Page 45 of Read Between the Stars (Turn it Up Spinoff)

“It activates your parasympathetic nervous system,” she eagerly explains, seeming so gratified to be sharing her experience with this. “It produces endorphins and it’s a natural high. Plus there’s the satisfaction of facing your fears. It’s a shock, and it’s unpleasant. You feel the effects after you get out.”

“This sounds very…” I nod, looking for the right words.

“Asinine and insane?” she supplies with an understanding smile.

“Uh… yes,” I admit, uncomfortably. Although the facing my fears part sounds intriguing to me. I could use a little of that with my stupid ex resurfacing. “I mean, why put yourself through that when you’re already going through enough?”

She takes a deep breath, nodding again as she answers.

“Psychologically, it works like this: yes, it’s unpleasant, but so is depression and anxiety. This gives you an opportunity to make yourself bigger than that animal by putting it into a situation you can control. You face the fear and the pain on your terms, for however long you want, and you emerge with a feeling of accomplishment, and hopefully, elevated confidence.

“Physiologically, the shock of the cold water causes an adrenaline rush and sends more blood flow to the brain which has an anti-depressant effect. I could go on all day, but bottom line, after chickening out about sixteen times, I finally did it. I made it about twenty seconds my first time and gradually increased. Now I take a ten-minute ice bath at least three times a week, and I feel the effects for hours,” she shrugs like that’s the best way to explain it, and there probably is no better way.

I can’t believe I’m actually considering everything she’s saying. I must be desperate. And with all the crazy things that have happened in the last few weeks and the emotions I’ve felt, I think maybe I am. Something has to give; to change.

“Do you think you want to do it?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

“No, but I wonder if I should try.” Things feel so out of control right now, and it’s not like it is for a person without this disease. I don’t get to just sit and cry it out or go blow off steam by drinking and partying. I have to dig deeper.

“Here’s the card to the wellness facility I go to,” Trisha offers, digging in her wallet before handing me a small card. “Do your research and think about it. See if it’s right for you.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the card, still feeling so uncertain, yet appreciative of her encouragement and willingness to share. I feel a small glimmer of hope trying to open and brighten deep down inside, like when someone tells you there’s something else to try when you feel like you’ve tried it all.

Ben

“It’s supposed to hit the seventies this weekend. I was thinking of taking the boat out, do you and Jamie want to join?” Dan Cruz, my colleague asks me as we dry our hands in the men’s room.

“I wish, but I’m on call this weekend,” I respond as we chuck our paper towels in the waste can and he holds the door open for me and whistles.

“That’s rough. The weather’s supposed to go back to shitty next weekend.”

“That’s Washington, and that’s my luck for you,” I chuckle as we walk back into the pit. The energy is buzzing a little more than when we first hit the restroom, but that’s nothing new. It can change on a dime.

“Incoming trauma,” the charge nurse, Elise, informs us with a controlled urgency as she hurries past us. “Going into room 3. I’ve called respiratory and we’re prepping the room. Less than five minutes out.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, and Dan and I head to the nurses station where I take my lab coat off and drape it over a computer chair and grab my stethoscope off the desk. We mosey over to room 3 and each grab a couple of latex gloves.

I feel sick, as I know what’s coming next, right after he asks me about catching the Hawks on Monday Night Football. One of the main characteristics of a dream is that when you’re in it, you think it’s really happening…. but not when you’ve had it a million times. Still, I carry on the way I did that day.

“What about the game Monday night?” he asks as we pull the stretchy, rubbery gloves on.

“Yeah, I’ll just be finishing my stretch. I’ll definitely be ready for a beer.”

“Great, let’s do it,” he agrees, just as the ambulance bay doors part open, and a handful of responders come hustling in beside a gurney.

“What do we have?” I ask, putting my game face on as they wheel the patient into the room. One medic is bagging while the other holds up an IV bag that drips through tubing hooked up to the patient’s arm.

“Thirty-one-year-old female, MVC, severe trauma to head and neck, BP sixties over forties. Given levo in the field…”

I continue to listen to the pertinent information as I look down at the woman and try to figure out how to assess her. One eye is puffy and swollen shut, not to mention she’s covered in blood. I can’t even pull the lid away to check for pupillary response.

“What happened?” I ask, still in business mode as they put a slider board underneath her and pull her over to the bed.

“Lost control of her car on the bridge, crashed into the jersey barrier,” one of the medics supplies, and I nod, pulling my stethoscope from behind my neck as the other one pipes up while looking at a wallet I recognize, and all of a sudden, I’m paralyzed where I stand.

“Name is Jamie Isaak.”

After working in this environment for years, things like mind over matter are like second nature to me. Adrenaline is my friend and there’s no room for losing your shit; you can do that later. It’s a job, and you look at each patient like another project that’s been dropped on your desk. But I learn now, that that all goes out the fucking window when it’s your wife.

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