With her office in sight, she hurried to it before unlocking the door and pressing her back against it. As she slid to the floor, tears started to fall. The image of the little girl she operated on played over in her head.
A screaming alert gave her little time to work through her emotions.
Late Morning, Tuesday, July 9th
"Time of death: 11:42. Thank you, everyone." The students stood in the resuscitation room saddened by losing the nineteen-year-old man. "Dr. Perry, come with me. Time to tell the family," Elizabeth said.
"I’m not sure how to do this." Dr. Keith Perry, an intern, appeared frightened.
"Time to learn. Stand by this time. Grief takes many forms, so be prepared for anything. What happened to their family member must be conveyed with respect, using understandable terms. Do not use euphemisms. Be sympathetic, share a tear. Never pretend to feel something you don't. Stop being a doctor the second you lose the anxious feelings rumbling in your gut. Stay with me, Dr. Perry. Everyone else, we will assemble in the conference room for a post mortem."
The two fellows pursuing surgical critical care curricula, six other residents in the surgery education path, two additional interns and four students filed out.
Dr. Randall Knox sat eating a sandwich and reading a cigar aficionado magazine at the conference room table with his feet propped up. Chuckling, he perused the fourteen sad faces walking in. "What, Wonder Doc kill another one?"
"Dr. Knox, I think we did everything conceivable," Dr. Connor Caine, a senior fellow said.
"You think, Dr. Caine? As an attending physician here for ten years, let me teach you something. Wonder Doc shows up here eighteen months ago from Hopkins, and the earth revolves around her. The scalpel she wields isn't a golden lasso of obedience, compelling a person to live. Not everyone is salvageable."
Agroup of people sat huddled in the corner of the waiting room. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Arthur Maxwell's family."
A man appearing to be in his forties stood. "I'm Ruben Maxwell, Arthur's father."
"Mr. Maxwell, " she said, then introduced herself and her intern. "We are sorry to tell you, but despite extraordinary measures, his injuries were too grave. Arthur died.”
One woman wailed. Ruben pulled another woman into his embrace. "This is my wife, Leslie. Tell us what happened to our boy."
Keith witnessed Elizabeth sit with the family while she explained everything attempted. "Arthur didn't respond. Please accept our condolences."
"May I see my baby?” his mother spoke in a hushed voice.
"Yes, of course. Follow us.”
A sheet concealed everything but Arthur’s head. A social worker and the chaplain, Reverend Harold Brookfield, attended to the Maxwells to offer support.
Leslie Maxwell turned to her. "Thank you for trying to help my son."
"Again, our deepest sympathy is with you. Here is my card, if you need to speak with me." Elizabeth leaned over her deceased patient and whispered, "Lord be with you."
After the intern and surgeon stepped into the meeting room, Randall Knox gave her an unsettling once-over. Most colleagues would exit the room, but he sought every opportunity to irritate her and lower the opinion of her apprentices. They discussed the patient's death, with Elizabeth praising their work and pointing out ways to remedy difficulties. With patience, she encouraged and answered questions about procedures and options.
"You got some practice, but it’s a waste of resources. What you did was useless. A lesson for you all: don't let pride rule you," Randy spoke without looking up.
"What do you mean, Dr. Knox?" Krystal Slater, a second-year resident, knitted her brows.
"A still heart is a dead heart." Knox's voice turned Elizabeth cold. "The kid died in the helicopter. Wonder Doc can't resist a glory call, poaching from the peds service too."
Straining to stay composed finishing the critique, Elizabeth dismissed everyone to return to their assignments after she felt assured, they dealt with the loss—some for the first time. Aware of the “July effect,” or what the most morbid would call “the killing season”—when the majority of experienced trainees moved on, and the new residents were more prone to mistakes—she had to be diligent. What they absorbed would impact their future abilities. Early in her career, Elizabeth promised herself when the time came, she would be the teacher she wanted and sometimes never had.
After the room emptied, she turned her ire on Knox. "Who the hell do you think you are? Please tell me. First, I did not poach a pediatric patient. The ER asked for my help because the child’s condition would not wait for Kat. And glory? That is plain offensive. About MY victim, Arthur Maxwell, bad enough you questioned my call, but if you doubted my reasoning to continue the efforts, it was unprofessional to ask in front of anyone, much less fresh learners. For your information, a teenager with a healthy heart warrants every benefit.”
Her outrage and frustration exploded. "You've been on my case from the day I started. What gives?"
His eyes remained fixed on the article he was reading.
Furious, she left the room and grabbed a small protein smoothie from the cafeteria, downing it in no time. The Neonatal ICU, her place for comfort, was located on the eighth floor. The neonatal ICU cared for the region's premature or sick newborns. Dressing in an isolation gown, she entered a nursery for the addicted.
Babies born to addicted mothers suffered severe effects, including seizures, twitching, fussiness, excessive crying, poor feeding, slow weight gain, breathing problems, fever, trouble sleeping and lots of yawning, diarrhea or throwing up, and stuffy noses, which could easily make them stop breathing. They all benefitted from love.
