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Tomorrow was the anniversary. He knew it, and he knew he couldn’t work or get out of bed. It’s been years, and he thought it would get easier with time, but it never really does. Luckily, Ellis agreed to trade shifts with him, so he could work the night before instead and sleep through the whole day. That’s what he’s done every year before that. He thinks Trinity did some bargaining with Ellis to agree to the shift change, but Dennis wasn’t going to be too nosy.
It had started to get colder and colder outside. He can’t remember the last time he actually saw the sun, and he’s not sure whether the long ED shifts or the overcast weather are to blame. He clearly was not prepared for the early morning chill and pulled his jacket around himself a bit tighter as he left the medical center. Trinity had offered to pick him up, but he thought a walk would clear his head, not just from his shift, but from the day that towered over him.
He didn’t tell Trinity what was going on; she would be working the whole day anyway, so what would she even do? He sometimes thought that Trinity could read his mind, or maybe they were both overthinkers who worried about their friends. Roommates. Worried about their roommates. Either way, Trinity definitely knew something was up, and Dennis wasn’t sure how she would react to finding him asleep when she got home. It is normal to be asleep during the day after working a night shift, right?
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a hand tugging on the hood of his jacket, pulling him off the crosswalk. He didn’t even notice he was crossing the road. It was too late, though; he felt a crushing force on his ribs and hip, and he fell onto the pavement, the hand following with him. In blurry vision, he watched a car speed down the road, turning on the first corner out of there.
There were so many hands on him, he pushed them off, mumbling for them to back up. His ribs and hip hurt like hell, and his hand was ripped up by the pavement; he must’ve tried to catch himself. Everything, for the most part, seemed superficial. Through the bustle of people, he turned his head to where he heard the most commotion, and saw a man lying on the pavement beside him.
He couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than Dennis. The scrubs he was wearing - fuck, that’s a lot of blood - showed that he was from pediatrics, so he doesn’t think they ever really crossed paths before. He can’t imagine what possessed this guy to put his own life in danger just to save him. He knew that was a bad way of thinking, but he couldn’t really help it right now. He sits up, much to the protest of the people around him, medical professionals and pedestrians alike. He shakes their hands off, trying to slightly smile so they would leave him be. He stands, eyes still on the man lying on the pavement.
Pushing through the crowd, he assesses his condition. There’s a laceration on the man’s forehead that will surely need stitches, and there’s the possibility of blunt head trauma. The man is fading in and out of consciousness, and his fingers are twisted in ways that are surely not possible. They must have gotten caught - this is your fault - in his hood when they got hit. He scans lower down the body and - oh my fucking god - the tibia is sticking out of the man’s shin, and there is - so much fucking - blood pooling on the pavement.
Dennis doesn’t think, he does. He goes toward the man and throws him over his shoulder, like his brothers used to do to him in Nebraska. He runs (limps) back to the emergency department, where he came from.
He hears Ahmad swear under his breath, but he keeps going nonetheless. He watches Dana’s face change as she glances toward the door, and Robby stops in his path as he exits a room in central. Everyone is looking at him.
He steels himself, “Car vs. pedestrian, open fracture of the tibia and laceration to the head, possibility of blunt head trauma.” The words come out of his mouth a lot louder than he means them to, and suddenly, the weight is lifted off his shoulders, and everyone is following a gurney into one of the trauma rooms.
He feels the adrenaline slowly drain from his body, and his vision clouds with dark spots. His face goes cold, and his ears start to ring, and the last thing he hears is, “Whitaker, you alright?” before he collapses into someone’s arms.
“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.” Romans 8:26
It was going to be a fairly straightforward shift for Robby today. At least, before doing a handoff with Whitaker. He had never seen the younger man look so drained after a shift, even after PittFest. A small part of his brain wanted to catch up with him before he left, make sure he was doing alright, but he didn’t want to overstep. Everyone who worked PittFest was required to go to trauma counseling through the medical center, so surely today was just an off day.
However, he had to admit he had a soft spot for Whitaker. What Whitaker witnessed in pedes, one of Robby’s darkest moments, was something that he had expected to become a staff-wide rumor. That their leader broke, and was found crying and praying in a makeshift morgue. But it never did. Whitaker never told anyone, and whatever Langdon found out was never shared, even though he didn’t exactly have the chance to.
It was only after his first patient that he regretted not checking on Whitaker. When the man came rushing in through the ambulance bay, carrying someone else over his shoulder. They were both covered in blood, but Robby hoped to God that none of it was Whitaker’s. After the man was placed on a gurney and brought into a trauma room, Robby turned his attention to Whitaker, who had started to sway and looked far paler than normal.
He knew he needed to help with the trauma, but he couldn’t help this one, “Whitaker, you alright?” Before he knew it, Whitaker had collapsed in his arms, starting to vomit whatever was left in his stomach, coated with blood. “Fuck, I need a gurney!” His voice echoed across the ED, and the cold weight left his arms as Whitaker was wheeled into the other trauma room.
“She-ma yisrael, adonai eloheinu, adonai echad / Baruch shem kavod malchuto l’olam va-ed” Deuteronomy 6:5-9, The Shema Prayer
Dennis woke up to bright fluorescent lights and a dry throat. He tried to sit up, but his abdomen was too tender, and a pair of hands was already pushing him back down into the bed, “Hey, that’s not a good idea, kid.” He looked up through blurry vision to see Robby, with dark circles under his eyes.
The memories of what happened trying to leave work flooded back, and he croaked out, “Is… he o… kay?” before coughing while Robby handed him a cup of water. While he drank from the bent straw, he watched Robby’s face fall, afraid of what he was about to say.
The older man sighed, “We stabilized him and sent him to the OR for surgery, but the tissue damage was too extensive and,” his voice caught, “his leg was amputated below the knee.” Dennis’s heart dropped, and he felt like the ceiling was collapsing on top of him. “The head laceration was superficial, and there was no damage to the brain, and the minor fractures on his hand were fixed with an open reduction.”
Dennis felt the room spin around him. Why should he be fine when he was the reason this man was going through all of this in the first place? He felt his breathing quicken, choking and coughing on his still dry throat.
“Hey, kid, you gotta slow down, your lungs can’t handle that yet.” Robby placed his hand firmly on Dennis’s chest. Tears pricked at the edge of the younger man’s eyes as he caught his breath. Finally relaxed, he started to feel the pain in his ribs, and he curled his arms around his abdomen. “You suffered several fractures to your ribs that caused severe internal bleeding. We caught up with the bleeding, but then you got a small pneumothorax, and you were given a chest tube to help combat it. From there, it should recover on its own.”
Dennis felt the weight of these events crashing down on his chest. He swallowed and asked, “How long have I been out, Robby?” The older man broke eye contact, and Dennis could not be more afraid of what the answer could be. “Robby, please, just tell me.” His voice started to crack, no longer from the dry air, but from the tears welling in his eyes.
Robby sighed, “Your accident was yesterday morning, and it is now,” he glances at his watch, “10:33 PM. So it’s been almost two days.” Dennis crumbled, no longer able to keep his tears from trailing down his cheeks. Despite the pain, he curled in on himself, turning away from the older man. “Wh- Dennis, I’m so sorry.” Dennis felt a shift in the air as Robby started to stand, apparently seeing that as a sign to leave.
Without thinking, he grabbed Robby’s wrist, “Please stay.” His red-rimmed blue eyes looked into his deep brown eyes. Robby blinked a couple of times before slowly nodding and sitting back down.
They both fell into a comfortable silence, listening to each other's breathing. A guarantee that they were both there, that they were both okay. Before Dennis knew it, he was drifting off to sleep again, and he couldn’t help but hope that he would wake up to the same comforting presence.
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6:34
After about twenty minutes of watching Whitaker’s chest move up and down, Robby knew he should go for a walk to clear his head. Closing the curtain and the door behind him, Robby plunged back into the chaos of the emergency department. There were no beds upstairs, so Robby pulled some strings to get him moved to Central 14, hoping it would be isolated enough to be comfortable for Whitaker and to avoid questions from any nosy interns.
Abbot tracks him down, “Dude, what’s going on? I saw your motorcycle out back, but every time I ask someone why you’re here, they walk away.” He scans the emergency department and notices that almost everyone is looking at the pair of them.
Robby’s throat goes dry, and he tries to muster up a coherent sentence in reply, “Just a patient that had nobody to stay with them, didn’t want them to wake up alone.” He stares at the floor, feeling Abbot’s hands burn holes into his temple, as if he’ll be able to find the answers he’s looking for if he digs in his head.
“Oh, really? Then why did Dana tell off Shen for asking if he could take over the patient in Central 14?” Robby dropped his head before looking at Abbot, motioning for the man to follow him.
Once they reached the lockers, Abbot joked, “So who is it? One of your girlfriends from three years ago who learned about your seven-week itch?” Chuckling to himself before realizing quickly that the joke didn’t land the way he wanted it to.
“It’s Whitaker. He and a senior resident from pedes got struck by a car yesterday.” Robby couldn’t look at the other man, but imagined how quickly the smirk was wiped off his face.
“Shit, how bad is it?” Abbot took a step closer to Robby, a pool of regret in his stomach.
Robby sighed, looking at Abbot, “He’s stable, can be back at work in a month or so. The other guy’s got a longer road ahead of him.” Finally away from Whitaker and the chaos of the emergency department, the weight of the past 36 hours was starting to hit him.
Abbot noticed, as always, “Man, you need to go home and rest up, Dana said you haven’t gone home since."
Shaking his head, Robby internally cursed Dana for ratting him out, “No, I can’t, he doesn’t have family here, and Kiara needs to go talk to him-”
He was cut off, “Kiara? Why?”
Robby’s eyes fell to the floor. “Ahmad pulled the security footage to help the police find the guy who hit them, and, uh,” Robby swallowed, looking around for any eavesdroppers, “Whitaker walked in front of the car, and the other guy was trying to save him.”
“Da’agah belev ish yashchenah, vedavar tov yesamchenah” Proverbs 12:25
Dennis woke up to a cold and quiet room. A wave of confusion flooded his body, before quickly remembering the conversation he had with Robby. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, not until Robby walked into the room, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Oh- shit- I’ll be right back, okay?” And the man was out of the room before waiting for a response. Dennis paused in confusion for a couple of seconds before busying himself with counting the ceiling tiles in his tiny room.
Robby returned five minutes later, with Kiara in tow. Dennis’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “Kiara, it’s good to see you, but I don’t think I have anything to talk about.” He glanced at Robby, who was trying his best to remain stoic. Kiara sat down next to the bed, with Robby a couple of steps behind her.
Kiara placed her hand over his, smiling, “Just routine, okay?” Dennis nodded along, before she started again, “Is there anyone we can call for you? Anyone back home?”
Shaking his head, Dennis replied, “No,” and then, realizing he may have responded a bit too fast, “No, they don’t need to fly all the way out here. I just have my roommate, Trinity Santos, but I’m sure she already knows.” Kiara nodded, frowning slightly.
“I can’t imagine how traumatic the past couple of hours have been for you. How are you feeling?” Her eyebrows lifted, waiting for Dennis to answer. He didn’t know how to answer. Part of him was still terrified, another part shocked at all of the news. There were other small emotions scattered across the edge of his mind. Worry for the man who got hit with him. Guilt for being the reason he’s in the condition he’s in now. Shame for making the people around him worry.
He tried to let it all go, “I mean, I’m definitely still a bit shocked by everything, and I’m still feeling the injuries, but other than that, I think I’m fine.” His eyes flicked between Kiara and Robby, trying to decipher their expressions of disbelief and worry, “What’s going on? There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Kiara took a deep breath, “The security footage pulled from the accident shows you walking into the road, in front of the car that hit you.” Dennis stopped breathing, waiting for whatever came out of Kiara’s mouth next. “Your colleagues said they noticed that something was off before you had left work, Dennis.” She paused, “Have you had any thoughts of suicide?”
Dennis felt the air be sucked out of the room, “What? No, no, that’s ridiculous. It’s been years since-” He cut himself off, realizing what he was about to say in front of Kiara and Robby. It had been years since his first year of medical school, when the stress had become too much for him. It had been four years since his roommate found him on the floor of their apartment’s bathroom, an empty bottle of pills on the floor. After a 72-hour hold, an intake session with a therapist, and a locked medicine cabinet, those thoughts were something that had been buried as deep as Dennis could dig.
Kiara’s voice called him back to the surface, “Since what?” He looked up, and while Kiara’s face was full of concern, Robby’s exhibited absolute despair. Dennis would do anything to get out of this conversation right now.
“It’s been four years since I, um,” His throat dried up, trying to speak felt like forcing the words out of his lungs, “Since I tried to kill myself.” He stared at his hands; he couldn’t stand to look at Kiara, and even more so, Robby. It wasn’t something he liked to talk about with anyone. Nobody but his roommates and the people he met in the psychiatric unit knew about this part of his past. “This isn’t what that was. I just got lost in my thoughts, and, um, this is where it landed me.” He looked up at Kiara, hoping she would believe him.
Kiara nodded, “Have you been seeing a therapist regularly?”
“Yeah, yes, since PittFest.” An event they all lived through. The sad truth that all of them knew the answer to, after the memo that was sent out requiring every staff member who worked the mass casualty incident to seek therapy.
She smiled at the younger man, “Thank you for telling me, Dennis. Sit tight, okay?” Kiara walked out into the hall, and Robby followed. Dennis took a deep breath, letting the weight of the secrets shared roll off his chest.
Robby returned to the room shortly after, sitting where Kiara previously was, “Dennis, I-”
“Don’t.” Dennis cut him off, “I’m fine now, I swear this time wasn’t anything like that.” Dennis looked straight into the man’s eyes, hoping that he would trust him enough to know he was telling the truth.
Robby nodded, “Okay. I believe you.”
"Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?" Luke 12:25-26