Essentially Broken
C. A. King, USA Today Bestselling Author, Edits donated by Karen Hrdlicka
Saving people is a gift, losing them a curse. Either can happen at any time. Such is the burden of an emergency room nurse — Essentially Broken
Essentially Broken
On some days it was the greatest gift of all, on others an inhumane curse.
To anyone who worked in the medical profession, talent was a requirement of his or her job. Years of experience was the tool which made anything burdensome slightly easier to handle. Neither guaranteed success. Failure, for the most part, meant someone wound up dead. It wasn’t an easy way to live. That was what set nurses’ emotions apart from others. That was what made them different. The pain, the joy; only a member of the healing community knew the true extent of those mood swings: minute-to-minute, hour-to-hour, day-to-day.
“Nurse!” The voice came from behind her. “A mask is required. If you don’t know the new rules, I suggest you read them over again... and this time memorize them.”
The rules were everywhere and had been for over a year. It was impossible to avoid them. Every single detail was etched into the minds of the members of the staff. Safety came first. It had to or they’d end up the patients, or so they were told. Truth be known, the defence they were adding to thwart the virus was only paper-thin. Wearing protection was more a moral booster than anything else. Only a full hazmat suit was an adequate safeguard. This breakout wasn’t considered serious enough for that, yet. Either that, or it was a line the public was being fed since resources weren’t available. The latter was likely the truth.
“Yes, Doctor,” Angelique replied, even though her shift hadn’t started yet. Being lax about protocols wasn’t helping. Two elastics extended around her ears, mouth and nose immediately fully covered. Next, plastic snapped on each of her hands, after which they remained held high in the air. It was best not to touch anything where possible, even with the gloves on.
Playing the part, the same as everyone else on the hospital’s payroll, was an unspoken obligation each staff member attempted to fulfill. Carrying on life, in as normal a manner as possible, eased worried minds. People were frightened and they had a right to be. The situation wasn’t improving. There was no use applying additional straw to the camel’s back.
Medical facilities of all types had it the worst. Diseases gained strength in confined areas, especially places where the sick congregated. Visiting a local health centre was dangerous, albeit necessary for some, but not all. People needed to understand Community General was no exception. It was the same as any hospital overflowing with cases in the middle of the night. Not only was the atmosphere dismal, but regardless of the face they put on, the staff was, too—all underpaid and overworked.
There was no fun to be had there, either. A hospital waiting room was among one of the most depressing places to be stuck in, even more so than a body dump. At least there, the pain and suffering was already over. From the nurses’ stations, even from behind a thick glass partition, all was heard: the moans and groans of desperate would-be patients, a particularly loud elderly woman blubbering over her arthritis, several parents holding screaming children.
Angelique huffed. There was no end to the lineup of souls wanting to place their names on the list to be seen, either. The worst part was, most of those cases were treatable at home. Coming to an emergency room increased their chances of contracting the actual virus for those who weren’t already infected. Risk levels doubled for anyone who stepped foot inside, regardless of how much hand sanitizer they used.
Masking strong emotions was always slightly easier than she anticipated. It was a matter of being prepared. They never went away completely, though. Instead, those feelings travelled through her veins, sent shivers up and down her spine, even left the beginnings of goosebumps behind as calling cards on her skin. The trick was to never once allow them to make it past her muscles and flesh to take on a visual form. Holding a poker face was an emergency worker’s first and last line of defence.
Sadness filled bright blue eyes. It was time. Her mind counted to ten; eyelids closed. When they opened, their vibrant colour had dimmed to a steely grey, hardening with her soul as it prepared for the work ahead. Chart in hand, she headed to the first room to assess the patient.
Ed Primpt, was a friend; a local ambulance driver, with two children, a wife, and far too much life left in his future for it to end right there.
Angelique glanced around cautiously, placing her clipboard of notes on the patient’s bed. Hands clasped together. Slowly, they began to glow. It had already been decided; this man was going to live to see his family grow up. Palms separated, hovering slightly over the listless body, bright light extending down from them. Black fragments separated from his chest were pulled upward as if locked on and elevated by an alien beam.
This was her gift—a godsend. She could pull most ailments from other bodies into her own, and once there, heal them. As soon as Ed was clean she’d move on, leaving the rest of the staff to believe the best outcome had miraculously occurred. As far as they knew, the patient merely had a bad case of the flu or food poisoning. The symptoms were the same, after all. As for Ed, he’d remain sleeping until the blood tests came back negative for the virus. She requested a sample test before exiting the room. Carl Binder was next on her list.
Angelique inhaled deeply before entering the room. Sometimes life lingered past what the body was meant to endure. She already knew from his chart, Carl was in that category. Walking in confirmed her suspicions. He lay motionless on a bed of white, eyes opened, fixating on nothing but reliving the joys they’d taken in over the course of many decades. The person was still there, locked inside a virus-ravaged body, chest raising and falling, heart still beating. That was about all he was capable of anymore. His oxygen levels were depleted; skin already greying.
Disease stages moved quicker in both the elderly and the young. Usually, once they were detected, the battle was already over. The crackling noises coming from his lungs meant even X-rays weren’t worth ordering. Adjusting morphine levels for comfort was the only medical option available for him. She exited the room, without glancing back. This was her curse—the devil’s will.
Her ability was a present sent from both heaven and hell. With it, she had the power to decide who lived and who died. That was a choice no human was meant to bear. Of course, nothing ever came completely free. All abilities came with a price tag of some sort. Her talents were no exception to the rule.
Physical bodies could only endure so much. That was a scientific fact. She wasn’t immortal. Such, being as it was, choices had to be made—a burden that fell heavily on her shoulders. There were nightmares, mental side effects. If it weren’t for her husband standing behind her, offering all his strength, she would never have been able to save even a single soul. He was her light to combat the dark—her pillar. He was her reason for marching forward and bravely battling the deadly. Together, they kept her secret. No one else could ever know. If others found out, if her secret was leaked, she’d be swarmed by people wanting everything from the virus to ingrown toenails healed instantly.
That was the problem with the human race: they all had ME syndrome. No one understood limitations—no one had the ability to comprehend why their life, or their loved one’s lives, weren’t the most important. Her talent wasn’t as glorious as it seemed. Patients were still going to die. She was the same as any other medical professional, it was impossible for them to save every patient, no matter how much it pained her.