Chapter 2
Dr. Parker North, trauma surgeon at Denver’s Angel of Mercy Hospital for the past eight years, dropped the blood-soaked bluish-green scrubs into a disposal bin. The coppery smell of blood filled his nostrils as he removed the paper covers from his Nike cross trainers. Inside the physicians’ changing room, he took from his assigned locker his favorite pair of faded Levi’s and a worn-out gray T-shirt that read HARVARD MEDICAL in faded black letters, and tossed both articles of clothing on a metal chair. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he saw that his dark hair was in need of a trim. Gray half-moons rimmed his dark eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep, but apparently his eyes had another story to tell, looking like he’d just woken up.
He stepped inside the stall, hoping to wash away the day’s memories. Under the shower’s warm, pelting spray, Dr. North mentally relived every last detail of the patient he’d spent the last three hours trying to save. Eight years old. It sickened him to think of the loss, the heartache the family felt. Seeing the young girl’s parents break down had more of an effect on him than anything he had ever experienced before. Sadly, patients dying was part of the job, and Parker knew it. But seeing a perfectly healthy child die senselessly was not a part of his job that he relished. And knowing that the child’s death could have been prevented, it was hard to accept. He truly sympathized with the parents, but he was also very angry. The little girl’s death was the result of a total lack of parental responsibility.
Vigorously, he lathered up with the harsh antimicrobial soap the hospital provided. He scrubbed his skin until it hurt, but he knew that no matter how much he tried, he could not erase from his memory the image of the little girl’s lifeless body.
She had been airlifted from Aurora, the third largest city in Colorado, just eight air miles away. Parker had been informed of her arrival minutes before the life chopper had landed in its designated area. He and his trauma team were prepared for the patient’s arrival. Knowing it was a child put the team on high alert, not that an adult elicited any less of a response. They’d been informed by the paramedics that their patient had been hit by a vehicle while riding her bicycle on the street where she lived. They were also told the child had not been wearing a helmet. There were massive head injuries and severe blood loss.
Parker knew the statistics. The survival rate among children with head injuries was not good. Not at all. How could parents allow their children to ride bicycles without the proper headgear? A twenty-dollar helmet could prevent an extraordinarily large amount of traumatic brain injuries, especially in children. And donor blood could drastically improve one’s chances when a significant amount was lost. This accident could’ve been prevented.
The swish of the trauma center’s entrance doors and the thundering footsteps of the paramedics jolted him into the present. There was no time for what-ifs. He had a life to save.
Flashes of dark blue whizzed past Parker as he raced toward the gurney that held the victim. Quickly, Parker assessed the girl’s visible wounds. Her left arm was almost detached from her shoulder, her right foot was shattered, the bones haphazardly resembling a set of pickup sticks. Most concerning, she did not appear to feel any pain. After a hasty examination of the still child, Parker said, “Let’s get a CT scan, stat.”
Within seconds, a portable computed tomography—CT unit—was quickly wheeled into the trauma unit next to the gurney. The technicians made fast work of performing the CT and getting the results to radiology.
Parker did what was required of him, but knew at this point that his efforts might not save this little girl’s life. She’d lost way too much blood and was completely unresponsive. When the tech returned with the CT results, Parker’s heart plunged to his feet and back. The parents needed to be told of her condition immediately.
“Where are the parents?” Dr. North barked.
“They’re on their way,” a nurse offered.
Dr. North nodded and probed the child’s neck. “We don’t have much time. Let’s get this child to surgery. There is intracranial pressure.” He looked at the machine, which beeped with the child’s vitals. Her oxygen level was dropping. Fast.
“Let’s get moving! We don’t have much time.” Knowing the little girl’s chances were slim to none, Dr. Parker North was going to do everything within his power to see that she survived.
Two and a half hours later, he knew it was time to inform the parents of their loss.
* * *
Parker turned the water off and stood inside the shower, mindless of the cold water dripping off him as he remembered his unsuccessful efforts to save the patient. A child was dead, two parents were devastated, and his skill as a trauma neurosurgeon was not up to standards, at least not his standards. He should have been able to save the girl. He had tried every medical procedure he knew, but sadly, her injuries were just too severe.
Knowing it was useless to continue to mentally flagellate himself, he reached for the white towel that hung limply on a rusting steel rod.
Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and in his rusted Ford pickup truck heading to his apartment just blocks away from the hospital. He was a trauma surgeon, and part of the job was being there when he was needed. He could make it from bed to the hospital in nine minutes flat. Faster if he ran the two traffic lights between his apartment and the hospital.
After today’s loss, Parker North had decided to do something he hadn’t done since he’d begun his residency. He was taking some much-needed time away from his duties as a doctor. What had happened today made him realize the true value of life and his role as a doctor in saving precious lives. He’d never suffered from the God complex that some doctors did, but at that moment he wished for any other profession than that of a doctor. Seeing the looks on the faces of the parents when he had told them he hadn’t been able to save their daughter had made him cringe.
He’d wanted to be a doctor his entire life. His father had been a cardiologist, but, sadly, he’d died from a heart attack before Parker had graduated from high school. His mother was still alive and well but spent most of her time hopping from one cruise ship to another, so it was only very occasionally that he saw her. After his father’s unexpected death, his mother hadn’t been the same. And if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t been either. His father’s death had led him to this very moment in time. And right now, he did not want to be a doctor. He did not want the responsibility of holding another human being’s life in his hands.
Maybe it was time to consider a career change.