An Emergency Room On A Calm Day

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Habersham County, Tom was feeling slightly nervous as he exited the staff lounge and entered the hustle and bustle of County Hospital’s ER to begin his first shift as an RN. The first few hours of his shift passed slowly as Tom mostly checked vital signs and listened to patients complain about various aches, pains, coughs, and sniffles. He realized that the attending physician, Dr. Greene, who was rather “old school” in general about how he interacted with nursing staff, wanted to start him out slowly. Tom knew, though, that the paramedics could bring in a trauma patient at any time.

“Right this way,” the nurse ahead of me was prompting me to a brightly lit hall that was completely foreign to me. I couldn’t help but be terrified by the sights and sounds around me: people chattering, machines methodically beeping, gurneys rushing past. It was my first time in a hospital and my eyes frantically searched each room looking for any trace of my father. She stopped suddenly and I turned to the bed in front of me but I could not comprehend what I saw. At such a young age, I idolized my father; I had never seen him so vulnerable. Seeing him laying in a hospital bed unconscious, surrounded by wires and tubes was like witnessing Superman encounter kryptonite. My dad’s car accident not only made him a quadriplegic, but also crippled

As the door opens, you see the flashing lights of an ambulance. You then realize that paramedics are caring in a stretcher. Curious, you peek over and see a limp body, coated in blood.You flinch at the gruesome sight and quickly look away. You hear the shouts from the nurses, as they try to revive the person. “He needs a kidney,” they say, voices filled with equal measures of fear and desperation. Then you see a doctor walk into the waiting room, he addresses you telling you that you will be donating one of your kidneys to the patient. You feel a needle prick your arm as the world fades to

There was a strong pungent of disinfectants and rubbing alcohol as she was rushed into the lobby. Crying out her last breath to express her agonizing pain as she lied down on the cold gurney. The nurses in a light blue uniform quickly arrived as several doctors in long white gowns rushed to the scene. Her mother was by her side, holding her hands as tight as she could, as the nurses pushed the agitating gurney towards the automatic doors. Soon her visions blurred and as the world turned into a tint of pink and red. As her vision slowly darkened, she solely relied on the touch of her mother’s warm hand and her soothing voice. Notwithstanding the tight grip of her mother’s hands, they was soon torn apart. Fear took over her body as she cried even louder. The sudden yet rhythmic beep was the last memory she could recall. It was March 5th.

The wounded and bleeding lining the halls, screaming for help while harried doctors in blood-stained smocks rush from stretcher to stretcher, fighting a losing battle against exhaustion and the crushing number of injured. (Simpson 245)

As Cordall’s condition deteriorated, the need more medication, and days slipping by while waiting on a donor heart he grew more anxious. He thought about his wife, young daughter and family; however, he did not know the tragedy that was about to occur. His younger brother, Brian who was suffering from mental illness was involved with an altercation with the police and collapsed after being tased. Brian was transported to a hospital with cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) in progress; however, he did not survive. Cardall did not provide in the memoir why his brother’s organs were not donated; however, bone and tissue were harvested. He was filled with grief and questions, why he had struggle his entire life with his congenital heart

In the midst of attending a party with his friends, a random, ricocheted bullet pierced the right side of his head while he was trying to break up a fight. The bullet blew away part of his skull and lodged into his brain. When he arrived in the trauma bay, medically he was dead- no pulse, no spontaneous respirations. His family was forewarned that if he woke up there was a strong possibility that he would never speak or walk again. The patient- B.H., was a seventeen-year-old high school senior, who was class president, and captain of the football team when he was shot. During his month long stay in ICU, the hospital staff worked around the clock to ensure that his issues were properly managed. Despite all odds, B.H. is currently in his senior year of college, plays semi-professional football, and works two jobs. What was particularly fascinating, was the way the physicians were able to prioritize and execute their management in a dire situation. The intricate thought process of managing the patient as a whole,

lost a lot of blood.” “Oh my gosh, she’s that bad?” ask Pam. “Yes, I’m afraid to tell you that she was sexually assaulted multiple times and badly beaten, looking at her wounds, she’s been out in the woods for days because she’s very dehydrated, whoever did this probably thought she was dead, but when she was brought in to us she still had a pulse.” “So, is she going to make it?” “At this time like I said, she’s very critical, we’re doing everything we can to save her, but we have to just pray.” “I can’t believe this, who would do this.” “Well Maam, if you have any concerns or if you need to ask me any questions ask the nurse to page me.” “Thank you Doctor.” “You’re quite welcome.” The Doctor got up and walked away. After the Doctor walked

“Hey, you can’t die yet old man, stay here and I’ll grab some supplies from the office!” Tristin yelled as he ran in the direction of the nurse’s office. Tristin frantically searched through the room and came up with a roll of gauze, some medical scissors and a few advil. “Well, it’s better than nothing I suppose.” Suddenly Tristin was grabbed from behind and shoved forwards into the ground.

Switching out the nearly empty boxes of gloves, I drop a single small glove on the floor of the ambulance, and as I bend down to pick it up, I see the young boy who was so scared by the inside of our ambulance that his crying began making it difficult to breathe. Resisting every screeching instinct to panic and rush as glistening tears streamed freely down the young lad’s face,

The rapid beeping of the alarm reverberated down the hallway. In a split second, every nurse and physician sprinted toward the sounding alarm, frantic to get to the room. It was the rapid response alarm. A patient had gone unconscious and the family had sounded the alarm, desperate to help him. Minutes later, with the alarm still echoing through every hallway of the inpatient floor, an ominous voice came over the hospital intercom and said, “Code blue, 324. Code blue, 324.” It was no longer an unconscious patient; it was a patient in cardiac arrest. Now nurses and physicians from all over the hospital flocked to the room, anxious to save him. After nearly thirty minutes, the patient was conscious again, and as I stood there in my volunteer

This was the same patient that I had delivered warm blankets to, that I was face-to-face with earlier before knowing of his condition. At that moment the reality of impermanence hit me. I saw how the incurability of a disease and medicine merged and how real the problems that medicine seeks to resolve truly are. I was thirty feet away from a dying man and five feet away from a doctor trying to wrestle with the man’s eventual death. To many, this experience would have been depressing, a dream-crusher that showed the shortcomings of medicine’s ability to stop death in its tracks. However, this experience of being close to medicine and death at once was an experience that humbled me, an experience that called me closer towards my desire to do all that I can to heal through medicine.

The chaos of a crowded room swirls before my eyes, as bodies blur and congeal with activity, while a new race against the clock is set into motion. The steady thumping of drums can be heard resonating in my ears as my heart beat tries to drown out the physician’s idiomatic recanting of the patient’s primary injury survey. The anxiety of the moment swells as I begin to lose focus and my thoughts start to wander, and I begin thinking about the patient’s wife, children, parents, and friends. At the edges of my concussions the physician asks for the patient to be intubated due to an airway compromise, and my wondering gaze snaps back into focus as my heart beat begins to slows. A forty-year-old male with a gunshot wound to the chest is fighting

Around two o’clock that afternoon, from out of nowhere the rapid response alarm goes off. Amy, two other nurses, and I rush down four flights of stairs to the first floor to help an older lady who had fallen and felt light headed. She told us she was here to have a MRI done. We took her to the emergency room and informed the nurse of what

Walking down the dead hall of the hospital, a million things crossed my mind. I had no idea what to expect as this had never happened before, at least not this serious. As I peered into every room we walked past, I noticed something. They all had cards and balloons and flowers. We get to the room that is meant to be my father’s, 42D. No cards. No balloons. No flowers. Just him in this periwinkle-gray room asleep. I remember my mom telling me that there was only a few broken bones but looking over the documents it seemed to be a bit more than just that. Time was limited so we just got to say our hellos and goodbyes.