Many times we are selfish. We think our bad day is far worse than a bad day anyone else could possibly have. That there is no comparison. That it is a bad day of epic proportions. We may say that, until we look. Until we listen. Watch someone with tears running down their face. To see a hopelessness in their eyes. Lips speaking of things we can't comprehend. Listening to a story being told that scares us even to hear, let alone live it. It's on a level above us. A level that I have a hard time relating too. A world very different from mine. An area where I can sympathize, but not fully understand what it must feel like to stand there. Hands covered in blood. Adrenaline rushing thru your veins. Nothing rushing thru their veins. A blue child laying lifeless. A cold metal table against the skin of his back. Bright white lights shinning down on tubes and needles. Pumps and machines. Things protruding out of a little boy's chest where the only thing on his chest should be an NFL team logo displaying his love for the game of football.
To me it was a night that wasn't out of the ordinary. A few drinks, a couple laughs and that was that. Feeling tired, I longed to just spend the remainder of the night lying in my bed catching up on sleep. When she called me it was just after midnight. I was already driving home. She was unusually quiet. She didn't seem like herself. When I asked what was up and if everything was ok, she did her best to lie. She said she was "fine" and calling just to say hi. "Tell me something funny" she said. The sentence wasn't even complete before her voice started to tremble and the words escaped her. Obviously something was wrong. "Where are you" I asked. She told me she was still at work. Waiting for a co-worker she had car pulled with to complete her rounds. Then they could both go home. I asked if she wanted me to come and get her. To take her home so she wouldn't have to stand around waiting at the hospital. Normally she would say the standard polite response. Something like "oh it's too much bother, don't worry about it". Tonight it was "really, can you please".
When I arrived I could see the distraught look on her face. Eyes were red and swollen. She looked exhausted. I had seen that look on her face before. It usually appears when she loses a patient. They aren't your typical patients. These aren't old people who are sick. Theses are perfectly healthy children who have fallen into some catastrophic event. An emergency situation that renders their parents almost powerless. They turn to doctors and nurses who have the power to help. To heal. To save. Of course that is when things go as hoped for. When life is kind and forgiving. Sometimes things aren't always "fine". Sometimes the inevitable happens. Sometimes our worst fears are met head on. Sometimes the most horrific nightmares do come true.
I greeted her with a hug. Immediately it re-wet the tears that had dried. I asked if she wanted to talk about what happened. She was holding back. I could see the wound was still too fresh. There is no re-opening something that has yet to close. The pain was on the surface. It was overflowing. I wiped the biggest tear that had formed a small puddle in the corner of her eye. I told her I would think of that "something funny" she had asked me to tell her about on the phone. By the time we reached the car, I was wishing that "something funny" had come to mind so I could tell her. Try and make her smile. Maybe even laugh. If nothing else, I wanted her mind to become distracted. The ride home was long and quiet. She starred silently out the window. I put my hand on her knee as I drove. Similar to how my Mom use to put her hand on my knee when I was hurt. Rubbing her thumb lightly against the wound as if the touch alone would heal the injury. It did always seem to help. Maybe it helped when I did it too.
The "something funny" I was suppose to think of. I never could come up with it. At my house, I drew her a bath. I thought some warm water and bubbles might help ease her mind. As the water ran, I looked for a takeout menu. I put on some music to keep her company while I left to pickup some late dinner. Before I stepped out the door, a most fitting song began to play. Frank Sinatra's "When You're Smiling". It must of been the perfect medicine for her. She finds it funny that I have a Sinatra CD. She smiled asking "did you plan this, this song to play". I swore it was on random shuffle, but it did seem rather ironic. I couldn't miss the opportunity to make her laugh so I asked her to dance with me. It's important to note, that although the song is only 3 minutes long, it's more than enough time for a bath to overflow. A mop and a few wet towels later will confirm that fact. It's ok. I had finally delivered on the "something funny" she had asked me for. When I arrived back with the takeout, I found her asleep in my living room. Stretched out on the floor. A pillow holding her head. The fireplace warming her body. She looked so peaceful. For the first time all night, she looked relaxed. I couldn't bare to wake her. So I covered her with a blanket and kissed her forehead goodnight.
The next day, she returned to work in the Children's ER. I don't know how she does it sometimes. She's strong for 24. In the past I have given her pep talks after losing a young patient. I wonder if my words help make her stronger. You can't save them all. It's the cold hard truth of the business. You can however do your best to heal those in need. It's a power not many people have. A power she has. A power I pray she never gives up on. I don't have power like that, but perhaps I have the power to make people smile. To make people laugh? I do like to believe that I have the power to comfort. To numb the pain for just one dance.
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