Over the next few days, I focused intensely on the act of ignoring and avoiding him. This was my billion dollar plan that was going to save me from the fact that I lived 30 steps away from the guy I had run away from. It had been 5 days and still the image of his confused face and crinkled eyes had not been wiped off or blurred from my memory. I still cringed at the thought of my running away act and I was still not capable of finding a hole big enough to swallow me in. Twice, I had to rush to the bathroom to wipe off the intense embarrassment that flooded me every time the memory took me by surprise. I was a 24 year old school girl. I was officially the girl who ran away. I mean I could’ve kicked him in the shins, yelled at him again (at least this time for good reason) or the worst case scenario, kissed him back. But what did I do? I ran off. The 15 year old girl that I was. But when the embarrassment climbed down, there was this feeling that still remained seated; the idea of kissing him. Now that the incident had happened, it had triggered a lot imaginations, dreams and alas, hopes. Until now, it was all talk and no action. I could easily confidently dismiss the possibility of him ever achieving his wish. But now? Now things were different. The idea had set in; the feelings were now in motion and the prospect, if not totally bleak, seemed expectant, at the best. And avoiding him took more effort than going up to him and kissing him unceremoniously on the porch. Red alert! Subject was getting out of control!
I shook myself out of the reverie and concentrated on the intestines of a young girl that were looking up to me. The surgeon operating was uninterruptedly talking, explaining the procedures he was doing. The bare tone of his voice did little to keep me focused here and not go back into wonderland. I applied suction periodically and listened to the drawling of my resident until suddenly out of nowhere a shot of white and red fluid hit me on my face with the strong smell of stale vomit and I backed a few steps and fell down. The nurses rushed to me and pulled me up while I wiped my face off of the stinky insides of my patients.
“Seems like the patient’s insides like you, Dr. Park.” The resident said and everyone burst out laughing at the incredibly lame joke and I rolled my eyes and excused myself out.
I reached the intern’s locker room, after washing my hands and face a thousand times, and ran into Sadie.
“God what happened to you?”
“Satan.” I said and got out of my top. Sadie followed me.
“You smell so gross. Like-“
“The insides of an 18 year old? Yep, totally.” I changed into another set of scrubs and pulled my hair up.
“What is up with you nowadays? You are acting weird. Not that I care, you can be whatever you want to be. But since human civilization expects us to care for our fellow human’s feelings, I have to ask. What’s wrong?”
“I’m not dying. That’s kind of the worst thing that’s happening to me. I’m still not dying. Not of embarrassment, not of this gross insides, not of exhaustion. Atleast now I know why living is a curse and death seems peaceful.” I said and with a huge gulp of water, went out of the locker room and back to the OR. After scrubbing in again, I stood a significant distance away from the patient. It was almost over. The final suctioning and checking was happening. The surgeon turned to me,
“Since you’ve had the fortune of being showered, why don’t you close her.” He said and backed a few steps. I heaved a breath and took the 10 blade and got to work. If this was the only good thing that was going to happen to me, I was going to make the most of it.
Thankfully, the concentration needed for the stitching up cleared my head up of Ryan and for once I was at peace and not thinking about him or that day.
After the girl was taken back to her room and woken up from the deep anaesthetic dose, I went in to check up on her. She was lying with IV tubes stuck on her arms. She had closed her eyes but the breathing told me she was awake. I took the chart from the nurse and read all the information. She was fine, now. I was double checking the facts when I heard her say something to me, in a raspy voice. I looked at her. She was looking at me, definitely saying something. I bent closer,
“Do you need something, mam?”
“I heard I puked on you. Inside out.” She said and gave a ghost of a laugh. I smiled at her.
“Yes, you did. Thankfully I’m not one to hold grudges with my patients.”
“I’m sorry.” I nodded at her and left. Doctor-patient interaction was one of the high points of being here. Vomit, not one of them.
The day was almost over. I had checked on all my patients and was in my room getting my bags to turn in for the night when my pager beeped. It was a code blue- meaning a patient was dying. I ran to the mentioned room to find nurses hovering around, injecting medicines to stable the heart. I swept past, the patient was the young girl that had vomited on me hours ago. I looked at her stomach; the area was swollen, clearly infected. I took the paddles and pressed them at her chest. Once. Twice. Thrice. No effect. I got a flat line. I threw the pads and tried manual CPR for about 5 minutes and still the flat line wasn’t giving way to a beat. Not a single beat. God damn it I couldn’t lose a patient. Not today. Definitely not today. I continued the CPR. I did it for five more minutes. Praying to god for a miraculous single beat. The nurses had all backed against the wall, watching me get crazy over a single patient. A lot of things went in my head before I finally let go.
“ Time of death: 11.17 pm.” I said and slowly backed out of the room that was now once again getting filled by hovering nurses. This day was officially the worst. I went to get my things and then out inside my car. Once there, I started crying. Hard. I held my head in my hands and I sobbed. I had once read somewhere that the most suicides due to depression are committed by doctors. I had always wondered why. I mean, the ones who saved lives, tried for hours to save every person they came across, surely would know the value of their own. But today, I could feel the pain. The pain of having to inform the parents that their little girl was no more. That she had died right in front of me when a few hours ago, she was joking. That we had tried everything in our power to save her but unfortunately she was too far gone. The sadness hit me like the heat of fire. It kept growing. It didn’t crash on me like waves, it was constantly becoming bigger. I sobbed until my tears went dry. And then I put the keys in ignition and went home. To an empty home with no one expecting me back, unlike the girl I just lost.
YOU ARE READING
An Unfinished Business
Romantizm"I was screwed. I knew this even before I could know what screwed meant. I loved blood more than dolls, biology more than fashion, medical drama more than chickflicks and 'Newman's book of biological facts' more than boys. For all I know, if you'r...
