I push my sleeves up above my elbows, desperate to cool down, but the sight of my skin exposes more blood stains and oil. I’m covered.
The devastation is overwhelming.
My muscles ache, my heart is throbbing, and I want to fall to the ground and cry for every lost soul. But I can’t. There’s no time to look back.
I will not allow this attack to take us all down. I have to focus on the path in front of me and block out the rest, my sole purpose being to save a part of humanity and our country.
“My life matters less,” Mom always told me, referring to herself. “For, life isn’t worth living, unless we devote our blessings to others in need. When everyone gives, we all receive. Each of us is here for a reason, one written in the stars on the day we were born.”
Mom’s voice and viewpoints made me want to become a journalist, but her actions spoke louder than her words, and I need to continue her path of giving, both out of respect to her memory and my conscience.
I’m not sure if my actions from today are noble because there were too many instances that I had to ignore procedure and protocol, temporarily mending wounds to make cots available for others. I felt as though I was trading one life for another.
“Elizabeth!” I recognize the voice but can’t place it to a face among the agonizing harmony of moans and groans. “Elizabeth Salzberg, is that you?” I peer in every direction, searching for a familiar person among the crowd of calamity before I spot her face.
Nurse Jones, my teacher and mentor who carried me through my nursing certification. “I didn’t know you were here.” She walks as if the pain in her legs mirrors mine. Her arms reach out and pull me in tightly against her broad chest.
I squeeze my eyes, unsure If I deserve the warmth of her embrace when the fires of Hell are raging around me. I see a woman who wore me to the bone many days over the last few years, and who was never afraid to scold me when I made a mistake. She never put me on a pedestal for being a commander’s daughter. If anything, she was harder on me for it, but also gave me the foundation to grow and told me I was unstoppable. She pleaded with me to take the position at this hospital over moving to Boston. I still hadn’t given her my answer. Now, I don’t know what my future holds. Nurse Jones will not release her hold around my arms. “Are you okay?” I ask.
As the words slip from my mouth, I realize how ridiculous the question is. Of course she’s not okay.
“Thank goodness you are here and you’re safe,” she says. “Your father has been calling here every half hour to check the list for your name. I did not know you were working in a unit. I’ve been in triage all day.”
I glance toward the front entrance of the hospital where the list is; it’s as if the list is another enemy chasing after all of us.
“I was in the wrong place at the right time. I started at the Solace and made my way over here around noon,” I tell her.
“Please stay,” she pleads.
“I’m not going anywhere, Nurse Jones. I will stay until I tend to all necessary injuries.”
Nurse Jones takes a step back and claws her long nails around my chin. “You are unstoppable, like I’ve always told you. Never look back, Elizabeth. Keep going. You hear me?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“What ward are you circulating?”
I point down the endless looking corridor. “ICU, unit three, block two.”
Nurse Jones pats me on the shoulder. “I’m not surprised they placed you there. I’ll check in with you shortly.”
With a single nod, I continue moving forward, but she takes my arm and twists me around. “Thank you, Elizabeth. Thank you.”
Gratitude isn’t necessary when so many are lying around me, maimed or dead.
I walk to the board, perusing the list of names that are now in categories of casualty type, including those who were dead on arrival. It will take too long to read through all the names, so I try to convince myself that since I don’t see Everett’s name in D.O.E. column, it must be good news. Surely, his name would stand out amongst the rest.
* * *
Another round of antibiotics, pain relievers, ointments, and intravenous drops leaves me weak. My eyes are burning, I’ve been short of breath for hours, and my stamina is waning. I grip the metal bar of the rolling cart of supplies and grit my teeth so hard, pain radiates through my jaw.
I have to keep going.
They’re depending on me.
“Nurse Salzberg, a moment please,” I hear from the other end of the block of cots. I press up on my toes to see between the beds and patients, finding Nurse Jones summoning me with a wave of her hand. She steps out between the curtains separating two blocks in the unit. I brush the sweat-laced hair from my forehead while turning the corner.
“Yes, Nurse Jones. I just completed the third round of morphine for beds one through ten.”
