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Karen eased open the door to the first room on her rounds. Over the hum of machines, the radiating sound of the waiting room filling, Karen called out the patient’s name and rushed into the room.
Holden glanced over and puffed a long sigh. Jaded, or trusting Karen to handle it. “Like a full moon that won’t quit. Think you can hit the ground running?”
She rose to her feet and swung her bag over her shoulder. “Please. If you could point me toward security to get an ID badge, that’d help.”
Villainously slowly, a high-backed chair in the corner turned. The unit coordinator lowered her headset microphone. She spoke with the gravity of someone coordinating a space fleet attack. “They didn’t set you up with one yet? Why didn’t you say so? I’ll make you a temp.”
Holden pushed off the counter. “Thanks, Flo.” He tipped a nod toward the back hallway. “Scrubs first, then you can dive right in?”
“That’s the way I like it.” She gripped the strap of her bag, but paused before following. “My computer access should be enabled tomorrow. I finished the training modules. Credentialing is taking longer than expected, but I’d love to get my feet wet.”
“Credentialing always takes longer than expected. We’ll partner up until you’ve got the flow down and all the formalities go through. Top five percent of your med school class, chief resident, and apparently, an immunity to burnout? We are so, so glad you’re here.”
“Glad to be here, but… top ten percent. I got suckered into being the chief resident as everyone else had families and didn’t want the added responsibility. And, I’m staving off burnout as long as possible. Hopefully, I’ll last until I get my student loans paid off, but I recognize the inevitable will happen.”
“Then you’re human.”
“Close enough,” she said, and drifted a look toward Karen and the tanking patient.
“Code blue,” a monotone voice calmly echoed from the ceiling. “Emergency department. Hall three.”
Karen called for help from the patient’s room.
Eryn dropped her bag and chased Holden into the room.
Already doing compressions, Karen wasn’t ready to give up.
It was too late, but Eryn’s pulse pounded as grief and hope collided. She snapped on blue nitrile gloves as she rushed to help. “Swap?” she asked as she jumped in to relieve Karen.
The room filled with the seasoned code team. Holden fired up the defibrillator while Karen readied the mask to deliver rescue breaths.
In rhythm with the song in her mind, Eryn pushed on the man’s sternum.
Breath.
Eryn continued the song. The count.
There was no point, but she did her job.
More help flooded in. A nurse at the computer took notes. Another cracked open the med drawer.
“Clear,” Holden called as he placed the pads, ready.
They still hoped.
Air froze in her lungs. The rhythm of the song stopped. Eryn stepped out of the way.
A jolt of electricity. Another.
Nothing. One long, flat line of cardiac inactivity.
Hope slipped out of the room long after the patient’s last breath. Silence hollowed the room, broken only by sniffles.
Eryn closed the patient’s eyes, and read off the time.
3
Bleary-eyed, wet hair sticking to the tops of her shoulders, Eryn padded out of the steam-saturated bathroom. Six hours of uninterrupted sleep wasn’t bad, but coffee beckoned. Fresh pot, right on schedule.
