Dont Fear....

Please Dont Fear The Reaper

It's been ten months since it happened.

Death just....stopped. People stopped passing.

On the surface, that sounds fantastic. But the reality is far worse than anything I've ever imagined.

I work as a trauma surgeon at one of the busiest hospitals in the country. And believe me, my job shifted significantly after the event.

Sure, it seems great when the 68 year old diabetic with a heart condition comes in, complaining of chest pain. Clinically, he is dead from a heart attack. But aside from some discomfort, he is sent home to his family. They get more time together.

But that's the best case scenario.

Two weeks ago, we had a burn victim come in after a high speed collision that resulted in his semi bursting into flames. Today, we have a torso and not much else locked in a supply closet because all he can do is scream and flail. No eyes, no tongue, no limbs to communicate with. We don't know what to do with him.

After that call, I retreated to an isolated office, popped open my flask, and downed a significant amount of pills. I rested my elbows on the table, felling the pounding of my pulse in my temples as I tried to cope.

And that's the kind of thing my job has become. I am more handyman than doctor. People come in with damaged parts, and I try to make them functional again.

An 11 year old boy comes in after being struck by a drunk driver. More than 60 percent of his bones are broken, shattered. There is no way to set them to get to where they will function again. In the old world he would have passed. Today, his parents take him home, to lay in a bed for eternity.

More pills. More booze. More pounding temples.

As nursing homes fill up, and overflow, many that work in that industry quit their jobs. It has become quite common to see elderly laying on the side of the road, or in dumpsters, or actually buried alive, as families are unable to cope with the concept of caring for an invalid body for eternity.

More pills. More booze. My health declines.

Yesterday, a normal 30 year old woman came in, complaining of difficulty breathing. Upon exam, we found that she had suffered a massive stroke the night before. Again, before, she would have passed. Now she had to deal with all her automatic bodily functions shutting down, and her having to take them over consciously. Her pain was from forcing air into her lungs where before her body did it for her.

More pills. More booze. I don't feel well. My temples absolutely hammer.

Today, a woman miscarried. Now we have to figure out what to do with a squirming fetus only a few months into development.

In the break room, drunk and high as usual, I rub my temples, feeling stillness under my fingertips.

My eyes snap open. Shit.