The emergency room doors swung wide open, crashing against the walls with a clamor that echoed through the sterile halls of the hospital. In the midst of the chaotic urgency, doctors and nurses swiftly wheeled Terry Flenory, his pale face contorted with pain, toward the looming operating rooms.
Despite the agony and the fading tendrils of consciousness, Terry managed to respond to the nurse's urgent query as they hurried along the corridor.
"What's your name, sir?" the nurse asked, her voice urgent yet infused with a calm that belied the tension surrounding them.
"Terry Flenory," he huffed out, each word a struggle against the overwhelming waves of pain crashing through his body.
"Okay," she acknowledged swiftly, her eyes briefly flicking to the security personnel who stood ready, their presence a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation. One of them reached for his walkie-talkie, relaying terse information that sliced through the air.
"Cold blue," the security guard announced into the device, his tone decisive and clipped. "We have a patient en route to surgery—a 6'3" Black male, gunshot wound to the chest. He's still breathing, status critical."
Turning her attention back to Terry, the nurse maintained her unwavering focus, her concern etched into the lines of her face as she leaned closer. "Do you have anyone we can call?" she asked gently, her voice a steady anchor amidst the whirlwind of urgency.
"My wife," Terry managed to choke out, his voice strained with both physical pain and the weight of his words. "Her name's YN," he added, his breath hitching as he struggled to retrieve his phone from his pocket.
"072918," he gasped, his strength waning with each passing moment. "That's my password. Her contact name is 'Baby'," he managed to murmur before exhaustion began to overtake him, his eyelids drooping against the mounting fatigue and pain.
With every passing moment, Terry's condition hung precariously in the balance. The medical team hustled him through the labyrinthine corridors, their footsteps echoing alongside the urgent beeping of monitors and the distant hum of life-saving machinery.
As they neared the surgery room, Terry's consciousness ebbed and flowed like a ship caught in turbulent waters, his grip on awareness slipping with each jostle of the gurney. The nurse by his side maintained a vigilant watch, her demeanor a blend of professional calm and underlying concern for her patient's fragile state.
"Stay with us, Terry," she urged softly, her voice a soothing lifeline amidst the whirlwind of activity. "We're almost there. You're doing great."
Despite the mounting odds, Terry's resolve flickered like a candle in the wind. Blood filled his mouth, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He managed to speak, his voice strained but filled with urgency and emotion.
"Please," he choked out, the words heavy with a sense of impending finality, "if I don't make it... tell my wife... tell YN I love her. And... I'm sorry... for not listening."
The surgical team, prepared and waiting, swiftly took over as the gurney slid into the sterile room. Lights blazed overhead, casting a stark brightness on the scene as the medical personnel sprang into action with practiced efficiency. Terry was quickly surrounded by a whirlwind of activity—doctors and nurses checking vitals, administering medications, and preparing for immediate intervention.
Amidst the controlled chaos, the nurse reached for Terry's phone, her hands deftly unlocking it with the provided password. She navigated to his contacts, finding YN listed under "Baby". With a steady hand, she dialed the number.
-
As YN made the final finishing touches on dinner, the savory aroma of spices and simmering sauce filled the cozy kitchen. She had just set the table, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced at the clock—it was almost time for Terry to be home. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the familiar ringtone echoing from the living room. Hurrying to turn off the stove, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and swiftly walked into the living room to grab her phone.
