She Is My Hayaat

Chapter 1: She Kicked Donkey Butt

Bismillah :)

The cool and brisk winter air rushed past the squeaky sliding doors of the hectic emergency room as groups of nocturnal paramedics filed inside with stretchers occupied of injured people. There was blood and gauze everywhere as nurses jumped from one bed to another and physicians barked caffeinated orders.

It was currently 34 degrees Fahrenheit outside and in the town of one of the most prestigious hospitals of the nation. In the heart of Boston, we were conditioned to fight or flight in peak time. The bustling blizzard had just started to swirl around the chilled atmosphere, rustling corpses of leaves in its embrace and sprinkling down snow in resemblance to powdered sugar. The hospital was packed with children hit by stray cars, adults involved in slippery ice crashes, single mothers who were crying for their children, husbands that still had yet to identify their wives, and many more stupendous cases.

The sudden howls of wind from outside tingled my spine, recovering my sensory neurons as everyone's voice echoed in my alert ears amongst the heartbeats hitting the diaphragm of polished Littmann stethoscopes.

I swiftly flipped through the medical chart of the current patient on my watch, searching for anything the previous registered nurse may have forgotten to write in. If there were any hidden notes, I needed them now. The clock was ticking, and we were all in a race against time. Anything at all would have been seriously helpful, but there was not a single scribble. I was breathless, frustrated, and my mind in a mass of confusion.

Ya Allah, come on. Please, please, please.

The multitude of doctors shouted across the halls, announcing the much-awaited cardiothoracic surgeon's arrival. She'd flown in from London on the first flight she could catch, and there was no time to spare. The perfusionist dashed across one of the many doorways of the emergency room to retrieve another bag of O-negative blood. Tonight couldn't have gotten any worse than it already had!

"NO! PLEASE DON'T TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME, PLEASE!" A lady about 40 years of age screamed at the top of her lungs as some nurses tried to hold her back from the stretcher being rolled away by the medical staff.

I quickly put the unhelpful chart down on the white marble counter of the nurses' station and ran over to grab her by the shoulders. My dark galoshes scraped the Italian crème Carrara marble tiles with each step. Her light brown and gray streaked hair was coiled into a tight knot, the many loose strands falling around her bun and framing her youthful heart-shaped face.

"Mrs. Hastings, please try to calm down. We are going to make sure Sophia gets everything she needs to recover." I assured her as my eyes furrowed with empathy.

Crystals of water swam down her cheekbones, leaving dark marks of mascara on her porcelain face. She was breaking, and as she crumpled like a piece of crushed paper, my heart stopped. Every fiber being inside of me bent towards comforting her.

"Please, please, please help my baby. I can't live without her. I won't be able to bear my life without my Sophia. Please help her!" She helplessly begged into my deep cranberry scrubs as she fisted the material with her hands, and her tears dampened my shirt from her jade green-pigmented eyes.

Her nails were filed and manicured to French perfection, and I lightly patted the smooth area between her shoulder blades, nonchalant of what covered my scrubs. They already had a wheeze of snot, drips of saliva, and Allah knows what else.

I tried to calm her down as I soothed tender words of sympathy and courage. Once she drank a glass of water, and I had her seated in the waiting room with some amount of hope left, I rushed to the operation room. I walked into the scrub room and thoroughly washed my hands and arms, making sure every crevice was cleansed with warm water and soap. After I was done, I dried my hands, and quickly put my cap and latex-free gloves on as another nurse helped me tie the back of my mask.