One
DespitethegoodI’mdoing, nothing prepared me for that encounter. As I near the patient’s door with a copy of ‘Wuthering Heights,’ the memory hits me like a freight train.
For three weeks, I’ve volunteered at St. Mark’s Hospital in Logan’s Point. I spend my time reading to patients and helping the nursing staff with admin tasks. During my last shift, while holding this book, I heard a woman gasping in this room. Adrenaline hurried me to her bedside. She was clutching her chest and choking as if something was stuck in her throat.
In shock, I blurted, “Ma’am? Are you okay?”
Her eyes locked onto mine, but swiftly rolled and became vacant. Dark bags hung below her dull eyes, and her skin grew paler by the second.
“Ma’am!” I yelped, tugging the woman’s arm.
Her gasps became violent, and as my hand lifted, her body convulsed.
I dashed to the door. “Help! Anyone? She needs help!”
A nurse appeared in the corridor, and I sucked in a much-needed breath.
“In here,” I called. “She can’t breathe.”
The nurse raced into the room, finding the woman struggling for life. She gasped and wheezed, while clutching and scrunching at the bedsheets.
As the machines by the bed beeped frantically, two more nurses rushed into the room. I backed out as Dr. Harris made his way in, steading the stethoscope around his neck.
Dr. Harris got the lowdown from the nurses, and in the chaos, I couldn’t keep track of what was said. My eyes stayed locked on the woman as they placed an oxygen mask over her face.
A curtain was drawn around her bed, and my knees grew weak. I dragged myself into the hallway, collapsed on the nearest chair, and sat rigid as I stared at the scuffed vinyl floor. My hands were wound in tight fists, and my feet bounced against the chair legs.
I jolted when Dr. Harris touched my shoulder.
I stood quickly. “Is she okay?”
“Yes, she is,” Dr. Harris said with a smile. He held out my copy of ‘Wuthering Heights.’
I took the book, saying, “Oh, thanks. I must’ve dropped it.”
“That was some quick thinking in there,” Dr. Harris said. “The nurses said you sounded the alarm.”
“It was nothing,” I brushed it off. “I was just walking by.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he replied. “Some people clam up at the sight of danger. What you did helped save that patient’s life.”
“I wouldn’t call it lifesaving,” I insisted. “You and the nurses are the heroes.”
Dr. Harris smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Miss Ashworth. You do more good than you realize.”
Dr. Harris moved up the hallway, and I took a long breath out.
Now, as I stand by her door, I take another exaggerated exhale. With my hands clasped around my book, my thumb stretches to flick at my bracelet. The fidgety movement helps settle the fizzing nerves inside me.
Okay, Vanessa. Game face on. No one needs to see you get flustered.
I peer into the room, and the woman is soundly sleeping in her bed.
Phew.
I really hate that I’m relieved about not visiting her. It’s just I’ve never seen anyone gasp for breath before. It really rattled me.
I hug the book closer, and move into the next room. My sparkle comes back as I knock on the open doorframe of my favorite patient.
