chapter 2
fiction
HUFFINGTON
09.23.12
a pair of metallic adhesive pads onto the patient’s chest.
You shake your head. “Paddles,” you shout. “Get me the
paddles.” Then, into the general roar, “Somebody take
that syringe and send it off for labs.” A hand grabs the syringe and whisks it off. “You!” you shout at the med student, who is hanging by the resident”s elbow. “Get a gas!”
The resident throws a package from the crash cart, then
steps back to give the student
access to the patient’s groin.
The student fits the needle to
CLAP THE PADDLES
the blood-gas syringe, feels
for the pulse your compresON THE PATIENT’S
sions are making in the groin
CHEST. OVER YOUR
and stabs it home: blood,
SHOULDER ON THE
dark purple, fills the barrel.
TINY SCREEN OF THE
The student looks worried; he
DEFIBRILLATOR A
may have missed the artery.
WAVY LINE OF GREEN
The nurse at your elbow is
LIGHT SCRAWLS
still there, holding the defiHORIZONTALLY
brillator paddles. She stands
as though she has been holdONWARD.
ing these out to you for some
time. Clap the paddles on the
patient’s chest. Over your
shoulder on the tiny screen of the defibrillator a wavy line
of green light scrawls horizontally onward. You look back
at the other resident. “Anything?” You both say at once,
and both of you shake heads. The intern has finished with
the femoral catheter. He holds up one of the access ports.
“Amp of epi,” you say, but there’s no response. Louder: “I
need an amp of epi.” Finally someone shoves a big bluntnosed syringe into your hand. Without stopping to verify
that it’s what you asked for, you lean over and fit it to the
port and push the plunger. Another look at the screen.
Still nothing. “Atropine,” you call out, and this time a