-Part 2-
"Hollow"
~*~
I fear too early, for my mind misgives
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels, and expire the term
Of a despisPd life closed within my breast
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But he that hath the steerage of my course
Direct my sail.
~ Romeo (William Shakespeare – Romeo and Juliet (Act 1, Scene 4, Lines 113-120) ~
~*~
~ Eight hours earlier ~
I can't help but look around at the world as I sit on the bench in the ambulance bay, which is deserted except for the likes of myself and a pigeon who's waddling near the dumpster and pecking at some garbage that's fallen on the pavement. I munch on my little bag of Cheetos and look at the building that surrounds me: the faded red bricks have lost their color over the decades; a man slowly washes the windows on the fifth floor, takin' his sweet ol' time as he moves from one dirty window to the next down the hallway; a few patients peer out of their windows, staring into the daylight that shines down on them. This hospital warms my heart and soothes my soul in ways that not many staff members can relate to. My friends and the patients...they've healed my broken mind and body countless times over. Something about this place pulls you in and doesn't let go; it wraps you in its arms, holds you like a womb, and becomes your haven; it cares for you, guides you, changes you, and teaches you some of life's hard lessons. It can also break you. It can shatter yourself and your life into a million pieces, and you're left standing with nothing—forcing you to carefully reconstruct what you've strived so hard to achieve and stand for in life. This place becomes a part of who you are.
The sound of a siren hits my ears and brings me out of my afternoon break reveries. The ambulance races into my view and comes to a hasty stop in front of me. Zadro jumps out of the driver's seat and asks me if I'm takin' this one. I tell him that I'm on my break, but he quickly shouts that I might wanna take this one as he opens the back doors. He seems on edge, nervous, and moves quicker than he usually does. I toss my snack into the garbage can and jog over to the back of the rig—pulling out a pair of gloves from a pocket in my lab coat and sliding them onto my hands. Pickman pulls the stretcher out, the wheels drop and lock. I look up from my hands, and my eyes fall upon...her face.
Abby.
My heart stops. For a moment, my vision goes blank, a searing hot white. My bones freeze, and my joints lock. I can't move. I can't breathe. The blood in my veins runs cold and sends a chill down my spine. My mouth is agape, but I can't speak. My hands tremble. A sudden barrage of memories and images of better days rips across my mind in startling clips behind my eyes, and I watch as they speed by like a film in fast forward—from the moment we met ten years ago to this very second as I look at her pale, bloodied, lifeless frame lying on the stretcher strapped to a backboard. I ask Zadro and Pickman what the hell happened to her, my voice soft and unchanging. Pickman's voice fades from the moment she starts to speak, and I hear nothing more. Silence. I can't bring myself to tear my eyes away from her face. Before I realize it, my feet begin pounding the pavement as we rush toward the ambulance bay doors. My knuckles blanch white as I hold the stretcher frame tightly in my hands, the metal cold against my palms. We shoot through Chairs and through the sliding doors into the main hall. I glance over to the front desk and cry out, "It's Abby!" frantically to Sam, Pratt, Malik, Chuny, and Tony who're all milling around. They rush over to us, stunned out of their good day. The group of us jets down the hall—past the nurses station, past Curtain 3—and we swing the stretcher around and head toward Trauma 1. We crash through the doors and park the stretcher next to the gurney in the center of the room. We each grab a hold of the backboard, and 1, 2, 3—we bring her over. Unstrapping her from the board and log-rolling her onto her side, Pratt and Sam take it from under her and hand it to Zadro. The two medics roll their stretcher out into the hall, watching on from behind the double doors.
We move at a more hurried pace than we normally do—it's someone we know and love, we have to save her. Our voices are tight and strained as we try to force the words out of our mouths. We order tests, x-rays, meds. We start IVs, hang bags of saline and Ringer's on the IV poles, hang bags of blood and run 'em through the rapid infuser, and check her vital signs—which aren't hopeful. I shout to no one in particular to get a hold of Luka, so that he and Joe can be here with her. My voice sounds strange, childlike almost: scared, anxious, phrenetic. I feel everyone's eyes on me for the quickest moment. They know my fear.
A shrill alarm sounds. She's stopped breathing.
My heart races as I jump to the head of the stretcher—yelling for someone to get me an intubation tray, 7.5 ET tube. I watch her face for a split second: pale, cold, covered in splattered blood. Pulse ox's 85. She needs oxygen now. Sam hands me the laryngoscope, and I gently place the blade against her tongue and sweep it to the left. I see the cords and grab the tube from Sam. Close your eyes and breathe. I can't get the tube to pass—too much blood. Sam suctions her airway for a few seconds. Try again. I see the cords and pass the tube. Remove the stylet. "Bag her, now!" Pratt listens for lung sounds. Clear bilaterally. Good...good. Breathe. "Why didn't the fuckin' paramedics tube her in the field?" I ask aloud, not meaning to. "Jesus Christ!"
"Calm down, Rob—"
"Shut the hell up, Tony!" I hand the ambu bag over to Chuny and move back to Abby's side. As soon as I do...
V-fib!
The heart monitor goes berserk with a high-pitched beeping that sends us all into a state of panic. Her pulse slips beneath the fingers like a stretched thread, like a harp string about to break. "I need the stool. Where's the damn footstool?!" I shout. I spot it near my feet and drag it over with one foot. Stepping up, I lace my fingers together and place the palm of my hand on her sternum. Blood, like candle wax, drips in tiny rivulets onto the floor. "Starting compressions," I announce as I start pumping on her chest. "Charge the paddles," I order, as Malik pushes the crash cart over to the other side of the gurney next to Pratt. He readies the defibrillator paddles and places them on her chest. I step back. He shocks.
Still V-fib!
"Again!" I shout, putting my hands back in their place and pumping as fast as I can go. No one is going to surrender this life. Greg puts the paddles on her chest. I step back. He shocks.
Still V-fib!
"Again!" I yell, repeating my movements. Paddles. Step back. Shock.
No change.
"Again!"
Nothing.
"AGAIN!"
No.
And then.... Asystole.
Shit! This can't be happening. Not now. I pump on her chest at a fevered pace, breathing heavily, beads of sweat collecting on my forehead. "Amp of epi!" I scream. I can't take my eyes away from her face. This is the person that I've trusted for the past ten years. The only person I know who could make me laugh during my truly morbid moments. A person who's trusted me. A person I could turn to when I needed help. A person who turned to me. A person to share laughs and cries with. A person to share joys and pains. A sister. A friend.
I can't give up. I can't give up. I can't give up.
Not now.
"Still asystole," Sam tells me in a heavy tone. I finally look up and see that everyone's slowed their pace. Oh, my God. They're giving up. I scream in desperation, "What are you all doin'? You aren't givin' up on her like this! I'm the senior attending, and we stop when I say we stop!" I take a deep, sharp breath and look at each of them for a moment to see if they're noticing this rising hysteria bolting up through my body, threatening to levitate me altogether. Their expressions are somber, but filled with fear. Tears brim in their eyes. They see the pain and desperation in my eyes and in my face. I have to look away and back to Abby. "Another round of epi," I say with force.
She looks so innocent laying here. Silent. Peaceful. No, she's not gone. I won't let her go. We have to fight.
"Still flatline," Chuny sighs.
Pumping on her chest, I soften my tone and start talking to her—as if this will bring her back and keep her here. "C'mon, Abby, stay with us." I close my eyes and breathe. I look at her again. "C'mon, sweetie...don't leave us.... Don't do this to us, not now. Not now." Please, God...don't take her from us...not like this. I close my eyes and pray, my lips moving in rapid silence. The electronic drone of the heart monitor pierces my eardrums to the point where they feel as if they're going to explode. It grinds my nerves to nothing. It enters every pore in my body and swirls in my blood, making me tremble with fear. I feel so frightened, so out of control. I want to hear the bleep of a heartbeat, anything—v-fib, fine v-fib, v-tach. But the lazy minutes move past one after the other with no change. Five minutes: asystole. Ten minutes: asystole. Twenty minutes: still asystole.
Archie speaks after a long silence,"Rob, I'll take over for a while—"
"No," I tell him, trying not to sound like a bitch. I'm powerless to tear myself away.
"You're gonna get exhausted, you need a break—"
"I said NO, dammit!" No one speaks. I take a deep breath of the tense air that surrounds us—it makes me shiver. I feel the fear pumping through my veins, and my blood is on fire. There's a deepening realization that there's absolutely nothing that can be done to change that which is true. Deep inside me, I feel a great void opening. I feel another pair of eyes on me, and as I glance over toward the double doors and see him standing there, my heart aches him.
Luka.
He stands silently behind the doors, staring through the large window pane with a haunting gaze.
"'Nother round of epi," I sigh, staring into his eyes and trying not to cry.
"She's had ten rounds already," Tony says unthreateningly.
"And I said give her another!" I scream, shooting him a spiteful look. Everyone can tell from my voice what state I'm in. I look back to Abby—pleading with God to let her open her beautiful brown eyes again. I hear Luka slip through the doors, his shoes squeaking slightly on the cold tile floor. I feel him standing at the foot of the gurney for a moment, then, Greg steps back to let Luka come closer to Abby. He has to stand away from the gurney, he can't take it. I keep my eyes on Abby, but from the corner of my eye, I watch Luka, as well. He runs his hands through his black hair as tears well in his eyes; then, he puts one hand over his mouth—trying to stifle his grief-filled sobs—and hugs himself with the other arm.
"How long has it been?" he asks suddenly, his voice shattering my heart once again.
A pause, and then, "An hour and twenty-five minutes," from Sam.
Damn, I'm not aware that it's been that long until now. Five thousand one hundred seconds. Five thousand one hundred seconds of praying for my best friend's life to not slip through my grasp. Five thousand one hundred seconds of blood sliding, seeping through, and staining my hands, still dripping lazily onto the floor. It seems like twenty minutes ago that I saw her face as Pickman pulled the gurney out of the ambulance. And yet...it seems like a lifetime ago.
The silence between us drags on—the only sound being the monitor still emitting its shrill, ear-splitting asystole. Flat. Unmoving. Static. Immobile. Still.
Luka sighs. "Okay...you can stop...."
Everyone lets out a collective sigh at his words. But I can't stop. We have to keep going. I slide my eyes up to Luka's, still pounding on Abby's chest, and plead, "Luka.... Luka, you can't say that. Alright? You can't say that. You can't.... We have to keep her here! She has to stay! She has to be here to help you raise Joe—" The mention of his name makes Luka's face contort as he starts to sob, tears flowing from his eyes. I made a mistake.
"Rob..." Sam says gently.
"No," I tell her—and everyone else—as I watch Abby's face. It's becoming more difficult to speak.
"Robin...."
I can't give up. Keep going.
"Dr. Shepherd." Her voice rises, frustrated at my stubbornness.
I can't let her go. Gotta keep going.
Silence. Asystole.
"Robin, please, just stop!!" Luka shouts.
No. Keep going.
Luka steps forward, putting one of his hands over mine. The warmth of him comforts me. My bloody hands are engulfed by just his one hand. His wedding band glistens from the overhead light shining down from above. I can't look at his face. It'll be too hard to look into his eyes.
"Rob..." he whispers. "You can stop now...."
I have to close my eyes. My face heats up. I clench my teeth and force my lips together. I look at Abby, my vision blurry from my tears which stream down my cheeks—landing and soaking into the arms of my lab coat. I realize in this moment that I'm holding on to someone who's already gone. My compressions start to slow, a longer pause between each one. With one last twitch of my muscles, one last compression is all I can muster. The shrill drone of asystole abruptly ends as Malik switches the machine off. Silence.
Oh, God.... That's it.... It's over.... She can't be gone. Never again will we hear her sweet voice. No more giggles and laughter. No more heartfelt talks whenever something's going wrong. No more passing glances and warm grins.... And never again will we see her face: friendly, warm, inviting, trusting. Her soft eyes, deep and wise. Her angelic smile that could brighten the darkest of places.... Abby....
Everything's gone. All we have now are our memories, and that just isn't enough.
Luka takes his hand away, and it's time for me to do the same. I slowly take my hands away from Abby's chest and stand on the footstool with my bloodied hands hanging at my sides like two dead weights. My feet become frozen, and I don't know whether to run away or wait for the roof to cave in. It hits me now that I'll have to say the soul-shattering words that I've spoken thousands of times before. But it's different now. I step down onto the floor, releasing a ragged and defeated breath. I manage to unclinch my jaw and force my lips to part, but I can't speak the words. They won't come to me. They're swirling around in my head, but I can't seem to put my finger on them. My eyes slide over toward the doors and my head follows slowly behind. I read the black numbers on the clock face—staring at them for what seems like an eternity. Then, my eyes move over toward Abby's face, with my head trailing behind again. I can't bear the thought of what I have to do now.... Oh, God...I have to say it.
"Time of death...19:01...."
My words, barely a whisper, pierce the silence. The sound of my voice echoes inside my head—it sounds flat and dead in my own ears. It sounds emotionless, dull, cold, weary, deathlike. My throat's dry and the words choke me, paralyzing my lips. There's nothing left to say. Something has died inside of me. Something unmeasurable and indistinct. Something so massive that I'm surprised I'm still breathing. I've come to a grinding halt. My words have stricken everyone like a bullet and sucked the air out of the room, and I wonder if anyone else is breathing. My eyes float from one person to the other, making sure they're alright.... But of course they're not alright. No one is. How can they be?
Loss. That's what's here. Grief, sorrow, wordless and unfathomable. Its power is hard to believe.
At this moment I have no tears to shed. I don't feel sorrow...I feel anger. I'm angrier than I've ever been before—more than I thought was even possible.
Everyone else begins to shift around—removing their gloves, gowns, and goggles and letting them drop to the floor. In everyone's eyes, tears and distress—there's something in their faces I can't endure. Luka and I stand unmoving, not wanting to accept that which is true. The others make their way slowly toward the double doors, and Morris tells us that they're gonna give us some time. As the doors swing closed, I know that I have to leave to—Luka needs some time alone with her. I take a step back, and for a moment, I watch them both. Unconditional love and grief pour out of Luka as he watches her in the stillness. My heart breaks for him, and for Joe. As I somehow manage to move my muscles and start to shuffle away, something stops me dead in my tracks.... Luka calls out to me in a low tone, saying my name as he tries to hold back his sorrow. I turn and see his face: full of sadness and friendship, wearing a sympathetic grin as tears streak his cheeks. We look into each other's eyes for a moment, and then he speaks the words that make my heart ache. I want you to stay.
I nod and put on a compassionate smile—it takes all my strength to do so. I trudge back to my place next to Abby's side across from Luka—pulling my blood-stained gloves off and letting them fall to the floor. We stand together in the muteness not knowing quite what to do. Look at each other? Look at Abby? We're both thinking the same thing, and we reach for stools. Sighs come from us both as we take our seats. I'm enveloped in a kind of shimmering disbelief that I've been able to move and speak at all. It's impossible to convey my desperation and pain, and I know it's terribly hard for Luka, but we both feel one another's sorrow and brokenheartedness. I watch Luka place his elbows on the gurney mattress and take Abby's hand in both of his. He kisses her hand gently and hangs his head, sobbing quietly. All I can do is watch him through my broken eyes. After a while, my eyes slowly sink downward until I'm staring at Abby's wedding ring—remembering the night they got married. It was joyful. Filled with love from everyone.
I suddenly hear Luka's voice. I look up and see him standing as he asks me if I can stay with her. I nod and put on that same smile. He has the horrible task of contacting Maggie and Eric and telling them the terrible news—it's an awesome burden. He walks slowly out of the room through the doors and disappears from sight, leaving me alone with my departed best friend. I glance at the clock and see that we've been sitting quietly for over a half hour. I turn my eyes back to her and watch over her in my muted vigil. It's now that I notice that she's still wearing her lab coat—blackened, torn, and bloodied.
I have to move around, something, anything. I stand and roll my stool away to the side. I grab a sheet from a cart nearby and walk calmly back to Abby. I unfold the pale blue fabric and cover her feet with one end, and , bringing the other up toward her head, I have to stop. I realize what I'm about to do...I'm about to cover my best friend with a shroud. Tears fill my eyes and cascade down my face, staining the sheet I'm holding. I lay the fabric down on her stomach and take her hand in both of mine, wishing she would squeeze back, only for a moment. But she remains limp. It's so cold, and after a minute, I have to let go and gently put her hand back beside her. As I look at her face, I can feel myself start to break. I run my fingers through my hair as my throat knots and I begin to sob, backing up slowly until I hit the counter behind me. My knees buckle and I slide down—the cabinets against my back—until I collapse onto the cold, hard tile floor, tears streaming down my face and soaking my shirt. I have to hold myself up with one arm or I'll collapse under the weight of my sorrow. I haven't cried like this in years. No. I have never cried this way in my entire life. It hurts, like a rope snaking around my lungs. My stomach tightens and I can't breathe. I feel sick, nauseous, ready to vomit. But I keep crying. I tremble violently, an occasional whimper passing through my lips. I want to hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing. I have so many tears to cry. I start to talk with God inside my head.
Why did you have to take her away? Why did you take her away from me? From Luka and Joe? From everyone here in the ER? From everyone who loves her? Why now? How could you do this to us? She means so much to everyone. What the fuck is wrong with you? Don't take her away. Take me. Take me instead. Please, God, take me. Why have you done this? How could you do this?
I have no answers. And I'll never get them.
As I heave out sobs, an anger that's like nothing I've ever experienced before begins to burn inside me, burning hotter and brighter with every passing second. I breathe heavier, slower. I rise with some difficulty from my place on the floor and stand still for a short while. My eyes burn with anguish and anger. I move toward the back of the room slowly, gritting my teeth. With a sudden ear-splitting crash, I realize what I'm doing. I overturn every cart, spilling supplies onto the floor in piles, kicking them across the room, tossing the carts every which way. I know the loud, sudden ruckus can be heard throughout the ER, but I don't care. I grunt and scream until my throat's raw, but I keep crying out anyway. I take the used intubation tray and hurl it at the double doors—instruments flying everywhere and crashing loudly onto the floor. I grab the IV stand and tear the empty saline and blood bags off, throwing them to the ground. I wrap my fingers around the frigid steel, grasping it firmly in my hands. My anger boils over. I charge toward the back cabinets and drive the foot of the IV pole into the large glass panels—smashing one after another and screaming my lungs out. Millions of shards of glass crumble to the floor at my feet. I throw the stand with force to the side. I breathe rapidly, heavily. My strength is wasted. There's nothing left. My stomach tightens and saliva pours into my mouth. I hunch over with one hand on the remnants of the cabinet door frame. Warm, viscous bile spews from my mouth and onto the supplies and glass at my feet. I don't move for a moment. A string of spit dangles from my lower lip, and I spit onto the floor several times.
I hear the doors burst open and look over to see Archie and Sam standing in amazement at the chaos I've created. Before they can mutter a word, an orderly pushing a gurney stops just outside the doors. Morris tells him that they'll take care of it and turns back to me as the orderly reluctantly turns around and leaves. Sam asks me if I'm alright. I say nothing and just stare at Abby's face from behind the gurney. In the gentlest tone he can muster, Archie tells me downheartedly that they have to take her now.
No. They can't take her. They can't. I'm not ready to say goodbye, not yet. I have so much more that I wanna say, but I can't make my mouth move to get the words out. I find myself nodding, telling them it's okay to whisk her away to the morgue. No, what am I doing? Don't nod. They're gonna take her away. Don't let them! But before I know it, Sam and Archie move over to the bed and raise the side rails. Tears flow from my eyes. I have to say goodbye now. I have to let go. I bend over and kiss her forehead softly. Sam and Archie disengage the brakes and begin to roll her out of the room. I can't breathe. Scenes from the past ten years play in my head at lightening speed. My thoughts drift back to Abby's first night in the ER and the first time we met.
Sitting in the suture room, I was stitching up another drunk who'd passed out on the gurney in front of me. He was a college frat guy who drank a wee bit too much at a party and was propositioning me as he started to fall asleep and passed out cold. Flattered, yes. Any way in hell I'd take him up on it, no. I was laughing to myself when Mark came into the room with a med student trailing behind him—giving her the grand tour.
"And here we have Dr. Shepherd, another one of our attendings," he said, walking up to the other side of the bed.
I stopped suturing for a moment, and, smiling, said, "Hi. Let me guess, umm..." and waved my hand in the air in circles, "...3rd year med student. Am I right?"
"Right you are, Dr. Shepherd," Mark smiled.
"Abby Lockhart," she said with a warm smile.
"Robin," I smiled back. "How ya doin'? Ya scared?"
"A little bit, yeah," she said with a slight laugh.
I nodded. Classic first day for a med student: scared shitless. "I hear that. Don't worry, you'll be alright. You need anything, don't be afraid to ask for help, okay? You can always come to me. Even if ya just wanna talk, alright?"
"Thank you," she smiled and nodded.
"No prob," I said.
"Alright," Mark announced, "time to let Robin finish her job and carry on with the tour."
Following him to the door, Abby grinned, "Sounds good."
"Be sure not to kill that guy," Mark said, holding the door open for her.
"Will do," I laughed, and then, said, "Glad to have you in the ER, Abby."
She smiled before she disappeared into the hall, "Thanks, glad to be here."
Then, as the door eased its way closed, I turned back to my intricate sutures—hoping to God that the frat guy wouldn't wake up and continue flirting with me again.
They pass the doors. The drug lock-up. They reach the main hall and are met by a somber Luka, carrying Joe in his arms. This is the last time my eyes will ever see Abby. For ten years this was what I'd been dreading most, and now...I suffer and see it. They round the corner and I'm left alone once again—struggling to stand. My joints are locked in place. My muscles won't budge. I can't move. I look down at the mess on the floor. Blood. Gloves. Gowns. Goggles. Empty bags of saline, Ringer's, and blood. Bloody gauze. IV tubing. And there's the mess behind me. Sheets. Blankets. Pillowcases. Suture kits. Boxes of alcohol swabs and disposable gloves. Bottles of alcohol, sterile saline, Betadine. Glass. My own vomit. I stand here in nothingness. Silent. Withdrawn. Desperate. Longing. Lost.
Broken beyond repair.
~*~
There's Chapter 2! One more to go! Let me know what you think!
