Lex’s disappearance, trying to find her, has changed me so dramatically that I'm not the same person I was back then. I'm exactly the kind of person I need to be to excel at this instead. I'm cold. And calculating. I don't buckle under pressure. I get things done. It all started back in that hotel room. I traded a part of myself that night, sold or flat out extinguished a part of myself that would only have prevented me from doing what had to be done.
The very first surgery I performed was on my self; I'd carved out my weakness with a rusty scalpel and revelled in the glorious void that had remained afterward.
The nursing team are already waiting by the time we reach O.R. three. I've been keeping our as yet unidentified patient alive for two hundred fifteen seconds. Time is running out. Dr Massey is scrubbed and ready to go when we reach the sterile anteroom between the corridor and the O.R. Massey's good, a gun with trauma. I'm so relieved I almost grin when I see his face.
"No ID, MVA, unknown internal injuries. BP tanked between ground floor and level two." Massey nods, face already obscured behind his mask, but his eyes are steady. They say he's got this.
"Go scrub, then get your ass in here. This looks like a job for two pairs of hands." The O.R. nurses take charge of the gurney and disappear through the double doors with my patient. My patient. When you've had your hands inside a person, whether they live or die, they become your responsibility.
"Hot damn." Mikey is standing next to me, blood mottling the latex of his gloves and soaking his scrubs. It looks like he just went on a killing spree. "That was intense."
"That was sloppy," I correct him. "You can't freeze like that, Mikey. Your hesitancy could cost someone their life." I feel like I've just kicked a puppy. Mikey’s probably only three years younger than me but in our reality, three years’ worth of experience is a lifetime. Him giving me the sad eye treatment isn’t going to earn him an easy ride with me, though. We aren’t allowed feelings like remorse. Remorse means we did something wrong, or we didn’t do enough. There’s no room for wrong or not enough in this hospital.
"Are you going to save him?” Mikey asks.
Can I do it? Can I do for this patient what I couldn’t do for my own sister? I tell Mikey the same thing I tell myself each morning before I even step foot inside the hospital.
"I'm gonna try. I’m gonna do my best."
******
We lose him.
Sometimes, no matter how much blood, sweat and tears you pour into someone, your best just isn't good enough. Gary Saunders, twenty-seven, bleeds out on the table, while Dr Massey and I battle to save him. His internal organs were minced, though, and sometimes that's all there is to it. I've learned to accept outcomes like this; I feel no guilt. I'm a human being, capable of only so much. People forget when they walk through these doors that they're putting their trust in mere mortals. I'm not God. I'm not even close to a miracle worker. Some days there are people you can save and those are the lucky days. The good days that make it feel like the sun is shining that little bit brighter. But then there are shitty days, too. Days like today.
I'm in charge of telling Gary's pregnant wife that he’s dead. I get landed with this job a lot; my colleagues think I have a skill for breaking terrible news, when really I’m just the same as any of them. It still hurts like hell. The difference between me and them is that I can distance myself from the pain. I'm an expert at distancing myself from pain. If it were an Olympic sport, I'd be a gold medallist. I head to the family room and knock quietly at the door. Inside a brunette woman with a swollen belly twists in her seat, and my stomach bottoms out. The chart I’ve been carrying crashes on the floor.
"Lex? Alexis?" I realize it's not her a split-second after the name tumbles out of my mouth. Confusion flickers across the woman's face. "I'm sorry, I—“
This woman is older than Lex would be now. Her eyes aren't the same shade of brown—slightly lighter, almost hazel. She frowns at me. "Do I know you?"
"No, no. Sorry. For a moment I thought you were someone else."
“That's okay. I'm just glad to see another member of the human race. I've been waiting here for hours. No one’ll tell me anything. Can I go see Gary now? He's going to be so mad if he has to miss work. He’s never taken a sick day in his life." She's rambling. The smile makes a lot of sense—she's plastered it on to keep from crying alone in an unfamiliar, strange room. She can act as easy breezy as she wants, though. She knows. Or she at least suspects.
“I'm sorry, Mrs Saunders, could I sit with you for a moment?" Her smile disintegrates. When she slumps back into her seat, she's already entered the first stages of grief: denial.
"No. No, they said he was going to be fine. There must have been a mistake. Please can you go and make sure you're supposed to be here?"
I'm the Grim Reaper. I may as well be the embodiment of death to these people. My face is one they will forever associate with the worst news they are ever likely to receive. "I'm so sorry, Mrs Saunders. I’m sorry but it’s true. I am supposed to be here. Gary…he didn't make it."