on the scene and a detective is on her way here.”
They transferred her to our gurney as she hollered out in pain and I began to check her lines as I yelled for someone to grab pain medication, and maybe a sedative. I was pleased to see all the IVs the paramedics put in seemed to be working well. The doctor was there listening to her lungs as he called out orders for labs and an x-ray, while I drew blood.
As I filled the last vial I looked at her face for the first time. My breath caught and I clutched my chest, which suddenly felt tight and painful. I had seen her before. I would know her face anywhere, as it, along with others, haunted me daily. She was one of the women in my dream, and I could see her face in my mind moving in and out of focus. The image was burned in my memory, the shoulder-length curly brown hair and large green eyes that stared at me, full of fear and pain. There she lay with the same hair and face, eyes wide open, and I stared at the same green eyes that looked at me in the vision. The memory of her face was so vivid and sharp, mirrored by the bruised one that lay before me, that I had to close my eyes. I stood and staggered back from the bed in obvious distress. My coworkers took this as a reaction to the situation, not knowing what I was truly reacting to, and sent me outside for some air as one of them gave her medication to help relieve her pain.
I ran outside, I couldn’t breathe. How could this be? Leaning against the wall to steady myself, I screamed, “NO!” and dropped to my knees. People were walking around me but I didn’t care. Unfortunately a scene like this outside of our hospital was not terribly uncommon, and nobody seemed distressed by my behavior.
“Are you okay?” came an obviously concerned voice behind me.
I turned and felt pushed over by the wave of heat that crashed into me. There in front of me was a police detective, judging by the uniform and badge, with the hottest, whitest aura I had encountered since Luke. It hurt me to look at her. I wondered what this meant about me: if it hurt me, did that mean I was bad?
“Are you okay?” This time she spoke a little more slowly.
She offered her hand to me, and I took it. She had strong hands, warm to my touch, and I noticed her carefully manicured short nails.
“I’m fine, thanks. I was just caught off guard by a patient they just brought in.” I stood with her help and looked at her. She had short, wavy brown hair, and deep brown eyes that seemed to bore directly into my soul. She was taller than me but just as slender, although she looked like she worked out a lot more than I did.
“Well, as long as you’re okay. I need to go in and check on someone who came in.” She smiled, turned, flashed a form of identification and was let into the emergency entrance by security.
I brushed myself off and realized that I had a job to do and couldn’t let whatever insanity was going on right now get in my way. I put my key card up against the sensor and walked through the doors. Back in the trauma room, my charge nurse walked up. “You all right?”
“Yeah, just needed a moment.” I need an eternity to process this, I thought, but I can’t say that without ending up strapped to a gurney myself.
“Good,” she said and walked out of the room. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ve got a chest pain coming into room two.”
I waved her off without looking at her, as if I was fine, and walked back over to the bed. I looked at my patient’s face again and noticed she seemed more comfortable now, probably due to pain medication and sedation. I started to feel a strong urge building in me, anger… almost painful. My breathing sped and I felt my face getting hot. This has to stop , I thought to myself. My fists clenched, and then it all stopped as I felt a wave of heat smack me from behind. I turned quickly, eyes still intense, jaw tight, and stepped toward the heat.
“Whoa,” she said, holding her hands up in
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley