Sighing, John released his neck and took a sip from the crystal glass. He let the sweet whiskey sit on his tongue before swallowing it, letting it burn down into his lungs and through his chest. The sultry croon of the blues band playing inthe corner on stage filtered over him, but he barely heard it, lost in his thoughts, which was the last place he wanted to be.
His mind of late had been an inhospitable place, if not, at times, a truly dangerous place.
Taking another sip, he ruminated on the losses that happened today, yesterday—hell, this whole damned month. It had been rough, rougher than usual. Or maybe it had been exactly the same, but his tolerance for it was lowering.
Fuck, he thought bitterly. He hated to think that. He loved his job.
It was exciting, thrilling, even when he made a major save. Except, all he could remember were the bad days, and they were stacking up in his soul like an avalanche ready to cave in and crush him.
John pinched the brim of his nose, refusing to see the faces of the patients who had died or their grief-stricken families, sobbing, wailing, or worse, just staring at him, vacant and empty—like him.
Stop it, John. Just fucking stop.
He pleaded with his mind to be quiet.
If it gets too bad, I can always quit. Set up a small, boring family practice somewhere just like Dr. Seevers did…
His mentor, Dr. Seevers, retired and set up his own practice, stepping away from the chaos of the emergency department and the bullshit bureaucracy of hospital work. John wanted to talk to him, but he was worried that if he did, he’d end up quitting, and he wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet. The difference was that Dr. Seevers was in his late fifties when he left the hospital. John was only 46 years old, and yet he felt like the oldest person in the department lately. Maybe it was because of the fresh litter of residents he had filling his hallways that made him feel ancient with their youthful, hopeful glow, so eager and optimistic. He cringed, rubbing his temple. They were naive and had no idea what this life meant. What it would cost them to dedicate their lives to being doctors, especially in emergency medicine.
Because eventually, it would take everything.
Or maybe just a shoulder.
John leaned back in his seat and rolled his shoulder, attempting to relieve the knot in the muscle. He tried to stretch his shoulder, knowing he needed to seea chiropractor, or at least a physical therapist. Except, when would he have time for that? When he wasn’t working, he was sleeping. So he did what most busy physicians did: he relegated his physical health to convenience, settling for ice packs and a heating pad. He tried cold plunges, steam rooms, and massages, but they were essentially useless. The shoulder felt permanently stuck. Frozen in place like a crippling iceberg that wasn’t melting or yielding in the slightest. It was moderately painful, but mostly irritating. If he moved his arm in the wrong direction or tried to lift a patient, then it hurt, and he was fucked.
Like today.
God, what a fucking mess…
He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the flush of embarrassment and shame. John was the head of the department, the senior leading resident on his shifts, and the captain of the ship. So when he couldn’t perform, people noticed and grew concerned, and he couldn’t afford for anyone on his team to see that.
But Lawson had seen him crumble.
Fucking Lawson.
If it had been anyone else, he would’ve maybe tolerated it. But it was the new resident, who had been there for less than six months, who saw it.
Lawson saw him hesitate, filled with doubt and pain…
Lawson, who stepped in and took over.
A kid!
Regret washed over him, and John’s thoughts returned to the day with a vengeance.
The first mistake was the bodybuilder patient. The overly large man, wearing a paper-thin black t-shirt and bright green shorts with flashy sneakers, stumbled into the ED from the lobby with one of the nurses, and when he couldn’t make it to the stretcher, he collapsed in a mass of muscles, nearly taking the nurse down with him. He was pale and shaking, and John was the first to reach him, followed by the closest available doctor-in-training, Lawson.
The nurses brought over a gurney and lowered it as much as possible to lift the man onto it. Forgetting all about his shoulder, John knelt with Lawson and two other nurses and attempted to lift the oversized man. The pain had been instant and he jerked, but he managed to maintain his grip, refusing to drop the patient on the floor in the middle of the goddamned ED.
Once they were able to transfer him, John let go and nearly stumbled back, pain etched in his features, which Lawson saw.
“Are you okay?” Lawson took a step toward him, his eyes darting over John’s body and leveling on his shoulder, seeing him roll it and trying desperately to release the muscle that refused to give.
“I’m fine,” John replied sharply. Too sharply, causing the heads of the two nurses to turn toward him, surprised. Because John was always the calm, cool, collected captain. And that reputation was something he strove to maintain no matter what.
They had taken the man into the first available room, and as the nurses were hooking him up, the patient revived. In a panic, he shot up, his large arm swiping at one of John’s nurses. John had reached out instinctively, catching the arm and firmly but gently guiding it back down while calmly informing the patient where he was and what John and his team were doing.
His shoulder burned in protest the entire time, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it until the patient was controlled.
