But Ralph cut in before Susie could answer. “We need a scalpel kit, towels, bowls, morphine, and another nurse. Grab anyone you can.”
I worked for The Foundation because I wanted to help people, and I still did, but it wasn’t the same as looking at the face of a man and knowing that the decisions we made in the next two minutes might be the ones that saved his life.
***
Six hours later, the sun was beginning its slow ascent from the horizon. I sat on a bench in a corridor overflowing with sleeping patients in one of the many corridors that fed to A&E, staring numbly through a window that looked out onto the car park.
The sights and sounds were seared into my mind, and all I could smell was blood.
I lost twelve patients, stabilised fourteen, assisted on two major on-floor surgeries and conducted one myself.
Legs spread, back slouched, I gripped my phone, shaking as I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. I had to keep moving. I’d given myself five minutes to eat, and I had a minute left before I needed to go back out onto the floor. We were in a lull, but patients still needed treatment, paperwork had to be done, and I had to report to the Department Head for a serious bollocking about how I’d put the hospital at risk by assisting and performing surgeries without proper clearance.
I’d already texted Molly four times:
“Red 12.”
It was our code, a way of saying, “I’ve lost this many people and I need you.”
I just wanted her to message me, to know I wasn’t alone in this. She had seen me at my worst. She knew how much this wrecked me.
I needed her. For the first time in a year, I really needed her. Not as my fiancée or whatever she was to me now, but I needed my friend. She had worked in A&E before finding her calling in the natal ward. She knew how hard it could be.
But she still hadn’t replied, and I was getting desperate.
I didn't care about the sexting or the ‘break’ or our arguments. I needed the woman who supported me when the job became too much. Even if she hadn't when I started at The Foundation, I knew she would support me with this kind of stress.
Ralph’s partner was an EMTs who had been racing back and forth between the hospital and the crash site. They had already gone home to comfort each other, to be together the way I wanted to be with Molly.
I hit dial, lifting the phone to my ear. Even if the reception at her parents’ was terrible or her internet was out for the day, I could still leave her a message, just to talk to her at least.
I listened, pressing the phone hard against my skull, enjoying the distraction the pins and needles brought. Five rings. Seven. Ten. Then the classic long beep: “The person you have dialledis currently unavailable...”
A flash of anger whipped through me. The sheer number of times she had complained about me not reaching out, not relying on her, and vice versa, never giving her attention when she needed it. I was so exhausted that I gave into the emotion and let myself boil. At least I could feel something other than grief.
I was tired of all of it. What was I fighting for if I couldn’t save people when it really mattered?
I forced myself to wallow rather than let myself collapse. I could still work even if I felt like I was drowning, as long as I didn’t stop.
I was saved from stewing as a frail voice called from my left. “Doctor…” she croaked.
Looking up from the window, my thoughts receded. A trembling, withered hand stretched over the side of a hospital bed that lined the corridor, as all the main rooms were full.
I shot off a last text to Molly before shoving my phone into my pocket.
I swallowed down the part of me that needed to break down. I was resentful to Mum for a lot of things, but teaching me how to construct different masks depending on the situation wasn’t one of them.
It took so much to will myself to my feet, but I walked over to her and gave her a smile.
The longer I worked, the longer I could put off processing the horror of the day, even though I knew I would crash soon. Because each time I sat, I was met with visions of grievingfamilies, the screams from patients, and the glassy eyes of those I couldn’t save.
Dom
I’d woken up to five missed calls and eight texts on Molly’s phone, all saying the same thing:Red 12.
It must be some code the two of them had between them, and I only figured it out after listening to his voicemails.
The calls were sporadic, at least two hours between them, but ranging from yesterday evening to 7AM. Harry’s messages grew more and more tired, each message starting with “Hey, I know you said you couldn’t talk, but I really need you right now...”