Author's note: I wrote this for my grandpa, as he passed away in September of 2010.
Chapter Four; JakobieThere was talk of an emergency coming in. Gunshot wound to the chest. I was considering checking it out, thinking it was a probably a drug deal gone bad. I walked down the hall to the elevators and to the emergency room. I saw so many cases of sickness, heart attacks, pregnancies, but none that drew me particularly to them. I didn’t think I heard right, but then I heard the motion-activated doors squeal open, and a mass of nurses, EMTs and a bed with tubes and straps came through. I watched as they ran through the halls, screaming “Coming through!”
I followed curiously. I could barely make out the face of a young girl from behind an oxygen mask. I didn’t know her name, but I knew she was probably seventeen or eighteen. I followed beside the bed as it snaked it’s way to the elevator and the ICU. The personnel began to pack the wound in her chest with gauze. The doctor at the ICU gave her grim circumstances. She needed immediate surgery to remove the bullet, and it was dangerously close to her heart.
They came upon the decision to do it, so they wheeled her to the operating room. Before long, they were skillfully picking at the bullet and pulled it from her chest. She soon was in one of the large rooms in the ICU. I visited her, and listened to the doctor give the update to someone who was probably a relative. She was a medium-height, heavy woman with short reddish-brown hair, and so much worry etched into the wrinkles in her face.
The girl was not looking good. She had a lot of damage, and now had slipped into a coma. Her chance of waking up was slim to none. Upon hearing this, the woman began to slip into tears, and almost collapsed. I put my arm around her, trying to help her just a little, to keep her from falling and hurting herself. She had no idea that I was there.
The doctor left her to her tears and the girl. The woman went to her bedside and took her frail hand, wasted by the IV and tape covering it. She began to talk to her.
“Phoenix, you didn’t deserve this! I know she didn’t mean it! I love you! Please stay with me!,” she cried.
So this frail girl was Phoenix. I looked at her beautiful face, covered by tape and a tube in her throat. The machines were the only things keeping her alive. I gently touched her hand, then her face.
“Phoenix, I know you can hear me. Your family needs you. Stay with us. You’ll be okay,” I said. I walked out of the room, started down the hall, and waited for what I wanted to hear; the woman shrieking that Phoenix was waking up. A nurse said that it was impossible, and that she was just twitching.
“How can she just be twitching when she’s opening her eyes and looking right at me!” the woman yelled. Like with Jim, they rushed in and removed the tube. Gasps of amazement floated out of the room.
I smiled at that same pleasure I always enjoyed. I love my job.