He would stay, walk with me through the darkest night, put back together the individual pieces I would fall apart into—and, with a smile on his face, break a little more with every piece.
A tear steals out of the corner of my eye. Here, in the middle of the furniture store, it crawls down my cheek.
‘All the better.’ June’s questioning look finds me, and it hits me that she doesn’t understand the slightest thing.
She is one of those lucky people who have never had to think about things like that. Who have never experienced what it’s like to inflict more pain on others than they can bear and feel so fucking helpless while doing it.
Quickly, I wipe the tear from my cheek and get up from the sofa. ‘Come on, let’s find a nice picture for your room,’ I reply, because I simply have no idea how to explain it to her.
No matter what I say, she will keep insisting that I give whatever it is between Jaden and me a chance. She will ask me to believe in a future in which Jaden doesn’t have to play the hero he really isn’t.
A future that might no longer exist tomorrow.
Hesitantly, she puts the cushion aside and slips into her shoes. ‘You can’t be afraid of happiness for the rest of your life,’ she says then.
Nothing would please me more than if it were as simple as she imagines. ‘I know,’ I say anyway, because that’s the truth, too.
Just under four hours after my conversation with June, I walk into the emergency department of Halifax Harbor Hospital in a white coat. The bandage in the crook of my arm gives a slight pull as I loop the stethoscope around my neck.
My blood has been drawn and is probably on its way to the lab for analysis right now. Basic blood panel, comprehensive blood panel, differential blood count, tumor markers, liver andkidney values, inflammatory markers, immunoglobulins. If even one of the values is abnormal, it all starts over again from the beginning.
Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.
Whatever happens tomorrow, for now the only thing that matters is getting through this shift. Together with Jaden, whom I spot leaning against the triage coordinator’s desk. Today he’s without his paramedic jacket, instead wearing his dark blue work pants and the matching T-shirt that gives me a view of his—unfortunately pretty hot—tattooed forearms.
Heat immediately crawls up inside me. He, on the other hand, doesn’t look as if my presence triggers anything in him at all.
‘Paramedic Jaden Reynolds at your service.’ A relaxed smile plays on his lips.
Those lips that had almost touched mine yesterday. Those lips that I’m probably staring at just a little too long right now.
‘Hi.’ I quickly turn to the triage coordinator. ‘What have you got for us?’
‘Treatment room one, 88-year-old male patient, arrived thirty minutes ago with shortness of breath and cyanosis. Heart attack five years ago.’ He hands me a medical chart, Jaden pushes himself away from the counter. ‘Blood pressure 100 over 65, heart rate 105, respiratory rate 22, oxygen saturation 92% despite 6 liters of oxygen.’
Immediately, the possible causes of his condition start racing through my mind.
Acute heart failure, 30 to 40 percent risk. Cardiogenic shock after myocardial infarction, 10 to 15 percent risk.
I take the chart and signal to Jaden to follow me. On the way I check all the details already noted, develop further suspected diagnoses, grow more uneasy.
Hypovolemic shock, 5 to 10 percent risk. Pulmonary embolism, 20 to 30 percent risk.
I hear my boss raging in my head,You have to leave your own story at home; it must not affect your work.
Is he right? Am I taking the risks too seriously again? I don’t know.
My steps grow ever faster, and a little later I push open the door to treatment room one. Next to the patient sits a woman who is presumably his partner. She is holding his hand in hers, her face lined with wrinkles is full of worry, her hair thinning.
Jaden immediately steps to her side. ‘Hi, I’m Jaden, may I sit with you?’
Out of the corner of my eye I see her nod, whereupon he pulls a chair over to him and shoots me a conspiratorial look.
‘I’ll take care of her,’ is what he wants to tell me, and I show him with a grateful smile that I’ve understood. Then I turn to the patient. Beads of sweat cover his pale face, his breathing is rapid.