. Nothing.

“They are bringing in the son, now,” I heard someone yell behind me and I cringed. “Nine year old male, passenger, not wearing a seatbelt, ejected from the vehicle,” I heard the EMTs reporting as they wheeled past us to another trauma bay.

“I’m going to call it,” the physician said. “Time of death, 10:37 pm.” I looked at the man, covered in blood and swallowed. I pulled the sheet up over him.

“I am going to go see if they need help with the kid,” I said, ripping off my gloves.

“They are bringing in the driver of the other vehicle now,” the physician said. “Head to trauma bay 4.”

“Fuck,” I thought to myself. This is what I was wanted to avoid. I now had to save the life of the drunk driver that had killed my first patient. It was going to be a terrible night and my second shift hadn’t even started.

When 7:00am finally arrived, I clocked out and walked to my car. My hand was shaking as I tried to put the key in the door to unlock it. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tried again. I knew that this was common for Emergency Medical workers, coming down off of a long adrenaline fueled night. I knew I would be fine in a little while, I knew because I had done this for years. I also knew that the next few hours were going to suck. And I knew I had to just let the feelings come and let it happen, so that I could get over it and move on.

I made the short trip back to my house, stopping at a Seven Eleven and picking up two bottles of cheap white wine. As I pulled into my driveway, I realized Eddie’s car was parked there. He was sitting on my steps with a stack of take-out containers. Relief washed over me. I wouldn’t have to spend the next few hours alone. Shaking, I got out of my car, clutching the bag with the wine. Eddie stood and jogged over to me.

“I thought I’d stop by with breakfast,” he said. I handed him the bag, afraid that I would drop it and smash the bottles.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice quavering. He gave me a quizzical look, then peeked in the bag.

“Wine?” he said, looking back down at me with sad eyes. He had remembered what I said about drinking away my bad nights at work. I nodded. He tucked the bag under one arm and then wrapped the other one around my shoulders. “Come on,” he said, leading me up to my house.

“I am going to go change,” I said, letting us inside. “Wine opener is in the third drawer from the left.” I turned to head upstairs to get out of my scrubs. I paused halfway up the staircase and turned back.

“Eddie?” I called. He looked up from the drawer he was rummaging through. “I am glad you are here.”

“Me, too,” he said. “Go get changed.”

I woke up and my mouth was dry. My eyes felt scratchy and my head ached slightly. I blinked several times and glanced at the clock. It was just after five in the evening. My room was filled with rosy late afternoon light. I pushed back the blankets and sat up, rubbing my eyes. Flashes of the night started coming back to me. The horrible drunk driving accident, the dead father and son. The drunk driver with barely a scratch on him. The wife and mother falling apart when she arrived at the hospital. I felt sick. Then I remembered Eddie. Eddie who had brought me breakfast and sat with me. Eddie who hadn’t asked me a single question and who hadn’t made me talk about it. Eddie who listened and rubbed my back while he poured me a bottle and a half of wine. Eddie who must have put me to bed.