sesquipedalien

I can hear the light swish of my walk up and down the halls of the small ER as the corduroys rub against each leg. I can hear it despite the hurried whirlwind of chatter exchanged between RN’s, doctors and patients. The nurses smile back at my own grinning face, recognizing me immediately as the girl whose name was too hard to say. They call me Katie instead. So much more ~easier~ to yell “Katie!” when they need something…

There is a child standing in the hallway with his mother. Four years old, maybe five. “Do you like teddy bears?” He stares at me and smiles shyly. “It’s a yes or no question buddy.” I smile back. He nods quickly, his lower lip enveloped underneath his still baby upper teeth. I hand him one and he looks up. I lean down and shake his hand. “Where does it hurt today?” “My head.” “Your head? Aww… what happened?” “I slipped!” His eyes widening. “Really!? On what?” “On concrete.” “I see.” His mother grins down at him fondly, “Yeah, we have to get his head scanned.” “CT scan?” She nods. I tell them to let me know if they need anything, and walk on.

I pass them again and his eyes are hungry. It’s almost 9 pm. “I’m starving!” “He missed his dinner.” I bend down again to his height and register his blue irises. “So what shall it be? Graham crackers or saltines?” He tilts his head to the side in decision. “Graham crackers!” “What do you say?” his mother taunts. “Please!” I love watching that pain dissipate… so ~simple~ to cure. He stuffs them with a delicate nature, letting crumbs litter his cheeks until his mother wipes them away. “Thank you!” I tousle his hair. Then wash my hands.

The lead RN calls. “I need you to watch him for me for a bit. He’s NOT supposed to be alone.” I raise my eyebrows and she confirms, “Yeah. Suicidal.” The ER is small, but the beds are in need. So there are 5 hallway stations, 5 beds against the wide hallway where the traffic never fails to jam. You get used to it. He lies on a bed in the hallway. Irritation swiftly climbs through me as minutes pass. He’s old. Old enough to be called older than old. I hate standing like this. I hate watching regret grow in the folds of failures. But watch I did. Such pain etched in his face. Such annoyance boiling within me. I want to kick the bed… And then, I leave. Leave him with his lover who comes bustling in, caressing his hand, asking for ice to wipe his blackened lips with.

A mother is sobbing quietly. Her back against the wall, crouching with her head in her hands. I reach her and tentatively make eye contact. “Shall I get you some tissues?” She sobs more and nods. Her little boy lies unconscious inside. I hand her the box and read her fingers, trembling. A wave of sympathy, a desperate need to ease her worry. I say nothing and give her a light hug which she gratefully accepts.

Screams suddenly pierce the hallways. They spread through thickly, missing not one soul. They hit me strong, nauseating, shocking. They are a mans cries. The wife runs out, compressing herself against the wall, her hands pressed to her ears, her eyes the very image of his distress. I want to sob with her, with him. Never, never have I heard so much agony in single notes…

His leg is amputated… and the healing is going wrong.

The entire place is shaken up. Other patients wonder fearfully, the doctors gather around the area of emission, the nurses in a slight emotional havoc. There is not a single face that smiles while those pleas of “No! no! please…no!” shatter the hurricanes eye.

The clock reads 11:00 pm.

The yells dwindle, and the wife goes running back in. The atmosphere repairs itself. An ambulance arrives with a case of abuse… she looks young and devastated. The atmosphere remains fixed.

I clean the beds and a nurse peeks in.

“Happy birthday Katie! Heard it was your day today!” I smile a thank you to his jolly face. “How old are ya?” “21.” His face does a somersault. “What!? You look like 15!” I laugh. “Nope, 21.” “Jeez kid! What are you doing here? Of all nights! You should be out partying! Drinking your share!” I shrug and slap on a noncommittal mask. He leaves with another “Happy 21!”

I can’t help but grin to myself.

My feet are sore. My stomach on empty. My head a bit heavy. It’s almost midnight. The last patient I talk to is a lady who is waiting for a room. “Who was that?” She asks curiously, “he broke my heart.” “I don’t know ma’am,” I answer, fixing her monitor. “I can’t bear it! I really can’t. How do you all manage? How do you all work among so much… ~pain~!?” I smile at her, not answering. She sighs. “He broke my heart.”

I tuck her in.

“You’ll be great one day. I can just tell. How old are you? 15?” she squints her elderly eyes at me.

I laugh. “I turned 21 today.”

She grabs my hand and holds it.

“Happy birthday dear. Thank you for everything.”

And nothing could have ended my day better.