Merry Christmas, Doctor Carter

Like a Gunshot

Surrounding the outside of the hospital was nothing but snow, minus the ambulance bay entrance. Around the corner and down the road was a dark-coloured Jeep drove into the parking garage. Its driver, John Carter, pulled it into his respective space and sat there a while after shutting off the ignition.

John had a good mind to back out and leave. He'd give anything to be with Dennis, spending all day together, taking a walk in Grant Park or staying inside and talking, like they used to. However, it was delusional of him to think they would ever be the same again. That conflict between the past and reality had him agonised. Though it gave him an excuse to rest and avoid his annoying med student.

Was I that awful with Benton? John wondered to himself.

Reluctantly, he stepped out of the car, sleep crumpling him, as he stood still and tried to keep it under control. A quick glance at other people on the streets left him feeling envious of their seemingly endless energy. However, the longer John remained motionless, the more he realised it wasn't simple lethargy. More like disoriented and lightheaded. He couldn't focus, and he couldn't find his breath.

Before he collapsed, John whipped out his pager and beeped Peter for help. Soon after, his eyes scrolled back into his head and before long, he hit the pavement. Thankfully, though he was unaware of this, a Good Samaritan came along and got help from the paramedics who had just dropped off another patient. They could get him inside the hospital, where John worked.

"What've we got?" Mark asked the paramedics.

For a few seconds, he hesitated to reply, but when another one of them shifted John's head into position for the immobilizer, nobody had to say anything.

"Oh, God. Carter? What happened?"

"Someone saw him go down on the sidewalk. BP's pretty low. Ninety palp."

In the ensuing seconds, the paramedics continued to rush John into Trauma Room One, with Mark and a couple of nurses right beside the stretcher. Others gawked at the sight, while some were completely expecting this to happen again. He was still sick, after all. One doctor had no idea.

"Lucy!" Mark waved her over, signalling her to come and help.

Once she did, she wished she hadn't. The sight of her resident, pale and virtually cyanotic, had left her stunned. "Doctor Carter??"

Mark checked for signs of oxygen being moved; there was none. "Was he breathing when you found him?"

"Yes. Hyperventilating, actually."

One nurse announced, "Pulse is forty and dropping."

"Intubation tray?" Lucy offered.

"No, he's come back from this before. Give him a few seconds."

Seconds came and went. There was no change.

"Bradying down to thirty-five now."

"Doctor Greene, he's not moving air," Lucy said, voice trembling.

"Give him a few seconds!"

"He doesn't have sec–" An abrupt, harsh inhale cut Lucy right off, and she let out a breath of solace of her own. Almost surprised to see him come around, she uttered, "He's back."