Page 81 of Asystole

When we turn the corner into the boy’s room, I see a familiar face.

“Hey, Jamal,” I say, but he can’t hear me over his cries. My throat constricts. I hate to see that he’s still here. Like Marcy, he was here during my observational rotation as well.

“Hey, my man,” I say, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

Finally, wide, tearful eyes look up at me. I give him a smile and tug on the sleeve of his Marvel pajamas.

“These are pretty awesome. Do you think they make these in my size?” I ask, trying to distract him and talk about something other than his pain, his diagnosis, or this hospital.

Jamal shrugs, but he’s stopped crying. On his bedside table, there’s a Marvel comic, and I pick it up as Romella moves about the room. She understands that caring for kids requires a different kind of finesse. You have to become human with them. You have to be able to laugh and smile and put them at ease.

“Oh man, I haven’t read this one. Is it any good?” I ask, flipping through the pages.

Jamal nods and reaches for the comic, finally coming out of his shell a little.

“The best part is back here,” he says, using chubby little fingers to navigate through the comic book.

We spend another three to four minutes talking about his favorite scene before Romella gives me a meaningful look over his shoulder.

“Hey, Jamal, do you know my friend Romella?” I ask as she comes to stand in front of him.

He nods, but stays quiet.

“She’s really good at helping people feel better, and she’s got a superpower just like the characters in this book.”

This gets his attention.

“She does?” he asks.

“Yep. She can get that IV in without you feeling a thing.”

The crazy part is, I’m not lying. Romella has tricks up her sleeve that only years of experience can give, and I’ve heard from several kids that they didn’t even feel the needle pierce their skin.

“I don’t believe you,” Jamal fires warily.

“It’s true!” I say, raising my voice an octave so it squeaks, making Jamal laugh. “I’ll tell you what. How about you close your eyes, and I’ll hold your other hand? When you think it’s going in, you squeeze. If you’re right, I’ll get you extra chocolate pudding and a soda.”

I make the unhealthy offer because Jamal’s diagnosis has nothing to do with his sugar intake. His kidneys are fine.

“This is going to be so easy to win,” he says confidently.

“We’ll see about that,” I tease. “Now, close your eyes.”

“I have to cast my spell first,” Romella says, her accent making her sound as magical as we’re trying to convince Jamal she is. “And you’ll feel me moving the skin on your hand to numb it with my magic, okay?” she explains.

Jamal nods, his hand resting in mine.

I watch as Romella very gently pinches the skin on the back of his little hand repeatedly as she mutters something in her native tongue. It’s a beautiful language, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s actually saying.

In an instant, she’s got a vein caught between his pinched skin, and she’s sliding the IV in. Her voice never changes cadence as she pulls the needle out once the catheter is placed and blood flashback is observed, noting perfect placement.

Jamal never squeezes my hand.

Just to give appearances, Romella lightly pinches his hand a few more times before she says, “All done.”

Jamal opens his eyes and looks down.

“No way! How’d you do that?”