just_muse_me | 28.5.3. A moment of heightened emotions
28.5.3. A moment of heightened emotions
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
The last place Riley expected to end the horrible night was the morgue.
Something had told him earlier in the afternoon when his boss called him that he shouldn't take the nightshift. He just had this niggle in his gut that he should stay home, stay with Evie and the kids. Thinking of them as 'Evie and the kids' even still had him breaking into a goofy grin whenever he said it. He didn't feel ready to go back to work after their birth yet. He had been on paternity leave since then, and at the time, he had made the stupid, yet chivalrous, error of telling his boss to she could call him in for a shift if found herself really hard-up and short-staffed while he was off. Up to yesterday, he hadn't had a single call of that sort and he had gotten used to it. But she was short-staffed, and he agreed to go in for a single nightshift, even though he wasn't due back at work until the second week in April.
Now he wished he had never answered the phone.
The morgue was expectedly cold, and Riley stood there beside the stainless steel table looking down at the body lying there. His scrubs were streaked with blood. Aiden's blood. That was probably the number one reason why Riley was now standing here numbly, unsure of where his head was supposed to even be right now. It could have been Aiden, it really could have. But it wasn't, and Riley was relieved for that. If he was going to lose one patient that night, he probably would have handed over his own heart to save Pat's husband. Things were still touch and go on that front. Aiden was on life support because he had lost a lot of blood before he got pulled from the wreckage, but he was still alive. He wasn't lying on a slab in the morgue.
No. No, that was Riley's other patient. The one he couldn't save. Maybe the one he subconsciously didn't want to live...
He put a hand over his face as his breath hitched in a small gasp. He still couldn't believe how it had all gone down that night. One minute, there was a lull, and the most serious ailment Riley was dealing with was a four year old child following an epileptic fit. She was recovering, about to me moved to the kids' ward for monitoring. Then things just exploded and the 'shit hitting the fan' wasn't even an emphatic enough metaphor. With a horrible chill falling in his gut, Riley realised the first casualty from the smash out on the freeway was Aiden. But he kept his composure, managing to head the resus with confidence and determination. Pat was brought in next, but he wasn't in as serious condition as Aiden, so he was triaged by the new resident, put on more oxygen, painkillers, and then sedated. By the time the colourful nurse had realised he was in the ER and no one was telling him anything about his husband, he became hysterical and there was no choice but to give him sedatives. Without them, he could have set his MS into overdrive, and that was the last thing anyone wanted. In the interim, something like that might not seem so serious, but it could have devastating long-term affects for Pat. Any bad attack, he might not fully recover from. The trauma surgical team was paged, and Aiden was whisked away to the OR for them to repair the severe gash in his throat, and hopefully manage to stop him bleeding out further.
But before Aiden was even moved from the resus bay in the ER, another ambulance came in and Riley was thrust into yet another resuscitation. An overdose. By a drug-addicted patient. Definitely not the first overdose Riley had ever dealt with, nor was it the first cardiac arrest. Not by any means. He just never, in a million years, would have been able to prepare himself for the realisation that the arresting patient wasn't an unfamiliar face. It wasn't just another overdose.
It was the patient that had destroyed Riley's life.
Before Riley had a chance to regain his composure after stabilising Aiden to be rushed to surgery, Aiden's blood even still smeared on his latex gloves, he came face-to-face with the patient who had attacked him, stabbed him in the throat with a contaminated needle. Infected him.
Left him with HIV.
Riley had balked. Of course he had. He was supposed to save this guy's life? When the fucking bastard stole everything away from him, all in the name of getting drugs? Drugs that had now laid him on a gurney half-dead in arrest after an overdose? It felt to Riley for a few brief moments that it was almost impossible for him to function and he was barely even hearing to the roaring chaos around him. He just stared at the guy's face for what felt like hours, but it was really only a few seconds that ticked by. Nurse Petrelli had grabbed his arm, giving him a firm shake and asking frantically if he was okay. Somehow, it snapped Riley out of his shock, and somewhere deep inside, he let the doctor inside him purely take over. He did all he could, he did his best. But the patient died of a heart attack. And who wouldn't, with the amount of meth found in his system, right? The tox report returned an unconscionable amount of the substance in the patient's blood stream. He couldn't have been saved.
Right?
As soon as the heart monitor flatlined and that monotone beep filled the room, Riley had stepped back, barely managing to call the time of death before the panic attack kicked in. The adrenaline came to a crashing halt and it suddenly became extremely difficult to breathe. He had to get out before the place crushed him. The staff bathroom had afforded just a tiny bit of a haven for him, but he still couldn't breathe. Again, it was Nurse Petrelli that seemed to have his back, showing up with a paper bag for Riley to breathe into and sitting with him to make sure he wasn't about to have a heart attack. Riley offered no explanation beyond 'I gotta get out of here' and then left when he was capable of being on his feet longer than two seconds. He knew now that he would have to thank the guy, offer some sort of further explanation so he didn't think Riley was a mental case.
It was hours later, now, and Riley just knew he had to see with his own eyes that the patient was dead. It couldn't just be a horrible bad dream or his mind playing tricks on him again. The guy who had almost ruined him really was lying here before him. Dead. The was the result that came from Riley ending up with a lifelong illness that would one day kill him? The guy had been put in prison, into rehab, apparently, but got let out and went straight back onto the drugs. He hadn't cleaned up. Riley had paid an horrific price for what?
For absolutely fuck all. His wife had to go through the pain of IVF to fall pregnant by her Positive husband. His kids had to grow up with a Positive father. And this fucking bastard hadn't even been able to clean up, and make the whole ordeal worth it, on some level. Had Riley really done everything he could to save the guy? Had he, subconsciously deep down in side, wanted the guy to die?
A sudden and burning anger surged up in him and he roughly seized the instrument trolley, throwing it furiously against the steel draws and causing a sickening metallic crash. His heart was racing and his skin felt like it was on fire as his breath came out in small pants. He was just so angry. At this time of night, there were no pathologists around. Not for a few more hours, at least. Riley's heart was the only one beating in the morgue at that moment, and it was thumping so hard in his chest it felt like it was going to break through his ribcage. And he hated himself right then, hated himself so deeply because he just knew underneath it all that he didn't care. He didn't care that his patient had died.
And that wasn't the sort of doctor he ever wanted to become.
All muses referenced here with permission
Word Count | 1,436
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
The last place Riley expected to end the horrible night was the morgue.
Something had told him earlier in the afternoon when his boss called him that he shouldn't take the nightshift. He just had this niggle in his gut that he should stay home, stay with Evie and the kids. Thinking of them as 'Evie and the kids' even still had him breaking into a goofy grin whenever he said it. He didn't feel ready to go back to work after their birth yet. He had been on paternity leave since then, and at the time, he had made the stupid, yet chivalrous, error of telling his boss to she could call him in for a shift if found herself really hard-up and short-staffed while he was off. Up to yesterday, he hadn't had a single call of that sort and he had gotten used to it. But she was short-staffed, and he agreed to go in for a single nightshift, even though he wasn't due back at work until the second week in April.
Now he wished he had never answered the phone.
The morgue was expectedly cold, and Riley stood there beside the stainless steel table looking down at the body lying there. His scrubs were streaked with blood. Aiden's blood. That was probably the number one reason why Riley was now standing here numbly, unsure of where his head was supposed to even be right now. It could have been Aiden, it really could have. But it wasn't, and Riley was relieved for that. If he was going to lose one patient that night, he probably would have handed over his own heart to save Pat's husband. Things were still touch and go on that front. Aiden was on life support because he had lost a lot of blood before he got pulled from the wreckage, but he was still alive. He wasn't lying on a slab in the morgue.
No. No, that was Riley's other patient. The one he couldn't save. Maybe the one he subconsciously didn't want to live...
He put a hand over his face as his breath hitched in a small gasp. He still couldn't believe how it had all gone down that night. One minute, there was a lull, and the most serious ailment Riley was dealing with was a four year old child following an epileptic fit. She was recovering, about to me moved to the kids' ward for monitoring. Then things just exploded and the 'shit hitting the fan' wasn't even an emphatic enough metaphor. With a horrible chill falling in his gut, Riley realised the first casualty from the smash out on the freeway was Aiden. But he kept his composure, managing to head the resus with confidence and determination. Pat was brought in next, but he wasn't in as serious condition as Aiden, so he was triaged by the new resident, put on more oxygen, painkillers, and then sedated. By the time the colourful nurse had realised he was in the ER and no one was telling him anything about his husband, he became hysterical and there was no choice but to give him sedatives. Without them, he could have set his MS into overdrive, and that was the last thing anyone wanted. In the interim, something like that might not seem so serious, but it could have devastating long-term affects for Pat. Any bad attack, he might not fully recover from. The trauma surgical team was paged, and Aiden was whisked away to the OR for them to repair the severe gash in his throat, and hopefully manage to stop him bleeding out further.
But before Aiden was even moved from the resus bay in the ER, another ambulance came in and Riley was thrust into yet another resuscitation. An overdose. By a drug-addicted patient. Definitely not the first overdose Riley had ever dealt with, nor was it the first cardiac arrest. Not by any means. He just never, in a million years, would have been able to prepare himself for the realisation that the arresting patient wasn't an unfamiliar face. It wasn't just another overdose.
It was the patient that had destroyed Riley's life.
Before Riley had a chance to regain his composure after stabilising Aiden to be rushed to surgery, Aiden's blood even still smeared on his latex gloves, he came face-to-face with the patient who had attacked him, stabbed him in the throat with a contaminated needle. Infected him.
Left him with HIV.
Riley had balked. Of course he had. He was supposed to save this guy's life? When the fucking bastard stole everything away from him, all in the name of getting drugs? Drugs that had now laid him on a gurney half-dead in arrest after an overdose? It felt to Riley for a few brief moments that it was almost impossible for him to function and he was barely even hearing to the roaring chaos around him. He just stared at the guy's face for what felt like hours, but it was really only a few seconds that ticked by. Nurse Petrelli had grabbed his arm, giving him a firm shake and asking frantically if he was okay. Somehow, it snapped Riley out of his shock, and somewhere deep inside, he let the doctor inside him purely take over. He did all he could, he did his best. But the patient died of a heart attack. And who wouldn't, with the amount of meth found in his system, right? The tox report returned an unconscionable amount of the substance in the patient's blood stream. He couldn't have been saved.
Right?
As soon as the heart monitor flatlined and that monotone beep filled the room, Riley had stepped back, barely managing to call the time of death before the panic attack kicked in. The adrenaline came to a crashing halt and it suddenly became extremely difficult to breathe. He had to get out before the place crushed him. The staff bathroom had afforded just a tiny bit of a haven for him, but he still couldn't breathe. Again, it was Nurse Petrelli that seemed to have his back, showing up with a paper bag for Riley to breathe into and sitting with him to make sure he wasn't about to have a heart attack. Riley offered no explanation beyond 'I gotta get out of here' and then left when he was capable of being on his feet longer than two seconds. He knew now that he would have to thank the guy, offer some sort of further explanation so he didn't think Riley was a mental case.
It was hours later, now, and Riley just knew he had to see with his own eyes that the patient was dead. It couldn't just be a horrible bad dream or his mind playing tricks on him again. The guy who had almost ruined him really was lying here before him. Dead. The was the result that came from Riley ending up with a lifelong illness that would one day kill him? The guy had been put in prison, into rehab, apparently, but got let out and went straight back onto the drugs. He hadn't cleaned up. Riley had paid an horrific price for what?
For absolutely fuck all. His wife had to go through the pain of IVF to fall pregnant by her Positive husband. His kids had to grow up with a Positive father. And this fucking bastard hadn't even been able to clean up, and make the whole ordeal worth it, on some level. Had Riley really done everything he could to save the guy? Had he, subconsciously deep down in side, wanted the guy to die?
A sudden and burning anger surged up in him and he roughly seized the instrument trolley, throwing it furiously against the steel draws and causing a sickening metallic crash. His heart was racing and his skin felt like it was on fire as his breath came out in small pants. He was just so angry. At this time of night, there were no pathologists around. Not for a few more hours, at least. Riley's heart was the only one beating in the morgue at that moment, and it was thumping so hard in his chest it felt like it was going to break through his ribcage. And he hated himself right then, hated himself so deeply because he just knew underneath it all that he didn't care. He didn't care that his patient had died.
And that wasn't the sort of doctor he ever wanted to become.
All muses referenced here with permission
Word Count | 1,436