Saturday was unbearably busy; Sunday just unbearable. It was busy, I was irritable. The SHOs are hard working, God love 'em, but have a deal to learn about the appropriate time to strap on in Emergency Medicine. I'm not sure I helped much.
The tone was set, not so much by Drs Greene or Carter, but by two patients. The first, a young man with his own version of a biological clock; his aorta distended, over-ripe lay swollen and pregnant within him. He knew it was there and had had the 'full and frank' discussion with his surgeon. Weighed the odds of success against the chance of failure and the consequences inherent therein. He had, he thought faced his demons, made his choice, and defended it. The ultimate act of self determination.
Funny how circumstances can change a body's perspective. Each man faces death alone, and sometimes it hurts. He faced death in the company of us all, and asked for one more roll of the dice. We gave it gladly, some less calm than others, but we stood by him.
Snake eyes is still snake eyes, no matter how many hands help roll it.
Number two had other gifts, unknown, only now bearing fruit; spoiled and rotten; foul and terrible. Still I bore them, my words harsh even under the bright lights of the ED. My words, short, to the point, still have the power to bring tears.
Still, the next will be better, eh?
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