Red.
The entire ward was coated in red.
Machines beeping, doctors shouting, patients screaming, all cut with an undercurrent of fear and the smell of death.
There was no way I could have predicted there would be a fifty-car pile-up on the Earl’s Court bridge, or that a bus would smash a lorry onto the opposite side of the dual carriageway and burst into flames with passengers still inside.
Ralph and I had been together for ten hours, and the ambulances were constantly bringing people in. Fire services were doing the best they could, but people were still trapped. Nurses had to prioritise patients and wheel them in as soon as we were done with the next.
We couldn’t stop. There was too much hanging in the balance.
My coat was stained with splashes of blood, my hands growing sweatier with every change of surgical gloves, my knees ready to give way at any moment. There was barely any time for paperwork when the patients left quicker than they arrived.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Smith. There’s nothing else we can do,” I said numbly.
I needed to switch myself off. I had to remain professional as the young woman in front of me yelled. “No. No! You’re lying. You have to – You just need to try again!”
She grabbed the lapels of my coat, letting out a choked sob. Mascara stained her cheeks from her tears, her skin pale, the light behind her eyes fading. She hadn’t looked at her sister for a single second as Ralph and I tried to save her. She released me, lifting her hands and slamming her fists against my shoulders.
But the pain meant nothing.
Mr Carter was sitting on the plastic chair next to the hospital bed, watching his wife in shock.
The woman's heart flatlined five minutes ago; CPR was a failure; multiple tries with the defibrillator gave no results. Ralph and I both knew she wouldn't make it the moment she was placed in front of us. There was too much internal damage, and they brought her in too late. It had taken too long for the fire department to cut her out of the car. But with her family there, we had to try.
Our area was as private as it could be, ringed off by three flimsy white curtains as doctors and nurses raced past the opening, filtering patients as they came through.
We had put it off long enough. They had to move. We needed the room. People bled out in the corridors, and there was a chance to save them if we’d had the space.
Susie, another friend of Molly’s, appeared at the opening with two other nurses in scrubs, pushing a hospital bed with a sedated man. One nurse clutched his arm firmly, stemming the blood that was oozing around the slice of glass embedded in his leg.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the family members, “I’m going to have to ask you to make your way to a different station.” My voice was monotone, but it was all I could manage. I had to hold it together.
Another wail pierced the air around us as Mrs Smith finally looked down at her sister. “She’s not dead,” she gasped. “She can’t be dead.”
“Doctor, there must be something you can do.” Mr Carter was pale, his entire body shaking as he held his wife's hand.
Everything was numb, and I knew that deep ache that had been growing since the first shout rang out from A&E would remain for days. I couldn’t understand the pain they were experiencing, but I had seen this too many times. There were areas specifically for parents, siblings, spouses, and children who were struggling to grasp how quickly their lives had just changed.
“There are other patients who require assistance.” I blinked heavily, keeping my eyes fixed on the plastic sheet wall, not letting myself drop into the despair that was eating away at me.
And we don’t have time for this. I added silently.
Ralph was fantastic support, and his optimism could carry anyone through the day, but after ten hours, he was as broken as I was.
When every minute counted, I had to be strict, or another life could be lost because I’d succumbed to pressure. It had happened before.
Susie jumped forwards to grip the bed, the other nurse comforting the pair as their loved one was wheeled away. Relief swept over me when they didn’t talk to us any further; it made it so much harder to clear my mind for the next patient when they asked us more questions.
A fourth nurse pushed the bed into the empty space. “Male, thirty-two. Apart from the glass in his leg, the best we can see is that three ribs are shattered, but we can’t tell how bad the damage is.”
My gut wretched as I looked down at him. If he was coming to us, then there was no space left in the surgery rooms.
We each took a side of the bed and leaned over, trying to get a read on him.
I bit my lip as I looked at his skin. He was sheet-white, his lips too pale, his legs jerking as he moaned. Ten hours without proper treatment for a wound that deep was going to be a hard fight.
I pressed my fingers against his neck, looking at my watch as Ralph inspected his arm. “Breathing stable. What’s his EKG?”