Painting Monochrome ||Ereri/Riren||

Time

The Edge...

There is no honest way to explain it

Because the people who know where it is

Are the ones who have gone over it.

As a trauma physician, you see a lot of things, hear a lot of things. You witness nurses be severely affected by the successful suicide of a young teen, or by the miscarriage a 35 week pregnant woman had. You feel your own self slipping just a little each time you lose a patient, but somehow, you manage to bring it back together inside. As a trauma physician, the nights get stranger and less active as the time goes by. The ticking echoes through the semi-empty ER and soon, you find yourself moving in sync with it. Tick. Staple a paper. Tock. Stand up. Tick. Look to your left. Tock. Wave to the nurse. It becomes a part of the normal motions during the night shift.

There's a rule in Shiganshina General Hospital. It's actually a rule pretty common in all hospitals. A physician is to never treat a person they have personal relations with. Why? Because that relationship clouds the mind. It sends the treater in a panic and off on a desperate attempt to save the treated.

But that Saturday night, I broke that rule. And soon after...I suffered greatly for it.

It started out as a normal night in the emergency room of Shiganshina General Hospital. High fevers, chest pains, allergic reactions, the usual. There was the occasional pain medication addicted patient that came in, faking severe pain as an attempt to get a fix, but of course, they were sent away.

I sat in the break room at my usual time, 1:25 AM, eating Chicken Parmesan and drinking coffee, trying to wake myself up. Lost in my own thoughts, I hadn't realized the dispatcher come over the radio.

"Dr. Jaeger," Nurse Christa's sudden voice snapped me out of my daydream (night dream maybe?). I looked to her from my position at the table, waiting for her to say something. The look on her face displayed some level of worry and concern, causing me to stand and place my food back in the fridge.

"A Code 3 just came in from Vehicle #104. Male, age 28, involved in a serious head-on collision. Wasn't wearing a seat-belt," she said as we both quickly rushed back to the ER from the break room. Code 3: a life-threatening situation, usually consisting of severe head or abdominal trauma.

"How long until arrival?"

"Two minutes," she said.

"Alright, I need you to prep-" the door leading to the ambulance parking lot burst open and in rushed two EMTs with a tall, freckled, and dark haired male laying on a stretcher. With a face mask providing the necessary oxygen and a brace around his neck and head to prohibit movement, I watched as a team of nurses quickly, but carefully, transported him from the stretcher to a bed.

"I need vital signs," I said, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and grabbing the scissors to cut off the patient's torn shirt and jeans. Suddenly, it occurred to me who this gentleman was.

Marco. My heart skipped a beat and I froze almost instantly. Marco Bott, one of my high school and college best friends. After moving away with Jean to start a family, I hadn't seen him in almost a year. And now here he was, bloodied, bruised, and barely breathing.

"Dr. Jaeger.....DR. JAEGER!" Christa snapped at me again. I blinked and instantly began cutting the fabric of his navy blue shirt.

"I'm sorry, Christa. Repeat the vital signs to me, please," I mumbled, trying to clear my head. If anyone finds out, Jaeger, you're screwed.

"Patient is unconscious, and BP* is 110/60 and declining. Temperature is 101 degrees Fahrenheit, heart rate at 49 BPM*, and respiratory rate is 16," she said. "....Patient's respiratory rate is dropping fast, doc."