Page 128 of Ten Day Affair
"Sam, be the story that outlives these five seconds."
My throat tightens, and I blink hard against the tears that want to come. I've cried enough over Cole Houston. I'm done with him. I can't control this, but I will survive.
"I should probably let you go so I can head in. Dr. O'Brien doesn't exactly welcome tardiness."
"Sam."
"Yeah?"
"You're going to be okay. Different, maybe. But okay. I'll keep my team on the keywords and let you know if anything comes up."
My phone beeps with a text reminder.
Shift starts 7:00 AM.
I've got minutes. I drain the coffee in three quick gulps, feeling it burn down my throat. The taste is bitter and stale, but it'll have to do.
"I have to go. Trying not to get yelled at today is my new life motto."
"Love you, Sammy."
"Love you too."
I grab my keys and bag. It's heavier than usual, weighted down by everything I'm trying not to think about. I've now got twenty minutes to get to Grady and pretend I've got my shit together.
Fake it 'til you make it. That's what I keep repeating, waiting for the "make it" part of the equation to kick in.
When I push through the doors, Tracy nods at me. It's not exactly warm, but the ice seems to warm a little more each day. Progress, maybe.
"Taylor, trauma two."
Dr. O'Brien's voice cuts through the controlled chaos without her even looking up from her clipboard. I scrub in fast, my muscle memory taking over.
The patient's a fifty-something construction worker. Coffee-colored skin and calloused hands catch my eye. His vitals are crashing hard.
"BP's dropping. Eighty over forty."
Someone's calling out numbers while a resident I don't know yet fumbles with the IV line. The monitor's beeping gets faster, more frantic.
He's going into shock.
The thought hits me before the numbers confirm it. I don't wait for permission and step forward to check his airway, feeling for the pulse point at his neck.
"He's coding."
The words come out steady, professional. Inside, my brain switches into that zone where everything slows down and speeds up at the same time. This is what I know I'm good at.
"Starting compressions."
My hands find the right spot on his chest. The rhythm comes naturally. I count thirty compressions, then give two breaths. The ribs are solid under my palms, but I know they might crack. Better broken ribs than a dead patient.
"Come on, stay with us."
Sweat drips down my chest under my scrubs. The room narrows to the compressions, the monitor, the man's face going gray under the lights.
Tracy slides in beside me with the crash cart. No attitude now, just focus.
"Got it."
