Page 32 of Healing Hearts
“Did you know that a guy’s penis is also called a ‘shaft’?There are other names for it, too! There’s cock, wood…” She looks to her friends, “What are some others?” she asks them.
“Is he blushing?” Gladys asks, and the ladies erupt into laughter.
"A nice doctor like you could be just what Brooke needs," Betty adds with a wink. "And lord knows, you could use a good woman to come home to."
I'm saved from responding by the sudden blare of my pager. Glancing down, my stomach drops as I read the urgent message. "Ladies, I'm sorry, but I have to go. There's an emergency in the ER." I turn to Florence, “Florence, your toe looks good as new. Keep wearing good shoes and stop trying to lift weights that are too heavy to lift. Okay?”
As I rush out, Florence calls after me, "Don't be a stranger, Dr. Jacobs! And tell Brooke we said hello!"
I race down the hallway, my mind shifting gears. The stark reality of my job crashes over me, washing away the lingering warmth of this morning's memories with Brooke and just now with the Walking Ladies.
In the trauma bay, the severity of the situation is immediately clear. A young patient, barely sixteen, overdosed on a new street drug, then crashed his truck into a tree. He’s in critical condition, and every second counts.
“Let’s move, people,” I say, my voice firm as I step into the chaos. “I want to get him to the OR in less than five minutes.” My focus narrows to the patient, blocking out all distractions.
Vivian strolls into the bay as she flips her long, dark hair over her shoulder and pushes another nurse aside. “I’ve got this. Go do something useful.” She says to the young nurse. In shock, the nurse looks up to Vivian who gives her the ‘shooing’ motion as if she was a child. “I said go.”
As the nurse starts to back away, Vivian tries to jump in but fumbles with the instruments, dropping a syringe. “Vivian, focus,” I say sharply, my patience already wearing thin.
She flashes me a flirtatious smile, clearly flustered. “Sorry, Trevor, I mean… Dr. Jacobs. It was her fault for being in my way.” Typical Vivian-style…blaming others for her ineptitude.
My jaw tightens. I can’t afford any distractions right now, not with a patient’s life on the line. “Vivian, step aside,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “We need someone steady on this.”
The room goes silent for a brief second, but the team quickly recovers, moving around her as the young nurse takes her place again. Vivian steps back, her expression unreadable, but I can’t dwell on it now. She storms out of the bay as we stabilize the patient for transport upstairs to the operating room.
Once the patient is put under and I’ve scrubbed in, I continue working, my hands remaining steady, but inside, my heart pounds. The weight of the moment is crushing. This kid barely had a chance to start his life, and here he is, fighting for it because of one reckless and stupid decision.
I push down the emotions, burying them beneath layers of focus, but a part of me aches for him, for his family. My hands move with practiced precision as I work to stabilize the patient. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor becomes my focal point, each sound a reminder of the fragile life hanging in the balance when suddenly the monitors start singing again.
"BP's dropping," a nurse calls out.
"I see it," I respond, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. "Push another round of epinephrine."
As I work, my mind flashes to the boy's family, likely pacing anxiously in the waiting room. It's a stark contrast to the lighthearted banter with Florence and her friends just a few moments ago. The weight of their hope presses down on me, fueling my determination to save this kid’s life.
"Come on, kid," I mutter under my breath. "You've got too much life ahead of you to check out now."
Dr. Patel arrives, immediately assessing the situation. "What do you need, Trevor?"
"Help me find the bleeders," I instruct, grateful for his calm presence. "We need to get this bleeding under control."
As we work in tandem, I'm reminded of why I chose this path. The rush of saving a life, the delicate dance between skill and chance – it's addictive in its own way. But with every triumph comes the risk of heartbreak.
"He's stabilizing," Dr. Patel announces after what feels like hours.
I let out a breath. "Good work, everyone. Let's keep him that way."
As the immediate danger passes, I allow myself a moment of reflection. This is my world – a constant balance between hope and heartbreak, life and death. It's exhausting, exhilarating, and utterly essential to who I am.
As I step out of the operating room, peeling off my gloves, I catch my reflection in the glass door. My face looks haggard, drained. The morning’s lightness, the promise of a budding romance with Brooke, feels worlds away now. But even so, I can’t help but think of her, of her calming presence, and how much I look forward to seeing her again.
“Hey, Doc, you did good in there,” one of the nurses says, patting my shoulder as she passes by.
I nod, managing a faint smile. “Thanks.”
But even as I walk away, I know that today’s events will stay with me, a reminder of the fine line I walk every day between joy and sorrow and knowing that there’s someone worth looking forward to on the other side of my day makes all the difference.
“What the fuck was that, Trevor?” Vivian’s shrill voice carries through the hospital hallways.
