Dark Side of the Moon
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
- Brain Damage, Pink Floyd
This should not have happened. Not like this. Not such a relatively trivial event..
For all they had been through – as individuals, and as a collective – all they had seen, all they had experienced, he had never imagined the end to be so… so anti-climactic.
He could hear the rushed voices swirling around him, the glare of the florescent lights blinding his already compromised vision. He tried to disentangle the conversation taking place, yet his mind refused to co-operate, focused purely on maintaining life.
He became vaguely aware of more people surrounding him, fussing over his body, speaking in a seemingly foreign language.
…28 year old male…high speed MVA…Self extricated…GCS 13-14 on scene, dropped to 6 in transit... E2,V2,M2…Pupils fixed and dilated…BP 210/94, bradycardic….
He knew he should understand what was being said, that all the information he needed to translate the information around him, yet he was unable to make to required connections, as though all the facts he needed lay dormant deep inside his mind, unable to be accessed by his conscious.
Suddenly, he felt his body shifting, from the cold metal gurney to and equally uncomfortable hospital bed, …watch his head, spinal precautions, probable CHI…get him into resus….
He felt the cold synthetic cuff being hastily wrapped around his arm, the pressure within it rapidly increasing before it suddenly ceased. His shirt ripped from his chest as various sticky tags were attached to his chest. The room around him slowly became distant, as though he was slowly floating above the frenzied action below him, an impartial observer, indifferent to the survival of the now empty shell he once inhabited.
Suddenly, he was no longer in the sterile surrounds of the Emergency Department, instead he found himself standing in a wide open field, the wind blowing through his hair and he took in the fresh air, the faint scent of the lavender surrounding him.
He had never visited such a place, and yet he felt safe, secure. He felt at peace, a sense of calmness overcame him and soon, it was all he felt. A sudden flood of familiarity washed over his soul, as though he knew, somehow, this was home.
Perched at the top of the hill directly behind him, illuminated by the fading bright light of a magnificent sunset, stood a singular tree, a lone figure sat beneath, laughing in a contagious, innocent manner only capable of a child, untouched by the horror this world contains.
He was drawn to him, an innate need to join the boy, a sense of security he had never known in all his years. One foot in front of the next, he made his way towards the horizon, his pace becoming faster with each step…
The ground began to shake beneath, almost unnoticeable but for the quivering shrubs surrounding him. He broke into a steady jog, which quickly became a sprint, towards the boy; towards safety.
All his focus remained on his goal, so much so, that he failed to notice the earth separate, a deep crevice obstructing his path. The clear blue skies grew dark, a feeling of foreboding and terror filled his soul, as though he was slowly suffocating at the intangible hands of his grim surroundings…
"…Midaz IV, He's seizing" He hadn't even heard the command, but almost instantly felt his entire body relax as the drug entered his system. He vaguely became aware of the voices swirling around him.
"…oh god, his sats are 74%, his ICP is rising …"
"Intubate, CT then straight to Intensive Care", he could hear the frustration in the second voice, "you might want to get that Mannitol into him before the pressure completely crushes his brain" The voice drew distance, leaving the room, he assumed, "Oh, and just in case you haven't already turned the kid into damn vegetable, you should probably start that Phenytoin"
What had happened? He tried opening his eyes, but the order from his brain never seems to reach his eyelids, attempting to move any of his limbs seemed futile.
"Jess, escort him. You know the drill – head at 30 degree, sats above 90%, keep him on max humidified O2. I'll have the neurosurg meet you in ICU"
He was once again floating above his body, watching the scene play out with cool indifference. They seemed so frenzied, running around the room, injecting his lifeless body with the various array of drugs designed to keep him alive, he barely felt the intrusive tube forced down his throat, ensuring he received enough oxygen.
He tried desperately to recall the series of events that had landed him in a trauma centre, intubated – machines breathing for him, medical staff attempting to prevent the current damage becoming permanent.
Normally, he would have been able to analyse all that was happening, interpret the medical jargon being thrown around the room. Yet he did not care. He was tired, too exhausted to even try.
The world around him began to fade, as he slipped into another haze. This time, there was no calmness, no fields of blossoming lavender, no child filling his soul with laughter.
It was simply darkness, a world void of all emotion. He felt, somewhere deep inside, that he should be fighting it, fighting against what little remained of the dying light, yet he had no willpower, no strength left within him. So he gladly allowed the night to take him, falling deeper and deeper into the dark abyss.
Oddly enough, he welcomed it, for an empty world, filled with naught but darkness, was far more preferable to the horrors of the waking reality he'd recently come to call his life…