Disclaimer: I don't own any part of "The Invisible Man." If I did, it would still be on the air. I'm not making any money off this, so don't sue me. I'm just a poor college student.
My muse has returned! Finally! It has been way to long since I wrote anything for fun. Please R&R. It will be greatly appreciated!
It Never Gets Easier
I took a glance at the clock and called it.
"Time of death occurred at 10:22am."
I sighed, took off my latex gloves and threw them in the trash. As many times as I had seen patients die it never got any easier. I sat down on a nearby chair as the nurses unhooked the IV's, took out the central line, and removed the tracheotomy tube. Now came the worst part. I had to inform the family. I picked up the patients chart. According to this he had no immediate family in the area, but his co-workers were in the waiting room. I could picture them even before I saw them. It was the same every time. One person would be sitting awaiting the news as patiently as they could. Another would be pacing the room, asking the nurse on duty every five minutes if there was any news.
I cleared my mind and left the operating room. I walked down the long, white corridor to where the relatives, or whoever they were, were waiting. I hated that corridor. It was bare and empty. It looked the way I felt when I went to deliver news like this. It reminded me of how I must look to the victims. Cold and unfeeling. I hated being reminded of that. I reached the door. Taking one more deep breath, I entered the room. Even though this was the busy city of San Diego, there was only one group of people waiting, and they were waiting for me.
As I crossed the room I saw the hope fill their eyes. I saw their anticipation as they came over to me. All they wanted to hear were five little words. He's going to be fine. That's all they wanted. A few simple words. I small piece inside of me dies every time I can't say those words. This was one of those times.
The first man to speak to me was a tall, spiky haired man wearing tan pants and a black jacket. He seemed to be in his thirties. He also seemed to be the most nervous one of the group.
"Is he alright? Where is he? Can we see him? I need to see him."
"Darien, please, let the woman speak," a slightly shorter woman in a blue blouse and jeans said. She had a gentle, British accent. She placed her hand on the man, Darien's, arm in a vain attempt to calm him down. I looked both of them over, and then began.
"My name is Dr. Madison. Are you the family of Mr. Hobbes?"
"Yeah, yeah we're his family. Tell me how he is," Darien asked nervously.
The five people in the room were silent. They just watched me, waiting for me to continue. I was the center of their world right now, and it made me feel like crap.
I quickly looked at the other three people. Two men, and one woman. The woman was about my height with medium brown hair. She was wearing black pants, a red shirt, and a black leather jacket. She stood calmly next to Darien. One of the other men had great posture. He was in a nice suit and stood straight and tall next to the last man. This final man was an older, overweight gentleman. He had a serious expression on his face, but otherwise I could not tell what he was thinking. I continued.
"Well, as you know Mr. Hobbes entered the hospital with several bullet wounds. On further examination we determined that there were three in total. One superficial wound, where the bullet just grazed his shoulder, and two which were more serious.
"One of the bullets entered his right side and punctured the liver. The other tore through his chest puncturing the left lung and one of the atriums in his heart." I cringed on the inside when I realized I had used the word "tore." It probably wasn't the right choice. Well, it was too late to change it now.
"Is going to be alright?" Darien interrupted again. It hurt me to continue. I just wanted to hug this desperate man. I wanted to cry with him and tell him that everything would be fine, in time. Tell him that everything would work out. I quickly composed myself and continued.
"Mr. Hobbes was in very poor condition when he arrived. He was not breathing on his own and he barely had a pulse. He had also lost a massive quantity of blood." I cringed again when I used the word massive. I needed to read the thesaurus to pick some more gentler words.
Darien just stared at me. I could see the hope vanishing from his eyes, vanishing from all their eyes.
"So," Darien whispered. He knew what was coming next. They all knew, but I still had to say it. I had to tell them.
"I'm sorry, but there was nothing we could do. I'm afraid we lost him."
They all went into shock. I could see it. I had been trained to see it. Darien almost collapsed. The two women caught him and helped him to a chair. He kept muttering to himself.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Not Hobbes. He can't. No, not again. This can't be happening again. First Kevin, now....Claire, do something! There has to be something you can do. Please, please, not Hobbes, not again....." He trailed off into tears. The two women sat next to Darien, crying themselves as they tried to comfort him.
That was my cue to leave.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
Then I left. I turned around and exited the room. I walked back down the long, bare corridor. I felt like the corridor. But, that was my job. I wasn't supposed to feel for them. I wasn't supposed to cry with them. I couldn't. I kept telling myself this over and over. If I cried for every patient that died, if I wept with every family, there was no way I could do my job. No way at all. I walked down the corridor with dry eyes and my head held high. I went over to Nurse Grey to get my paperwork.
"How'd it go Abby?" she asked me.
I smiled and grabbed the manila folder from her hand.
"It never gets any easier, Louise. It never gets any easier."
My muse has returned! Finally! It has been way to long since I wrote anything for fun. Please R&R. It will be greatly appreciated!
It Never Gets Easier
I took a glance at the clock and called it.
"Time of death occurred at 10:22am."
I sighed, took off my latex gloves and threw them in the trash. As many times as I had seen patients die it never got any easier. I sat down on a nearby chair as the nurses unhooked the IV's, took out the central line, and removed the tracheotomy tube. Now came the worst part. I had to inform the family. I picked up the patients chart. According to this he had no immediate family in the area, but his co-workers were in the waiting room. I could picture them even before I saw them. It was the same every time. One person would be sitting awaiting the news as patiently as they could. Another would be pacing the room, asking the nurse on duty every five minutes if there was any news.
I cleared my mind and left the operating room. I walked down the long, white corridor to where the relatives, or whoever they were, were waiting. I hated that corridor. It was bare and empty. It looked the way I felt when I went to deliver news like this. It reminded me of how I must look to the victims. Cold and unfeeling. I hated being reminded of that. I reached the door. Taking one more deep breath, I entered the room. Even though this was the busy city of San Diego, there was only one group of people waiting, and they were waiting for me.
As I crossed the room I saw the hope fill their eyes. I saw their anticipation as they came over to me. All they wanted to hear were five little words. He's going to be fine. That's all they wanted. A few simple words. I small piece inside of me dies every time I can't say those words. This was one of those times.
The first man to speak to me was a tall, spiky haired man wearing tan pants and a black jacket. He seemed to be in his thirties. He also seemed to be the most nervous one of the group.
"Is he alright? Where is he? Can we see him? I need to see him."
"Darien, please, let the woman speak," a slightly shorter woman in a blue blouse and jeans said. She had a gentle, British accent. She placed her hand on the man, Darien's, arm in a vain attempt to calm him down. I looked both of them over, and then began.
"My name is Dr. Madison. Are you the family of Mr. Hobbes?"
"Yeah, yeah we're his family. Tell me how he is," Darien asked nervously.
The five people in the room were silent. They just watched me, waiting for me to continue. I was the center of their world right now, and it made me feel like crap.
I quickly looked at the other three people. Two men, and one woman. The woman was about my height with medium brown hair. She was wearing black pants, a red shirt, and a black leather jacket. She stood calmly next to Darien. One of the other men had great posture. He was in a nice suit and stood straight and tall next to the last man. This final man was an older, overweight gentleman. He had a serious expression on his face, but otherwise I could not tell what he was thinking. I continued.
"Well, as you know Mr. Hobbes entered the hospital with several bullet wounds. On further examination we determined that there were three in total. One superficial wound, where the bullet just grazed his shoulder, and two which were more serious.
"One of the bullets entered his right side and punctured the liver. The other tore through his chest puncturing the left lung and one of the atriums in his heart." I cringed on the inside when I realized I had used the word "tore." It probably wasn't the right choice. Well, it was too late to change it now.
"Is going to be alright?" Darien interrupted again. It hurt me to continue. I just wanted to hug this desperate man. I wanted to cry with him and tell him that everything would be fine, in time. Tell him that everything would work out. I quickly composed myself and continued.
"Mr. Hobbes was in very poor condition when he arrived. He was not breathing on his own and he barely had a pulse. He had also lost a massive quantity of blood." I cringed again when I used the word massive. I needed to read the thesaurus to pick some more gentler words.
Darien just stared at me. I could see the hope vanishing from his eyes, vanishing from all their eyes.
"So," Darien whispered. He knew what was coming next. They all knew, but I still had to say it. I had to tell them.
"I'm sorry, but there was nothing we could do. I'm afraid we lost him."
They all went into shock. I could see it. I had been trained to see it. Darien almost collapsed. The two women caught him and helped him to a chair. He kept muttering to himself.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Not Hobbes. He can't. No, not again. This can't be happening again. First Kevin, now....Claire, do something! There has to be something you can do. Please, please, not Hobbes, not again....." He trailed off into tears. The two women sat next to Darien, crying themselves as they tried to comfort him.
That was my cue to leave.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
Then I left. I turned around and exited the room. I walked back down the long, bare corridor. I felt like the corridor. But, that was my job. I wasn't supposed to feel for them. I wasn't supposed to cry with them. I couldn't. I kept telling myself this over and over. If I cried for every patient that died, if I wept with every family, there was no way I could do my job. No way at all. I walked down the corridor with dry eyes and my head held high. I went over to Nurse Grey to get my paperwork.
"How'd it go Abby?" she asked me.
I smiled and grabbed the manila folder from her hand.
"It never gets any easier, Louise. It never gets any easier."