Page 4 of Rage

We race against time.The OR lights blind me.I take a breath, scalpel poised.

“Let’s save them both.”

Minutes feel like hours.Finally, a tiny cry fills the room.

“Got her,” I announce, relief flooding me.

But it’s not over.The mother’s bleeding heavily.

Alarms blare.

“She’s coding!”

My hands are steady despite my racing heart.

“Come on,” I mutter.“Stay with us.”

After what feels like an eternity, the monitors stabilize.I exhale shakily.

As I exit the OR, exhaustion hits me like a truck.I lean against the wall, closing my eyes briefly.

A hand touches my shoulder.I look up to see the father, tears in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

I manage a tired smile.This is why I do what I do.

My pager beeps again.No rest for the weary.I straighten up and move to the nurses’ station where I sit down, rubbing my face from the stress.

There’s nothing worse than having a close call like this, it’s heartbreaking to see the fear and pain on a mother’s face.

I feel a presence standing in front of me and look up to see my dad.“Hi, Daddy.”

“I’ve come to take my daughter out for lunch.”I can see the nurses eyeing my dad, some with fear and some with something I don’t even want to think about.

I glance at my watch, realizing I haven’t eaten in hours.My stomach growls in response.

“Lunch sounds perfect,” I say, standing up.“Let me just check on a few patients first.”

Dad nods, his eyes softening.“Take your time, sweetheart.”

I make my rounds quickly, ensuring everyone is stable.When I return, Dad’s chatting with a wide-eyed intern.The poor kid looks terrified.

“Ready?”Dad asks, turning to me.

We head out, ignoring the stares that follow us.Dad’s reputation precedes him, even here.

The diner across the street is quiet this time of day.We slide into a booth, and I immediately reach for the coffee.

“You look exhausted,” Dad says, concern lacing his voice.

I shrug.“Comes with the job.”

He frowns, about to say more, when the waitress approaches.We order, and I brace myself for the lecture I know is coming.

“Meadow,” he starts, voice low.“You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

I sigh.“I’m fine, Dad.Really.”

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