Way Down I'll Go

Tender Taken Breath

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

As a nurse, Rachel heard beeps all day. Every day. She, like most nurses, had learned to tune most of them out.

But as she watched the microscopic rise and fall of Jo's chest, she found each beep a terrifying quantification of his waxing and waning life.

She watched with dry eyes as Jo's blood was drained from his body by a tube only to be oxygenated and returned through another. She observed the ECMO machine that was preforming the job his lungs should be doing. She prayed as she watched his oxygen saturation bounce back and forth on the monitor, indicating how well the ECMO was working.

ECMO had been presented as an option of hope.

"We need to give his lungs time to heal. The machine will take the strain off the lungs and give him a better chance at survival."

Rachel knew better.

The intensivist was telling the truth. He just wasn't telling the whole truth. ECMO did save lives. But just as often, it was a last resort. A death sentence. Many who required it could never be weaned off and eventually declined. So Rachel kept a silent vigil, ready to alert the already diligent ICU nurse of any minute changes.

"Knock knock."

She swung her gaze to the door to find Dr. Locker standing by the doorframe.

"Hey, doc," she greeted him with a small, tired smile.

"You look like shit."

Rachel had worked with Dr. Locker since she was a brand-new nurse. His intimidating persona and cutting remarks had made her cry on several occasions before she'd grown a thicker skin and eventually gained his respect. A tough-as-nails trauma surgeon, Dr. Locker didn't do emotion. But as he surveyed her through his round, clear-rimmed glasses, she could detect a rare expression of sympathy on his face.

"You know, staring at him isn't going to help him heal any faster," he said with a hint of a smile.

Rachel tried to smile back, but found she couldn't force her lips to curve upward. She settled for a nod and turned her eyes back to Jo. Dr. Locker walked to his side and began to check the incisions and various wounds he'd patched together only ten days earlier.

"You could have sent a resident to check him," Rachel observed quietly.

Dr. Locker smirked at her.

"I'm stuck with all the first-years right now, and they're a bunch of scared puppies. Besides," he added, "I needed my daily dose of harassment."

Rachel snorted. 

"I'm sure you appreciate my absence."

"Help me turn him?" he asked.

She rose to her feet, glad to have something to do, yet dreading the sight of Jo's back. As they removed the pillow from underneath him and cut away the bandages, she fought memories of Jo's body being wheeled into the trauma bay.

She entered the ER through the employee entrance just in time to watch as Jo coded for the second time. The countless traumas in which she'd participated had done nothing to prepare her for the sight of his chest crunching under compressions, his limp, shattered form jerking from defibrillation, blood seeping from shredded skin and muscle.

"These are healing pretty well. I'll refer him to a plastic surgeon once he's out of the woods."

Rachel glanced up at Dr. Locker, the overhead lamp highlighting his prematurely-silver hair.