Misconstrue

THIRTEEN curtain calls.

They're everywhere. 

I swallow nervously as I tighten my hold on the ball-point pen in my hand. The words on the chart before move in squiggly haphazard lines as I try my best to focus on the task at hand, but I'm finding it to be a little too difficult. This place is shaping up to be a little too difficult for me to handle on my own.

Sweat drips down my back as I become hyperaware of my surroundings. The clacking sound of acrylic nails hitting keyboards seem much louder than it actually is. It's nonstop. What are these nurses even typing? The printer at the nurses' station goes off and I clench my fist as I fight the urge to jump out of the chair. 

The headache that I've been nursing since the start of my shift has gotten away from me. Each time the emergency doors open, I feel like I'm being hit in the head by the wheels of the gurney. The medics aren't making it easier either. If I hear the word incoming one more time, I'm gonna spill my empty guts all over this chart.

I unclench my fist as I try to relax but I'm too busy playing a mind game of spot-the-siren. It's like clockwork. An ambulance. A firetruck. The police.

An ambulance.

A firetruck.

The police.

I had long made up my mind about the kind of doctor I wanted to be before I even got into med school. When I got into med school, I knew for sure that I wouldn't go into emergency medicine. I've been in the ER before, I always knew that it was a scary place but I was ready for it. 

The words.

Acrylic nails.

The printer.

The doors.

The medics.

An ambulance.

A firetruck.

The police.

There's movement all around me but I've been mentally paralyzed for the last twenty minutes. I know what my anchors are - I just need to remind myself that I've been here before and I've pulled myself back. I can do it. I've done it before. This is a piece of cake for me. It's like riding a bicycle.

"Please! Help her!"

Like I said, they're everywhere. 

They're the eyes that follow, the fingers that tap on their screens, and the cameras that go snap when they take a picture without your permission. I don't know how to tell the difference - are they patients? Are they staff? 

Are they here for me?

"Balei." I jump out of shock and the ballpoint pen falls to the floor. "Sorry, did I scare you?" I'm unable to answer Samantha's question as I'm struggling to catch my breath. "Balei?"

I grab Samantha's hand and squeeze with all my might as I try my best to communicate without words. Samantha helps me out the chair and I stand on weak, shaky legs. It's happening again, isn't it? After everything I've done to arrive at this point in my life, I'm still the same shivering, helpless girl who couldn't help anyone.

"It's okay." Samantha's voice echoes. We've moved from the nurses' station to what seems like the storage room. "You're safe. You're okay."

I'm safe.

I take multiple deep breaths. It takes a while but I manage to regulate my breathing and get the shivering under control. I'm no longer aware of the annoying sounds around me, and the only thing that now has my attention are the shelves lined with medical supplies.