“Trauma three? This is the lab. I have a haematocrit on Cornelius Finch. It’s fourteen!” broke a voice on the intercom.
“He’s bleeding out”, thought Richard, “we need that O neg now!”
The patient lay transfixed to the table, every intimate facet callously exposed to his gaze. He appeared to be in his early seventies, intubated and already on a ventilator. Toneless muscles drooped in folds on grim limbs, and his ribs hoisted out like arching blades. The left arm and hip were grazed from scraping across pavement and on his lower chest, a contusion formed a purple island on the white parchment of skin.
“Doctor, the O neg is here, I’ll hang it now”.
Richard reached for the scalpel. The weight of the cool steel felt secure in his grasp; an extension of his own
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The hepatic compression was the only manoeuvre left to drain away the blood. Every muscle in his arms and shoulders stiffened as he strove to retain the pressure.
“Doctor we’re losing him!”
“Please”, breathed Richard heavily, as he continued to pound the liver “please stay with us a little longer, I could save you! Please I made a promise with your grandson! You cannot leave! Please…
“Time of death 20:09 25 August 2014”
***
His ended life seemed to pound into his purpose and it leaked an indomitable paralysis into his character. He felt the weight of a void within him, like a vacuum, pulling at his longings until his whole being collapsed, that which he once saw in the mirror became a distant secret inside of him and instead was displayed the unspeakable realities of his desires. He was no saviour, but simply the tool, a novice in the art of containing the soul. Everything once filling his life had been buried and instead he was left with a blemishing reminder of what he once was.
***
“Trauma one? This is the lab, were sending heparin, Anne Murray is suffering from disseminated intravascular coagulation!’
Richard reached for the