Crushed

The corridors of the hospital had never seemed this long, twisting this way and that. When I took the job here almost four years ago I remember nearly getting lost in the first few weeks. Three more corners, two flights of stairs, and I'll be there. I tell myself as my slapping steps echo around the walls. It's strange the way everything seems so quiet today.

Although I know the halls are clearly not empty, my introspection stops me from fully registering each of the figures as I flash past them. Their curious eyes on me, my bright scrubs like some sort of homing beacon. Do they think I'm on the way to assist as a nurse, or do they think I'm going to see someone I love?

I suppose either way they'll be right, however the latter would certainly be more accurate. As I reach the corridor that houses the elevator I find a line of people standing at its closed door. There was no way I was going to be able to fit onto the elevator with that hoard. Without a second thought I shove shoulder first into the door to the stairwell. You'd think being a hospital we would encourage people to take their stairs, as a way to better people's health but we don't. Most people don't notice these doors unless they need them.

As I take the stairs two at a time my lungs burn. I'm breathing more heavily than I have in a long time. My heart competes with my breathing to determine which can come more rapidly. As I reach the door at the top of the stairs I peer through the glass before swinging the door open. The last thing I wanted to do was to terrify someone with my abrupt appearance.

Taking off again I know I cannot keep ignoring the pain in my side. But the pain isn't just concentrated there, I feel it in my middle, ribs, legs, and my heart as if it knows what is about to be heard.

I take off again down this hall, take a left. One more corner, then he’ll be in the last door on the left. I don't usually come to this part of the hospital, I work in the radiology department. My talents are not used on the surgical floor. I can feel my throat going dry and it's from more than just the exertion I am putting my body through.

I will not allow my mind to wander in that way. As I take that last turn I have the urge to brace myself on my knees and catch my breath but I know I cannot afford a second more than it has taken me to reach his room. Pushing my body harder, I force myself to run one last time. I can see the door I need, but my vision is blurring.

Hot wetness begins to flood out of my eyes and down onto the front of my scrubs. The only reason I was able to make it this far running like a maniac is because I am an employee. No one was going to stop me.

Shoving my way into the emergency surgery department I nearly collided with Dr. Harrison, he’s the best surgeon in the region.

I can see it on his face before he speaks. My knees buckle and my ragged pants turn into pained sobs. It doesn't take much for a motorcyclist to be injured in an accident, and those accidents can be so much worse when the wreckage is caused by an eighteen wheeler. As I let the sobs rack my body I cradle the last piece of my husband I have. I shouldn't have run like that through the halls.

“Jas, come here,” Dr. Harrison pleads as he helps me back to my feet and settles me into a chair outside the room I know my husband is in. The room he took his last breaths in. I’m not sure if I want to go in, or stay as far away as possible.

I pull my phone from my pocket. I made it here in less than a minute from getting the call at the nurses station. In under a minute, I lost my husband, and my baby lost their father.