It was on a dreary night in August, I sprinted through the desolate hallways rushing towards the emergency room. As I got closer the screeching got louder and clearer, overpowering the raindrops that constantly crashed into the plastic windows. Quickly putting on my latex gloves, mask, and apron as I busted through the door. Despite the agonising screams of pain, the second my eyes set onto the lake of blood, my eyes had stolen the sound from my ears. I couldn’t hear a thing; never in my life as a doctor had I witnessed such a disturbing sight. I stood in fear of what was to come, only to finally come back into reality by the aggressive shake of a nurse. “Doctor, she’s lost too much blood!”. Crying in pain and agony was a broken pregnant woman, slowly her screams began to get more and more quiet. Along with the constant beeping from the electrocardiograph getting longer and longer. Till eventually the final beep had replaced the painful screams. It was my worst nightmare as a doctor; she was gone but I was not going to rest, I grabbed the defibrillator and rested the cold metal on her chest. Each “CLEAR!” resulting in my cries getting louder. I upped the voltage and tried again. I tried and tried till I could no longer save her, she was dead. I instantly made the call to prepare for a C-Section. I couldn’t save the late mother, I had to save this innocent child. Her inanimate cold eyes, still staring at me as I inserted my scalpel into her 9-month pregnant abdomen. I felt it, the strong kicks of the angel inside her, fighting for his life. It was not over yet. After approximately an hour of trying to safely take this very much alive baby out of its coffin. There it was, the constant cries of the baby I had long waited for, he was safe and healthy. I held the baby boy and stroked the eyes of the mother close as I whispered, “I truly am sorry, rest in peace Maria”. Witnessing the death of my Godmother had startled me. I came out of the emergency room to where the family was waiting impatiently to hear about their mother and baby brother’s desperate fight for survival. I handed the child to the broken father to which the family gratefully smiled, wiping their tears of sorrow. That was until they asked me the dreadful question, “How’s Maria doing, can we see her?”. I took off my hat, gloves and apron and looked down to the ground in despair. “I am sorry, there was nothing more I could do.” The father gave his baby boy to Zero and began to weep. I heard his slight mumble of “this is all your fault”.
To be continued...
