When Medicine isn't enough 🤲

‎ Doctor Raymond glanced at his watch. ‎12:30 PM ‎Almost lunch. 15 minutes until he could sit down, drink water, and not smell blood for a minute. ‎ ‎He was halfway out the ER doors, rubbing the bridge of his nose, when— ‎ ‎WEE-WOO. WEE-WOO. ‎ ‎ The ambulance tore into the bay like it was being pursued.... ‎ ‎“Clear the way!” the paramedic shouted.. ‎“19-year-old male! Motorcycle accident! Suspected hemo-pneumothorax! BP 70 over 40! O2 sat 82!” ‎ ‎Raymond stopped. Lunch could wait. Again. ‎ ‎“this way!” he shouted, dragging the gurney from the nurses and paramedic Into a corner, snapping for gloves and quickly closed the curtains...“IV wide open! O2 15L! Morphine! Adrenaline! Chest tube set!” ‎ ‎Monitors screamed. ‎BP 70/40. O2 82%. ‎ ‎Nurse Margaret was already moving. IV in. Oxygen on. Meds drawn. five minutes past, ‎But the numbers stayed red, no improvement tthe meds were taking effect. ‎ ‎As he worked, something cold settled in Raymond’s chest. ‎Not again. ‎ ‎This was the fourth one this week. ‎ ‎Monday: 6-year-old girl. Asthma attack. They intubated, nebulized, gave steroids. Her chest stopped rising at 3:14 AM. ‎Wednesday: 43-year-old man. Heart attack. Cath lab was ready. He coded on the table at 11:02 PM. ‎Friday: 27-year-old woman. Post-partum hemorrhage. 4 units of blood, uterotonics, surgery. She bled out at 6:47 PM. ‎ ‎Four families. Four death certificates. Four times he’d walked out of a room and said those same words. ‎ ‎This hospital was supposed to be different. ‎“St. Mercy saves patients at all costs” — that’s what was written on the wall in the lobby. In gold letters. ‎Raymond used to believe it. ‎ ‎But this week? Medicine felt... small. ‎ ‎“Come on,” he muttered, pushing another dose of adrenaline. “Stay with me, kid.” ‎ ‎BP 68/38. O2 79%. ‎ ‎Margaret looked at him. He saw it in her eyes. We’re losing him. ‎ ‎17 minutes. ‎Then the flatline. ‎That long, cruel, steady beep. ‎ ‎Raymond stared at the clock on the wall. Second hand ticking. ‎“Time of death: 12:47 PM. March 20, 2019.” ‎ ‎No one spoke. A nurse started crying quietly. From the hallway, a mother screamed. ‎ ‎Raymond pulled off his gloves. Dropped them in the bin. ‎Didn’t look at anyone. ‎He turned, walked into his office, and slammed the door. ‎Bang. ‎ ‎Inside, he sat down. Head in his hands. ‎Four. Four in five days. ‎ ‎He looked at the wall where his medical degree hung. 12 years of school. ‎Where was it now? Where was the “at all costs”? ‎ ‎His phone buzzed. Hospital admin: “Dr. Raymond, we need to talk about the mortality rate this week.” ‎ ‎He didn’t answer. ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎Across town, Rita was on her day off. She got the text from Margaret: ‎“We lost him. 19yo. 12:47.” ‎ ‎Rita set her phone down. Walked to her window. Midday sun was harsh. ‎Since she was 17, she’d known God was real. She’d seen Him heal fevers, calm anxiety, bring peace. ‎ ‎But she’d never prayed over someone in the ER. ‎ She just lay on her bed staring into space not knowing what to do, she was a nurse who did excellently while in school, she gave her life to Christ while in school and has worked with st. Mercy hospital for 2years and this is the second time something like this is happening. ‎ ‎ **** **** **** ‎ ‎ It was another bright morning like always but the nurses station was quiet, the atmosphere was tense. ‎ Rita pinned her name tag. Her hands were shaking. ‎She told herself: “Today. If I get the chance, I’ll pray.” ‎WEE-WOO. ‎“Incoming! 8-year-old girl! Severe asthma attack! Can’t breathe!” ‎The little girl came in on the stretcher. Oxygen mask. Panic in her eyes. ‎O2 78%. RR 42. ‎Dr. Raymond was on duty today. Sharp voice. No nonsense. ‎“Albuterol! Steroids! Bag her! Prep for intubation!” ‎Rita moved with the team. But her eyes kept going to the girl’s tiny chest. ‎It wasn’t rising enough. ‎O2 72%. ‎“Start CPR!” Raymond shouted. ‎Nurse Brenda jumped in. Chest compressions. Hard and fast. ‎Rita’s heart was pounding. This is it. This is the moment. ‎She stepped forward, put a hand on the girl’s foot under the sheet. ‎Her lips moved: “Jesus, please...” ‎“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” ‎Raymond's voice cut through the room like a blade. ‎He turned to her, furious. ‎“What the hell do you think you are doing? Somebody get her out of here..!! ‎Two nurses pulled Rita back. ‎Raymond shouted. “Full CPR. Push 5ml of epinephrine!!!” ‎They did everything. Meds. Oxygen. Compressions. ‎For five minutes. ‎O2 0%. ‎Flatline. ‎Dr. Raymond stared at the clock, looked down sadly and said... ‎“Time of death: 7:03 AM. March 21, 2019.” ‎The room went silent. ‎Rita stood in the corner, tears burning. Did I make a mistake??? . ‎ **** **** **** ‎EVENING | 6:30 PM | Meeting Room ‎The whole ER team sat around the table. ‎Dr. Raymond looked at the nurses in front of him and sighed. Tired. Angry. ‎He slammed a folder down. ‎“This is the fifth death in 6 days. What is going on?!” ‎He looked straight at Rita. ‎“And you. What was that this morning? Prayer? In my ER?” ‎He laughed, but it wasn’t funny. ‎“Let me make something clear. We are doctors and nurses here. Not pastors. ‎If you want to pray, do it at home. In here, we do medicine.” ‎The room was quiet. ‎Doubt hung in the air like smoke. ‎Rita looked down at her hands. ‎Lord... was I wrong?....tears welled up in her eyes