Hi everyone! It's been a while, huh? Sorry I haven't updated sooner—I've been really busy lately. That, I've had a horrible writer's block for the past two months or so. See, I changed where I was originally going with this chapter, because I didn't like it at all. It was too….well, it was lacking what I felt the earlier chapters in this fic had. So I tried to bring it back. I'm not entirely sure I succeeded—I think I may have rushed just a bit—but I do like it better than what I was originally going to do.
That aside….I do feel like each characters' perspective is a bit all over the place, but….well, I don't know….I think it works. That, and I'm going to be away for a lot of this summer, and I wanted to make sure I updated before I left!
Anyway, enjoy!
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JD's POV
Dark….
….so dark….
….can't….can't see….
Where….where am….?
….h….how long have….?
….cold….
….it's….so….
….cold….
….can't….can't get….
….warm….
….can't m….move at all….
….am I….?
….is this….?
….is this what….death....feels like….?
….p….
….pain….
….pain….e….everyw….where….
….how….
….don't….remember….
....did….
….was it….
….help….
….someone….
….help….me….
….I don't….I don't want….
….I didn't mean….
….please….
….please….
….don't….
….don't leave me….
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Janitor's POV
Subtle look to the left….glance right….aaaaaaaaaaaand assume the position!
Mop held erect in my right hand, I narrow my eyes—giving the passerbys in the window my—and you may quote me—famed evil-eye. This of course sends them backing into the opposite wall, giving me the satisfactory yet again of another mission accomplished. Ah, they run just like rabbits when they realize there's no way out from behind them—have to make a mad dash to the side. But that makes it all the more enjoyable on my part. And no, I haven't forgotten Angry doctor's instructions:
"Make sure no jackasses come in here until I get back."
But that doesn't mean I can't have fun while I do it.
Besides, I'm not even sure he's supposed to be here. I may not be a doctor, at least, not by day, but I've been at this hospital long enough that I don't think the one responsible for a patient's injuries are allowed in their room. That, or I've stumbled into that alternate dimension in the broom closet again. Either or.
I shrug then—after making sure no one's around to see it—and lean a bit on my mop; my attention—still with the evil glare (to maintain the air of a mastermind at work in case anyone does come by)—on the man I've been assigned to guard. "Dorian, Dorian," I murmur, purposely letting that rare emotion called concern in my voice "you're a mess, aren't ya?" Thankfully I don't have to worry about showing my—and this, you may not quote—soft side to him: he can't hear me. At least, I don't think he can. Never been in a coma before. I hope he can't hear me, or I'm gonna have a whole lot of 'ha, you really don't hate me!' on my hands when he wakes up. And don't bother correcting my 'when' with 'if.' Dorian'll come around; I know he will…..
….Yes, Margaret, I know it's been a week already—what does that prove? Nothing—and, no, I'm not being harsh—I'm just trying to see the light of things, here.
Might serve the rest of the hospital to do the same, come to think of it. Place is starting to act like that time my squirrel army started a mutiny….
_______________________________________________________________________
"Now fellas…." I try, holding up my hands in some form apology, "let's be reasonable here…." They continue to glare at me, their beady black eyes filled with the kind of evil only a dead squirrel can have.
"Stan….Wilson….come on guys! This is me, remember? Good ole' 'save you from the garbage dump' me?"
No response. Just the muffled afterlife squeaking amongst themselves.
"Guys?"
Their murmuring gets louder—it's times like these I wish I couldn't speak to poltergeists—and the look in their eyes only darkens. I hastily spring out of my chair, and run towards the door, only to realize it's been locked….
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I shiver.
I don't care what anyone else tells you; a dead squirrel is impossible to reason with….
….but back to my original train of thought, people around here are starting to act very similar to them.
Except instead of going after me, they're after each other.
Take Black doctor for example. Ever since the accident, he's pretty much stopped speaking all-together; the other day when I was on guard duty, I saw Angry doctor approach him while he was checking some chart gibberish. As soon he sees Angry doctor, he stares at him—glares at him (trying and nearly succeeding in plagiarizing my evil eye I might add)—and walks off in the other direction. Angry doctor goes after him, Black doctor ignores him. It kept up for about ten minutes before Angry doctor decided to give up. Had more important things to do than argue with that trademark stealing surgeon.
That aside, he isn't the only one—even Blond doctor, I've noticed, is a tad more vicious than usual. And nearly twice as hysterical. Like at lunch yesterday. She and Latina nurse were sitting in the cafeteria—I was on my self-assigned break so I wasn't up in Dorian's room—eating some toxic looking thing that shouldn't be categorized as food—not gonna lie, my guys were much better working there than whoever else is on duty now—and Angry Doctor comes by yelling about something or other. Whatever was on my plate decided to spring an attack on me at that moment, so I wasn't able to hear what he was yelling about. Life or death battles can be quite distracting….
….anyway: Angry doctor's obviously mad, and he's pointing at Blond doctor with one hand and at the door with the other. Latina nurse just kinda sits there—I think she and her meal were in a battle of wits, but that could just be me—and Blond doctor, her eyes all red and pretty damn watery, looks at Angry doctor, her own delicate hands curling into fists. At least, one is—I couldn't see the other one….
….until she stands up, that is, and throws her chart at him. Heh, if she hadn't looked so upset, the whole thing would have been pretty funny. You know: one more injury to add to Angry Doctor's face—he already had a ridiculous looking contraption on his nose from when Black doctor punched….
....did I say "each other?" No no, I meant "going after Angry doctor."
Poor Angry doctor. Everyone seems to have turned against him. At least, that I've seen. And yes, I know, it's his fault—he's the reason Dorian's comatose—but I just don't see it that way....
….watch your snide comments, Margaret, or I'll have to suspend you like I did Steve. It isn't his fault. He didn't do it on purpose. And to be honest, I think everyone in this hospital knows that. Yeah, hard to believe….but if they didn't, would they really put up with him coming into work every day to take care of Dorian personally? Probably not….that, or they're too terrified of him to protest while he's around—the interns are, anyway. Don't know about the rest of the staff—especially the nurses. I've seen some terrifying things in my day—most of which live in my garage—but one thing no one should ever see is an angry nurse-mob, all ganging up on one guy. Not a pretty sight, I'll tell ya that much.
That's actually why I'm here; standing in the corner of Dorian's room with my ominous glare. I'm keeping a lookout for anyone who tries to take over Angry doctor's job and kick him out whenever he leaves for a second or two. Now, when they finally listen to my 'android doctor' idea, we wouldn't have these problems, but until then, he's a man. A man who needs to leave Dorian's room every so often to relieve himself. So I assume the evil-eye until he comes back. Because anyone who isn't afraid of Angry doctor is afraid of me.
"Mmf…."
What was that?
"mffmmp…m…."
I freeze, my heart beginning to pound faster and faster in my ears. They found me! Dammit! And just when I thought I'd finally lost them for good! Okay….okay….don't panic....see, look? You can see Angry doctor from the window—he's on his way back now—they wouldn't dare—
"F….fmrf…..?"
Wait a second. Waaaaait a second. That doesn't sound like them. First of all, it isn't echoing like usual.
And secondly, it's coming from somewhere near Dorian's bed.
"Dorian?" I ask hesitantly, taking a step towards him, "you awake?" My first instinct is to poke him with my mop—for clarification—but he's already in bad enough shape without adding me to the mix. Plus—and not that it matters—I don't think Margaret would approve. It's a good thing when it comes to Janitor vs mop, Janitor always wins. Still, doesn't change the fact that I actually have to speak to Dorian to tell if he's the one making those noises. I'm glad Angry doctor's still outside; I hate showing that I care about people when others are around.
Then again, if Dorian is muttering to himself, it proves I was right about him waking up.
As I'm figuring out exactly what to do about this, Angry doctor walks in; his face red and his forehead creased.
"Anyone come in here?" He asks taking a slight breath as he speaks.
"Nope," I reply, crossing my arms, despite holding my mop, "but I think Dorian's coming around. Started muttering a little while ago."
Something changes in Angry doctor's expression when he hears that, and his already bad mood seems to darken. "That's not funny." He snaps, walking past me to check on Dorian.
My eyelid twitches. I wasn't making a joke.
"You callin' me a liar?" I challenge suspiciously, slightly annoyed. He turns around, a murderous look in his eyes.
"Well what do you think, Sasquatch?" He barks back, too on edge to realize he's crossing into dangerous territory. "Does he" and here he jerks his thumb towards Dorian "look like he could make any sound?"
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by his reaction—after all, Angry doctor's been under a lot of stress lately—but being insulted is something I never have nor will tolerate. Especially after spending a week standing guard for him. "You're the doctor." I retaliate, purposely letting my irritation show, "You tell me."
I can see I really pushed his buttons with that one, as his already deadly eyes are now glinting with….anxiety….?....fear….? I don't know. And I don't get the chance to find out. Because it's right then, in the midst of our quarrel, that said subject of argument does something neither of us expect.
He screams.
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JD's POV
"ARGH!!!!!!!!!"
Where am I?! What's going on?! Why does….why does everything hurt so much!? Arms, legs—side—won't go away! GAH! Shit! Make it stop! Someone make it stop! Dammit!!
"….out of….way…."
"D….rian….t's wrong wi…."
"I said….f way…."
Voices. I hear voices. But who? Who's there? Agh it hurts! Stinging….burning….why?! What happened to me?! How….
Come on….come on….focus—fight through the pain. You're a….you're a doctor….use your head….
Doctor….doctor….pain….pain….morphine! Morphine makes it stop! Find….get some….
I try to lift my hands, but for some reason they feel really heavy and unfamiliar. But I don't give it too much thought. I just need….
Gah....no good….can't close into fist….something in the way of….dammit! Dammit dammit dammi—
"….relax….D....okay….it's o…."
More voices—same ones as before. But I can't figure out where they're coming from. Everything's….so hazy….spinning….ARGH! Shit! Shit it….it….
….it....
"Newbie?"
It's….stopping….pain….pain's going….
"Newbie? Can you hear me?"
I blink, wincing as everything—hearing, vision—starts coming into focus. "Uhn….Dr….Dr. Cox?" I squeak, my voice hoarse and throat dry. "Whe….where…."
There's a slight pressure on my shoulder—Dr. Cox's hand. "Sacred Heart. Room 284." He says, looking down at me, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. I grimace despite the morphine coursing through my body, it having yet to take effect.
Dr. Cox picks up on this, as his next question is one every doctor uses when addressing someone who's just experienced severe pain: "How are you feeling?"
"….hurt…." I manage, suddenly realizing how tired I feel. Almost like I've been sedated, or asleep for a really long time. I try to raise my arms—to stretch and try to wake myself up—but have trouble lifting them. When I look down, I realize why they felt so heavy earlier.
"You broke both your hands and right arm." Dr. Cox explains, obviously noticing my confusion towards the casts—and stitches in the case of my arm—adorning my appendages. Maybe it's cuz I'm so tired, but at the moment I can't seem to remember receiving such injuries. At all.
I turn to Dr. Cox, still confused, but now with an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. "What….what happened to me?" I inquire, only half sure I want to know the answer—in the process of looking towards him, I managed to catch a quick glimpse of the rest of my body….and I'm not gonna lie, it didn't look good.
I'm still awaiting a response from him, in hopes he'll shed some light on whatever it was that happened.
However, he isn't the one who says the next words I hear.
"You were in a coma."
"Dammit what are you still doing here?!"
Okay, that second voice was definitely Dr. Cox….but the first one….
Wait wait wait. Did he say a….
"You. Leave. Now!" In an instant, Dr. Cox is on his feet, stalking over to the other side of the room....and towards the Janitor standing in the corner. Dunno why he's in this room of all places. Guess it doesn't really matter though, because regardless of— not sure why he's protesting in the first place— his protests, Dr. Cox succeeds in shoving him out the door. And as much as I love seeing the Janitor actually being defeated, his words from before are still buzzing around in my head.
And that feeling in my stomach only gets worse.
"Was he….was he serious?" I ask hesitantly, as Dr. Cox sits back down. He doesn't respond at first—at least, not verbally—but sighs, his hands resting themselves behind his head, which kinda alarms me.
"Yes, Newbie…." A pause "….he was."
WHAT?!
"W-what?"
"….after the….the accident….you suffered a variety of injuries. Combine that with the sever….well, it was more than your body could take and—hell you know how it works—it shut down."
I'm a bit bothered by how monotone he is when telling me this; I mean, if things were really….are really….that bad, then I at least thought he might show me even the tiniest hint that he cares. Instead of treating me as if I were any other patient, and not the loyal protégé who's followed him around and hung onto every single little order he's ever given since I was an intern. But no, he stays professional, calls me 'Newbie' and acts like he doesn't give a damn the entire time.
Looks like I've set my expectations too high yet again.
My turn to sigh, I attempt to roll over, suddenly losing interest in our conversation. However, a sharp twinge of pain in my side quickly eliminates that option, and I'm forced to resorting to staring at the ceiling. I hate this. I hate him. I mean, first I wake up screaming in agony and having no idea where I am; then when I finally do learn, I still can't remember how I got there, or how I managed to break like, half my body, to the point where I slipped into a coma.
Dammit! Why does everything always happen to me? Why am I always the one who ends up suffering, while everyone sits idly by and does absolutely nothing to help?
It isn't fair. And yes, I know Perry isn't one for being all emotional, but I thought maybe, this time around….
….shit, all he really told me was that I was in some sort of….
"Jack!" I scream, panic rising in my chest, "what….is he….did I….?!" Of course; how could I forget?! This….this accident Dr. Cox keeps referring to….why I'm such a wreck….I remember it all.
"Whoa, easy there, Newbie." Dr. Cox interjects, glancing apprehensively at one of the monitors, "Jack's fine. You….you saved his life."
"wha—I—uh…." Caught up in my anxiety, that last part of Dr. Cox's sentence doesn't register at first.
And even when it does, I'm still not entirely sure I believe it. "….oh…." I reply hesitantly, studying Dr. Cox' face. Maybe I'm being paranoid, or just desperate to be recognized by him….I'm not sure. Because there's no way the man sitting next to me would actually acknowledge something I did….especially if it had to do with him. I mean—and I'm probably just imagining things—it sounded kinda like a thank—
"Newbie!"
Huh? Oh….right….guess I zoned out again. Crap.
"Um….good." I say quickly, in an effort to let him know I was paying attention "that's good." I stop for a moment, cringing as that same pain from before stabs at my side. Why the hell can I still feel that? I thought the morphine would….forget the damned pain! Stay on topic here! "Jack…." I gasp, fighting and failing my battle against the sharp feeling in my side, "….h-how is….?"
"He's fine, Newbie." Is my answer—sonuvabitch failing to realize how much I'm hurting right now—"last I saw, he only had a few scratches. Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
"Oh….that's….great…." I mutter through clenched teeth, this close to crying out, " when….when was the….the last time you s-saw him?"
I think the pain must be getting to me, because I swear I saw something like sadness in Dr. Cox's eyes right then. It was only for a moment though, so I really have no idea whether I was seeing things or not.
However, even the thought of Dr. Cox showing some other emotion other than hatred towards yours truly doesn't even compare to the shock of what he says next.
"The last I saw Jack….a week ago."
A week ago? A week ago? But that means…
I must have had some contorted look on my face, because my inner monologue is confirmed with a distant and monotone "That's right, Newbie. One week. That's how long you were out."
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Dr. Cox's POV
I'm still not sure whether to be cursing or thanking Newbie for waking up like he did. Yes it now means I'll finally get his sorority sisters to stop accusing me of murder, but at the same time—with the condition he's in—it would almost benefit him more if he had stayed comatose a while longer. Keep him from asking all those re-heally complicated questions that I'd rather not answer right now. And no, I'm not just saying that cuz it's annoying—although that usually does apply here—but because I knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. Hell, I've already accidentally revealed more than I first intended, although—minus that first bit, which was entirely the Janitor's fault—I did feel he had the right to learn what happened to my son. After all, it's because of him my Jackie boy is alive.
Which—once again throwing a wary glance at the heart monitor on the other side of Newbie's bed—leads me to my next point. That there's no way in hell I'm gonna let him know I'm the one who hit him. Now, it's not like I would do that anyway, were he just another John Doe—I wouldn't—It's just….well, I guess you could say I'm a bit concerned about the whole handling thing. If the past two fluctuations in his heartbeat are any indication, there's a possibility delivering a shock like that might put him into cardiac arrest.
Especially given his breakdown last week.
Forget what anyone else might tell ya, recovering from emotional injuries is a hell of a lot harder than recovering from physical ones; no matter how traumatic they might seem. Even given Newbie's already malnourished physique adding to the extent of severity of his injuries….I could tell, the moment he opened his eyes that something wasn't right with him. First I thought it was in response to his physical pain—he was screaming bloody murder when he first woke up….yet, even after I adjusted the morphine levels and he calmed down a bit….something….something just seemed….broken.
He isn't the same Newbie anymore.
"Agh…."
Automatically, I pull myself out of my thoughts and look down: sure enough, Newbie's gaze meets mine—his eyes full of agony and teeth clenched together. Oh shit, I forgot. His spleen….or lack thereof actually. I purposely kept the morphine down just enough so he'd still be able to feel some discomfort in his side. Nothing against him personally, but as a newly awakened coma patient, there's a chance numbing the entirety of his wounds might send him into a comfortable sleep. And this time, there's no telling how long it'll be before he'd wake up….if at all.
"Rrgh…..D-Dr. C-Cox…."
Oh don't do that, Newbie. Don't plead with me. I know, okay? I get that you're in pain right now. But there's nothing I can do about that. So suck it up and for once in your damned life act like a man!
….Don't say that….don't go blaming it on the kid….
Wonderful. My stupid conscience is back. What the hell does it want this time?
….he's not what's really bothering you, and you know it.
Blah blah blah blah—Shut up, will you? Mind your own business!
Damned inner voice. Trying to get me to act even remotely close to admitting I'm afraid. Ha. Right. Me afraid? No. Not at all. He's awake now—nothing to worry about. And yeah, he's hurting—I already have that under control. No need to be concerned with any unaccounted for internal bleeding….
Shit. Who the hell am I kidding? Even if I did sortakindavaguely trust Ghandi enough to let him operate on Newbie….his body's been so neglected it's missing most of the necessary strength needed to make an easy recovery from a surgery like he had. Let alone live with it the rest of his life.
Making a sharp exhale through my nose, I resume what I've become accustomed to doing the past few days: making a mental check and note of Newbie's figure. He's still unnaturally pale, though being hooked up to an IV drip has brought a bit of coloring back in his skin, which is a start. Might try to get him to eat something later—when he's not quite so stressed out.
That aside, the rest of his injuries seem to be healing—perhaps not at the rate I would have liked—but healing nonetheless. If anything else, Newbie's collarbone's probably been benefiting the most from his stationary position: he can't move that area too well while in bed, which means it's most likely to make the quickest recovery. Good thing, too, considering Ghandi told him it was one hell of a surgery to pull off, what with how fragile his bones apparently were.
Dammit Newbie….you couldn't have at least tried to drink your milk every morning? Would it have killed ya that much to care about yourself even a little?
Apparently not, judging by how bad his breaks and/or fractures—spends a week comatose and the first thing that registers when he comes to is the pain. That isn't good. Even with minimal pain killers, it shouldn't have been enough to create the kind of reaction he gave.
I may be a doctor—and a damn good one at that—but even I didn't expect him to scream like he did.
"….Dr.—uhn—Dr. C-Cox….?"
Cringing at the instability of his voice, my eyes trail back up from Newbie's injured body—briefly analyzing the condition of both hands and arm—until I reach his face. "Ye-uh huh?" I reply: callous as a result from being caught off guard by the hollow expression in each of his glassy pupils. He winces, and though lying down I could have sworn I saw him jump. Shit….I'm just not used to dealing with….
"Why….?"
"Why what?"
He stops momentarily, and his forehead creases…..but whether it's out of pain or thought I'm unable to tell. "….why….why does it h-hurt so much….right….here?" One of the many visible fingers poking out from the cast around his left hand points—with difficulty—to the area just below his rib cage. Right where his spleen used to be.
Great. Juuuuust great. He had to ask that question. Okay then, Perry….it isn't all that bad….just….just take a deep breath….and beyond all else: go easy when you tell him….
"Well….Newbie…." I start, ignoring my objecting inner thoughts on what I'm about to say, "you…." Still behind my head, my hands absentmindedly tug at my hair, "….let's just say you're going to have a bit of difficulty in the future producing antibodies and filtering out dead bacteria…."
A tenseness settles in the air as I wait for Newbie to reply. There was a time when I could have called any and all responses of his, even before they came out of his mouth. But now….
….now it's all I can do to hold my breath and hope he doesn't freak out.
"W….what did….did you say?"
Huh. Not as bad as I first expected….but could be his skull fracture's affecting his ability to process information right now. Best and try to clear that up. "They took out your spleen." I say, deciding to simplify. He looks at me, and a knot of uneasiness curls in my throat.
"My….they took out my….?" Newbie echoes, his voice low; eyes widening dangerously.
An alarm goes off in my head—signaling I'm treading on very thin ice—but I suppress its warning, refusing to let this all blow up in my face. Instead, I lean forward in my chair, look Newbie straight in his ashen face, and explain. "You know what a ruptured spleen is, Patricia. Plain and simple—rest, stay off your feet; it shrinks back after a while." The words roll off my tongue, so fast he doesn't have a chance to interject. "however, you're—as I've said many times before—a special case….hell, you don't even know half the injuries you've got….and bottom line Ghandi and those other scalpel-for-brains thought it best to take out that insignificant organ—and ye-eah you had surgery, don't even start—so your other injuries don't affect it later on. Ya see?"
I take a good long exhale. Damn, that was a lot to say in one breath. Though I probably should have refrained from calling him a girl's name, I really didn't have a choice if I wanted him to hear the whole shebang. And he needed t—
"You took out….a piece of my body….just because of the 'possible' repercussions that may or may not have happened in the future?"
Each word Newbie spits from his mouth is as cold as ice. Dangerously cold. The knot in my throat coils further, but I keep a straight face, refusing to let my rapidly growing anxiety creep into it.
That's not the way to approach him like this.
"That's right." I say simply, dropping my hands back into my lap. Whether he knows it or not, I'm frantically searching his face for a hint of reasoning or rationality….just one subtle sign of the old JD; the JD who could look past my rants with ease and see the intended message beneath….
….Ironically, it's right then that he snaps.
"Right?! You think it's right?! Dammit Perry my spleen is gone!!"
"I know, Newbie, I—"
"NO, you don't! You have no idea!"
"'No idea?'" I bark back, "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?!" I didn't mean to be so harsh to him….I guess it's my natural reaction to something I have no control over.
However….Newbie doesn't see it that way.
"You! A stuck up, egotistical sonuvabitch!" He continues, close to hysterical, "Couldn't you have at least asked me, first?! What I thought about losing one of my own damn organs?!"
There's a slight beeping in my ear, but I'm a bit too distracted right now to pay attention to it. "Ask your….Newbie, you were going to die! We didn't have a choice!"
"Yeah, like I'm sure taking it out's made a huge difference!"
I have to restrain myself against massaging my temples. I swear, if he hadn't cracked I woulda gotten out of my chair and started shaking him. Not that he needs my help with that; kid's pretty damn close to hyperventilating. That….or he's about to cry.
Shit.
"It does make a difference, Newbie." I try again, switching my tone to a slightly less angry one, "Hell, you already had fluid in your lungs at the time and—"
"What?! WHAT?! The beeping grows louder and faster, but it's hardly noticeable in comparison to the crazed man before me. "I had fluid in my lungs?! Well that's just great, Perry!!"
I'm not sure what it is….the sarcasm, the viciousness….but something or other has morphed that previous anxiety I'd been feeling into full-blown panic. To the point where I'm starting to feel paralyzed with the situation….shit, I'm no shrink….how the hell do I deal with something like this? With….with him like this?
I mean….the….the way he's acting….it….it's almost like….m—
"Is there anything else, you forgot to tell me?!"
I snap back into attention, the un-pinpointed beeping now mixing with my heart pounding in my ears. Rg, it's so loud I can hardly hear. "Newbie….what did—?"
"Dammit Perry, listen to me!" He shrieks, sitting bolt upright—and causing me to jump half an inch in my chair. "I am so damn sick of everyone in this hospital writing me off!"
"But I—"
"And you! You're the worst!" There's no mistaking it now; there are tears in his eyes. "I do everything for you—everything! Carry charts, errands—hell, I've even taken care of your patients once in a while!"
"Newbie—"
"No! Don't you dare 'Newbie' me! I'm not a Newbie anymore dammit! And I'm not some helpless little girl, either! So why can't you just—"
It happened so fast I thought I was imagining it. Mid rant, Newbie stops, and what little color he has drains from his face. He gasps several times—his body shaking—before he falls back on his bed….his eyes rolling up into his head.
I stare for a moment: frozen, until the beeping I'd been hearing for sometime suddenly chokes: it's sporadic sounds all meshing together into one distinct flat line.
And suddenly I realize what was going on.
Instantly, I'm out of my chair and throwing open the door: not caring for the first time if the rest of the staff sees the raw terror plastered across my face.
"I need a crash cart in here, stat!" I screech, "he's coding!"
