Something like No Problem by the Chet Baker Quartet was playing in the ICU. It was one o’clock in the dark of the night. The barbershop was open for business.
Having been assigned to the Trauma ICU for the past week, I was comfortably familiar with the patients and their stories. I rounded on the unit at the start of my shift, making small adjustments here and there and hoping for a quiet night.
I began by saying my hellos to the family in bed 2, each relative clutching a hand and praying that the young woman, many years my junior, whose brain had swollen as a result of her injuries, would win the fight for her life. Visiting hours had ended but they were allowed to stay late given the circumstances. I drew the curtain behind me.
At the other end of the unit, the woman in bed 13 was no longer calling out or squirming restlessly. She had learned earlier in the day that she was the sole survivor of the crash. Her eyes remained fixed on the wall clock when I entered the room as though she was counting down the minutes until she could join her husband again. I stepped out just as silently as I had come in. To do this job, you learn to compartmentalize. I take walks. Continue reading “Big Day”