Doing CPR On A 14-Year Old Gangbanger

If I had just done CPR on a 14-year old with a .45 caliber gunshot wound to the head, I'd be traumatized too.

Who wouldn't be?

Am I right?

It's messy, and it's loud, and it's frantic, and it's chaos, but it's controlled chaos because this is the BIG-SHOW.

No more sniffles or a cough or the flu or an STD…this is what you've trained for.

Hell, and I know Jenna is a trained E.R. nurse, and sure, we are in an inner-city trauma center, but this?

Again?

If it's not a 14-year-old, it's a 36-year-old dad or a 19-year-old pregnant girl 

Or a…

If it's not a Friday night, then it's a Monday afternoon, or it's a Sunday morning or a…

Or a…

We're not supposed to break down…

We're not supposed to internalize this…

We're not supposed to dwell on it either…

We're supposed to keep it all together. Be strong. Be the glue that holds things from falling apart.

I don't even recall or remember if that was a class, a lecture, or something I had to learn independently.

Nursing school taught us a lot.

But being "glue"?

Must have missed that day, and I didn't miss many days back then.

Look…

It doesn't get easier.

You don't get used to it.

And the faces?

They're with you forever.

While you're awake, asleep, at lunch, or off with the family.

So are the memories.

Yeah.

The memories.

---

**** We're back in 2011 now ***

When the parents arrived, that's when things always broke down.

That's when we all ask the questions…

to God…

Why now?

Why them?

Why so young?

As E.R. nurses, part of our job, when a patient dies, either traumatically or not, is to do our best to "prepare" the body for family viewing.

It's so they can say goodbye, to be honest.

It's not like the movies in some sterile room, where they slide it out of some nice, clean cooler.

One of those pristine, shiny metal boxes.

All lined up.

Nah.

It's right here, right now, in the trauma bay.

You MUST hold it in. For the family.

You CAN'T break down (yet). For the family.

You HAVE to remain a pro. For the family.

(but it's as much for you too)

In this case, there were two.

Cousins. 12 years old.

Grew up together.

Like brothers.

Was it their moms who were related or the dads?

As nurses, we are almost always in the room when they enter for the first time.

They never run in…like on T.V.

They never run in and yell…like on T.V.

They never run in and yell "WHERE'S MY SON," …like on T.V.

Because in real life, they know.

Back to the cousins.

The paramedic's storm in, CPR in progress…

And then comes the family.

When they come in, frantic/fearful/crying in progress…

It's never easy.

Ever.

And with children, it literally rips your soul apart, and it hurts even more when you have children of your own.

You see your kids in them.

You see yourself as a parent, in those parents.

And in a very dark way, you wonder.

You wonder what if it was me coming in through the door after being awakened at 2am by a doorbell from the local sheriff.

They never saw it coming.

She never saw the cousins skateboarding either.

It was dark.

They were on the road.

Why the hell were they on the road?

Why now?

Why them?

Why so young?

*** We're in 2021 now ***

---

"Is the room ready, Jenna?"

You see, it never changes.

The grief, the sorrow, the loss, and often the senselessness of it all.

"Jenna! Is the room ready?"

She's kind of in a daze, cleaning the carnage getting ready for the next ambulance.

Jenna is a new(er) nurse and was hungry for the action of the E.R., and tonite is chock full of action.

I don't think she expected a "GSW to the head, CPR in progress" to kick off the shift, yet here we are…

Pretending the be "glue."