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Taking a sip of coffee from my thermos and breathing in the aroma of hospital air, I looked up to find one of the new medical students give me a quick wave and a nod. I couldn’t remember her name, and almost felt guilty about it until she redirected her attention elsewhere so quickly that I didn’t even have time to respond.
“It’s going good. How about you?” I muttered. I thought back to my own days in school. Initially, I had dreamed of becoming a doctor. But the more I studied in the field and learned the roles of the players within it, life as a doctor started to seem too distant and cold. Sure, doctors had one of the most important jobs in the world. Yet, in my time studying and working with them, I felt they spent too much time treating symptoms rather than people. I was drawn to the medical field because I wanted to help people, not just their symptoms.
Fortunately, I came to the conclusion that nursing would allow me to experience the personal connection I desired in terms of helping those in need. I was well aware that when people walked out of the hospital doors after a prolonged illness, an accident, or a frightening brush with death, it was often the nurses and the care they received that they remembered afterwards. I wanted to be a part of those memories.
That being said, caring for patients wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, particularly in the emergency department. That’s why every day, before I left home, I made a ritual of looking in the mirror, taking a deep breath, and saying to myself, “You got this, Tessa.” I’ve come to depend on this daily pep talk because constantly witnessing trauma after could quickly burn you out.
In fact, the past week had been exceptionally busy. Even though I was just starting my shift, I was already praying for an easy day. But I hardly had time to sit my coffee down before I realized my hopes for an easy day weren’t going to be granted.
“INCOMING GSW!”
The announcement rang through the air and instantly sent my heart pumping. Nurses began to dash across the floor, hurrying to prep. Instinctually, I reached into my pocket for my hairband, quickly and efficiently twirling my hair up and out of the way. My body went into auto-pilot mode. Everyone working in the emergency department quickly learned to expect gunshot victims regularly, although that never made it easier to deal with. There was always pressure when someone’s life was potentially on the line, pouring from a wound.
The typical questions started firing back and forth throughout the emergency department while we all scattered about, trying to prepare.
“Male or female?” I asked.
“Male,” someone yelled in reply.
“Location of the shot?”
“Lower back!”
“How long ago?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
Shaking my head, I analyzed the information, trying to determine what would potentially be needed for the incoming patient. By the time paramedics rolled him through the hospital doors, I was ready. I followed closely behind them, noting the amount of blood collecting at the bottom of his shirt.
My nerves were already starting to subside, confident that Dr. Nualli would be able to save this one.
Dr. Nualli, a kind and caring Indian woman, was the doctor I usually got assigned to. Together, we made an excellent team. After some of the previous doctors I’d worked with, all whom had distant and aloof attitudes, it had been a breath of fresh air when I first got assigned to Dr. Nualli. Rarely did I encounter doctors who cared about patients just as much as I did. When I first met her, she smiled, looked at me with her warm brown eyes, took my hand and said, “Let’s save some lives, Tessa.”
“You’re going to be fine,” I said, jogging alongside the patient as he was wheeled in to the emergency department bay. He glanced up at me through his pained expression. “What’s your name?”
“Nate.”
“Well, you’re going to be okay, Nate. I promise.”
I didn’t leave his side until we reached the bay and the emergency room technicians began tending to him, preparing him for the doctor.
I scanned the area in search of Dr. Nualli, coming to a complete halt at the sight of someone else in her spot.
Standing at the sink was a doctor I did not recognize. Male. I saw the flash of tattoos on his skin as he scrubbed his hands and forearms with antibacterial soap.
“Where’s Dr. Nualli?” I asked the room at large, though I instantly regretted doing so. I didn’t want to make the patient nervous.
“She’s not in today. Dr. Sholly will be covering for her.”
At the sound of his name, or perhaps at my question, Dr. Sholly took a quick glance over his shoulder at me.
My heart gave an unusual patter that had nothing to do with the job ahead of me. In just that brief instant, it was impossible to not notice how handsome Dr. Sholly was. Even through his scrubs, his muscular build was evident. He had a headful of dark shiny hair, a prominent jawline that was covered with a 5 o’clock shadow, dark penetrating eyes, and an expression that showed he was all-business.
“Tessa?” I jumped. A fellow nurse—Molly—stared at me with her eyebrows raised. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Dr. Sholly made his way over, briskly walking straight to the patient, who was now unconscious. I took a deep breath and forced myself concentrate while several nurses attempted to disrobe the patient’s wound area.
