Soul Forgotten
by Chris Hiromura

The pager went off and my drowsiness from the long day was quickly replaced by a quickening of my heart. I called John and quickly headed down to the ER. From the ninth floor I decided to take the stairs all the way down. I felt a swagger in my step. It was the middle of the night, my family and friends were at home in bed, most of the city asleep, but I, the lowly medical student, had someplace to be. I quickly arrived to the trauma booth, beating most of my team down. It was already crowded, 15 people slowly getting ready waiting for the scene to come. Heads appeared over the booth to look down onto the stage below. Everyone stood at the ready, and as they wheeled the patient in, bodies went into action; voices came pouring out talking all at once. There I stood at the head of the bed in my face shield, gown and booties.

Within seconds the whole left side of his chest had been sliced open and ribs pried apart. Hands dove into his chest, probing and grasping at the contents. Instruments were jammed inside, crushing the aorta and cutting off blood to the rest of the body. Hands like an oyster shell slid into the sac around the heart and gently massaged the muscle, a stark contrast to the frenzy that had just taken place. They placed the paddles on his heart and shocked him ever so gently. Then quickly began squeezing again. This went on for several minutes, and then others began rotating in to continue the beating of his heart. Suddenly I found myself standing next to him, and it was now my turn. As my hands reached inside his chest and squeezed his empty heart, I realized they had given up on him. This had become a show, a chance to let the medical student get his hands dirty. “Shock him”, they said, handing me the paddles. I suddenly became aware of the crowd all around us. “Clear”, I called pressing the buttons…nothing happened. Seconds later they called the code.

Two steps away from the man who had just died and the residents began talking. “Wasn’t that awesome”, they exclaimed, relishing the last few minutes of excitement. “You wanna’ close him up” my resident asked with a smile, handing John and me the sutures.

As John and I stood there and began to sew up his chest, I had a numb feeling. I had just watched someone die for the first time, and I didn’t know how to feel. A small feeling of pride began to well up within me as I realized that I had my hands in a man’s chest, trying to bring him back to life. I had called clear as I sent electricity through a man’s heart. John’s voice brought me from my thoughts. “I couldn’t stop looking at his wedding ring”, he gently said to me. “I couldn’t help think that he had kids, like my own, that are at home waiting for him”.

I suddenly thought of this person, his family, him walking around just an hour ago before being shot by someone he did not know. I was sickened by feelings of guilt at my own pride. It scared me how quickly I had numbed myself to him. I felt confused and torn about how to think and feel. I wanted to be the calm logical doctor that is unmoved by the crowd of people surrounding him, the chaos, and the blood that covers the floor; but, not at the expense of forgetting a person’s humanity. I wanted to be a doctor who even if I failed to save a patient, could tell the family that I did all I could and never once forgetting that the man had a family who loved him. I realized that if the family had been there at that moment, I could not have looked them in the eye.