Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟰𝟯 a hard days night

𝙓𝙇𝙄𝙄𝙄.
A HARD DAYS NIGHT

──────

NEW YORK

"How would you die?"

The conversation came out of thin air. 

It startled me, causing me to look up so quickly that my glasses almost slipped off of my nose. Across from me, a surgical intern, a colleague, was staring off into nothingness, coming down off of her 48-hour shift. 

She'd spoken without even realising it, face void of any emotion. I wasn't alone in my alarm, the others we were sat with all exchanged looks as if this was the day that Ashley snapped. The surgical intern in question blinked very suddenly as if rejoining the room. I half expected her to play it off as some sort of exhaustion-induced statement but she didn't. 

Instead, Ashley turned to face us, gaze intense.

"I mean... if you choose... how would you die?"

My brow furrowed and I stared at Ashley, caught off-guard. We were at the end, sat in the locker room and cooling down after our shift. Out of everyone, Ashley had had it worse. 

She'd been assigned to a bad trauma today: A man turned into a pancake by a semi outside of Brooklyn. She'd assisted in a surgery that had taken 11 hours to put him back together. He'd flatlined 10 hours and fifty-five minutes in and she'd sat in the corner of the locker room for the last few minutes and sobbed.

Her eyes were still red-rimmed, her mouth was still curved downwards at the edges and she inhaled the phlegm that had built up in her nose, a choking sound emitting from her. It was mid-morning outside and the next shift of interns were already arriving, getting dress and beginning their day. 

Between the medical journal on my lap, the apple in my hand and my intense need to pass out— I wasn't sure whether I was capable of thinking about dying. 

All I could think about was sleep.

"I guess a semi wouldn't be my choice..." 

One of the interns in our group replied to her as he stuck his head into his t-shirt, changing out of the same scrubs he'd worn for the past 26 hours straight. Isaac didn't strike me as the sort of guy who was optimistic. I'd barely spoken to him as he was just slightly stand-offish.

He had a miffed look on his face as he reappeared. 

"I'd like to say growing old and dying in my sleep would be how I go," He said, but then he shrugged, "Working here has really made me think that there's a slim chance of that happening–"

To be fair, he had a point. 

I didn't think I'd ever realised how many ways to die there are until I started working at ManWest. Last night, I'd worked on incoming traumas and read a report about a woman who'd died after being struck by lightning. It was one of the ways of dying you always thought was a myth until you were faced with a body on a stretcher— I took a bite of my apple and averted my eyes from Ashley over towards the next intern to speak.

"Don't say that," Faith was rooting through her bag while shaking her head at Isaac. Her eyes darkened as she watched Isaac open a can of pop. A scoff fell through her lips and she rolled her eyes. "It's perfectly reasonably to die from old age. You just have to respect your body and your limits and live fairly. Sugary soda and junk food isn't going to achieve that."