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“Sit tight? Let’s see you sit tight when you don’t know if your family is alive or dead,” someone complains.
“If everyone is doing everything they can, why didn’t we hear anything yet, huh?” another person speaks up. “Maybe their best isn’t good enough. Maybe we should bring our loved ones to another hospital.”
“Yeah,” someone agrees.
Other people echo the agreement while others disagree. Arguments fill the air, the voices getting louder and louder, while some people continue sobbing.
I run my hands through my hair and cover my ears. This is turning into a mess. Emotions are running high – confusion, anger, worry, sadness. If this continues, more people are just going to get hurt. They could have heart attacks. They could hurt each other.
I have to do something. But what? What can I do to calm all these people down?
Well, first I have to calm down. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath. Then I do what I usually do when I’m upset or restless. I sing.
“Silent night, holy night…”
At first, no one seems to be listening. I’m not even sure if anyone can hear me. But as I continue, the room begins to quiet down. I take my hands off my ears and hear the bickering subside. Eventually, it ceases completely and only one voice remains – mine.
At least, for a few moments I’m the only one singing. But then I start to hear other voices. A guitar starts playing, too. More and more join in, and when I open my eyes, I no longer see a squabbling crowd in front of me but a choir. Nearly everyone is singing, some hand in hand, others with shoulders touching, swaying. Their voices ring with hope.
I smile and continue singing.
“Silent night, holy night…”
Once it’s over, I look around at the sea of faces around me. They look like a completely different crowd from earlier, calmer now. Some of them are even smiling.
I let out a breath of relief. Thank goodness.
A few people start to sing another carol. Others join in. I decide to leave them like that and go back to the ER to help. On my way there, Dr. Carver stops me.
“Smithson!” She grabs my shoulders. “Have you seen or heard anything about a teenage girl with red hair and braces?”
My eyes grow wide. “Yes!”
~
“Pam!” Dr. Carver runs into the recovery room and stands over the bed of the teenage girl Rainier and I operated on.
The corners of her lips turn up as she touches the girl’s arm.
“Oh, sweetheart. Thank goodness you’re safe.”
Sweetheart? My eyebrows arch. Wait. Is this girl Dr. Carver’s daughter?
“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” I relay my thoughts out loud.
“Well, technically, Pam isn’t mine,” Dr. Carver answers as she strokes the girl’s hair. “She’s my ex-husband’s daughter. When he took off, he left her with me and I just couldn’t get rid of her. Now, I love her like my own.”
As she looks at Pam’s face, I see the warmth on her face and the love in her eyes.
Dr. Carver as a doting mother. Who would have ever thought I’d see such a sight?
“How is she?” Rainier’s voice breaks into my thoughts as he enters the room.
“Stable,” I answer as I straighten my shoulders. “I have no doubt she’ll wake up soon.”
Dr. Carver turns around and looks at Rainier. “Thank you, Dr. Knight, for saving Pam.”
“I just did my job,” he answers. “Also, Dr. Smithson helped. She actually finished the surgery on her own.”
Dr. Carver’s eyes grow wide. “You had her…?”
She stops and sighs, then looks at me.
“Thank you, Dr. Smithson, for not killing my daughter.”
I nod. I sure am glad I didn’t.
She draws a deep breath. “I guess I have to say it.”
“Say what?” Rainier asks.
She looks at both of us. “That the two of you make a good team.”
Rainier gives his usual breathtaking smile, then turns his head towards me. “I guess we do.”
I look away as I blush. True, we both did something amazing in the midst of all the tragedy and chaos today. Maybe we do work together well. But I still don’t think we should have a relationship.
“And you, Smithson.” Dr. Carver lifts my chin. “Hold your head up high. You’re a good doctor. Nothing anyone else says is going to change that.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
She pats my shoulder. “Come on. We’ve still got more lives to save.”
~
At the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I slump into a chair in the cafeteria and let my arms hang at my sides. They ache from carrying supplies, from transferring patients into hospital beds, from holding suction, from defibrillating, from stitching. My legs, too, are tired from running everywhere, from standing over beds and operating tables. I swear if I’d had to keep standing for a few minutes more I would have gotten a cramp.
