The Hospital

The Hospital

The swinging doors to the Emergency Room slammed against the wall as the stern paramedics forced a gurney through them. My sky blue scrubs made a swishing noise as I scurried across the pale tile floor.

“Trauma room three!” I yelled at them. My voice almost drowned in the cacophony of sounds already bouncing off the walls. A cry of pain here, monotonous machines beeping there. And always the sound of running feet on the tile. It was something I still hadn’t gotten used to. Run, don’t walk.

“Tyler Wilson, 36-year-old unrestrained male in a head-on car collision, Miss,” one of the paramedics reported.

I saw a nurse, one that wasn’t necessarily on this case, but I told him to get me supplies anyway. I pushed the gurney into the sterile room and shoved the paramedics out of my way; they left the room. Looking at the broken man on the gurney, he was barely conscious, and was slowly blinking blood out of his eyes. Only more kept meeting his eyelashes, gushing from the grotesque gash at his hairline. I stuffed gauze on the wound, applying more pressure than necessary to physically suppress the feelings of panic that began to course through my body. Treating patients with such severe injuries was still new.

My eyes scanned the man’s body. He was dressed in an important looking business suit. He had sharp, angled facial features, although they were colored rusty with blood at the moment. Something told me I should respect this man, and that he was going to want the best care possible from this hospital. This world renowned hospital. Did I really belong here?

The nurse, who quickly introduced himself to me as Bryan, returned and fastened heart monitors to the man’s chest. Bryan stuck around as I gave him instructions on specific blood tests to take.

I took note of the man’s steady heartbeat, and removed the gauze to see the bleeding had subsided. The man still hadn’t said a word, however. I feared an internal injury, which I wasn’t sure how to diagnose. I dismissed the nagging in my head that kept telling me I was an amateur.

“Mr. Wilson, can you hear me? Do you remember what happened?”

His eyelids fully opened and he registered my face. Immediately, he sat up in bed as though an electric shock had gone through him. He turned his face away from me as I tried to ask him about his pain.

“I...need, um, another doctor,” he mumbled. He looked to Bryan on the other side of the room with eager eyes. My nerves were starting to get the best of me. I hesitantly motioned for Bryan to leave the patient and me alone.

“Excuse me sir?” I croaked. How did he know I was inexperienced?

“You heard me,” he turned to face me, made eye contact for a second, and reflexively looked away. I tried to find his eyes, but they were focused on the eggshell white wall. “Another doctor.” He cringed with physical pain.

“Sir, you need to lay down. You’re in serious condition, and I really need to examine you,” I stammered. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I had two patients so far, and both had complied with medical treatment. I knew my attending could come in any minute and watch my patient worsen. I persisted.

“Sir, please lay down.” I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he immediately rejected my touch, forcing his body upward to throw my hand away.

“Get out!” he roared. “Get me another doctor!” He glanced outside the window and tried to beckon in a male doctor. He could barely move his arm.

Suddenly it clicked. This man didn’t want me as his doctor because I was a female. How could this be? Wasn’t it 2014? Hadn’t sexism died? I had this job, after all. I tried to sort out all the aggressive thoughts in my head, but they just kept coming quicker. Anger and frustration gripped me. How could this man be so ignorant? To hell with him! Hatred twisted my stomach into knots and hardened my face. He could have as many male doctors as he wanted. I stormed out of the room without another word.

Halfway out of the door, the distinctive sound of the heart monitor began to race. I snapped back around and saw his body thrashing about in his stretcher. He was seizing. I hesitated. I didn’t have to get help… I didn’t have to save him.

Bryan appeared in the doorway next to me, open mouthed at the sight of the convulsing patient. Sharp exhales sounded in my left ear.

“What are we going to do, doctor?” he blurted as he stumbled into the room and tried to hold down the man. He looked back at me for help. He didn’t know what to do, but I did. A simple injection into his IV would do the trick. But to help him or not was still the question.

As I watched Bryan awkwardly try to hold the mans shaking shoulders to the bed, I realized I needed to help this patient. I had taken an oath to save lives. It was my duty to this hospital, this world renowned hospital, and to myself. I could rise above; it was simply my duty as a human being.

A life is a life, and I knew I respected that.

“I need some help in here!” I shouted out the door as I ran to the man and held his body down while I calmly instructed Bryan to inject an anticonvulsive into the patient’s bloodstream. The man didn’t flinch at my touch this time; he couldn’t. His eyelids slid shut, and the last thing he saw was the eggshell white wall.