Convergence ( English )

The sky is still black when the automatic doors open as I arrive, as if the hospital had been waiting for me. We’ve gotten to know each other, him and me: it swallows me whole every morning without even a hello, and I let it. Hardly have I stepped through the doors than I get swept up by the flow of staff heading towards the locker rooms. In the opposite direction, in a march worthy of an army of the undead, the night teams leave the hospital in silence. I barely avoid a bed speeding down the hallway. First goal of the day: avoid a collision. Here, no traffic code, no road signs, the stretchers are the kings of the corridors.

So I prefer to take the little side passages to avoid them. Over time, I know every corridor better than the streets around my place. That says a lot about how thriving my social life is. I comfort myself by thinking that it’s just my sense of direction that’s terrible. But let’s be honest: I probably spend more time here than at home. The hospital is a bit like an overbearing, noisy, demanding boyfriend—always there and impossible to leave. And despite everything, I think we’ve gotten used to each other.

When I finally get to the blouse dispenser, there's already a line stretching out in front of me. I watch them each take a uniform in turn, with the color changing depending on the department. Honestly, we’re a long way from the figures on Grey’s Anatomy, always perfectly fitted, in colors that almost make you want to work at the hospital. Me, I feel like I spend my life in pajamas. And even then, I’m happy when I get a uniform that fits. The best of the best? Not having a hole. Today, I’m lucky.

I bite my tongue. No, damn it, I’m going to jinx myself. I frantically look for some wood, the door frame will do, I touch it quickly to ward off bad luck. I’m not superstitious. But I prefer to stack the odds in my favor.

I grab my lab coat and head to the locker room. Alex is already halfway undressed.

-Hello! Ready for a crazy day?

She gives me a smile.

-Of course! We’re working together, it’s going to be awesome!

We laugh as we change.

-Did you see who’s the supervising ER doctor today?

I pause for a second. Alex grimaces.

-No... Not Bertrand. Please. Last time, it was hell. He disappears for hours! I almost got hit by a patient.

She rolls her eyes.

-Donatos told me. Apparently, Bertrand was particularly unpleasant with the patient and you had to pick up the pieces.

-I swear, I’m going to sign up for Krav Maga classes.

She bursts out laughing.

-I’d pay a lot to see that. Éléane doing self-defense moves… I’m sure you’d spend the whole time apologizing for knocking your opponent down.

-You’re exaggerating!

She looks at me. I sigh.

-Well… maybe not.

We’re still laughing before we finish getting ready, then the laughter dies down. It’s Monday, which is basically one of the worst days of the week in the ER, just behind a rainy Sunday.

We join the rest of the team to pick up the night report. Thérèse, Christine, and Giuseppe are there, coffee in hand, looking worn out, but miraculously, the night doesn’t seem to have been too disastrous. They hand us the files of the four patients still being monitored, which Clotilde, Magnus, and I split between us, as they’ll be working the day shift with us.

We barely have time to check the blood test results and X-rays when Bertrand barges into the office. Just looking at his face, I know it’s going to be a long day. And, unfortunately, I’m not wrong.

All day long, you have to chase after him for prescriptions, tests, treatments, discharge papers. Everything. Patients start getting annoyed from waiting so long. But as soon as he finally deigns to honor us with his noble presence, it’s a parade of 'Thank you, doctor!' Us, on the other hand, clearly look like a bunch of lazy people who can’t do our job properly. Seriously, the aura of doctors is something else. It’s like our status as paramedics is measured in layers of dust: we’re there hustling in the shadows, and they shine under the spotlight. And Bertrand seems to have taken it very personally.

-If only we had competent staff, the service would run better…

Asshole. All because I interrupted him while he was hitting on the cardiology assistant. I swallow my reply. Well, I try, because telling Bertrand that his main talent is disappearing during the hours we actually need him probably wouldn’t improve his crappy mood.

Around 3 p.m., a patient brought in by the firefighters for an agitation crisis gives us a hard time. He struggles, screams random words, and it takes all four of us to hold him down until Bertrand, when he finally deigns to show up, can prescribe something to calm him.

Then, suddenly, he freezes.

His gaze changes. He doesn’t move anymore, doesn’t fight against our hands that are still holding him out of reflex. He stares at me. Precisely at me.

“They’re coming,” he says, in a perfectly calm voice.

I stay frozen for a second.

His eyes don’t leave mine.

“Who?”

He doesn’t answer.

“They’re coming,” he repeats.

Then, just as abruptly as he had stopped, he starts struggling and screaming again, as if nothing had happened.

Bertrand lets out an irritated sigh and injects midazolam. The patient gradually relaxes. Patients in crisis say nonsense; this isn’t the first weird sentence I’ve heard in this ward, and it certainly won’t be the last. Yet, when I leave the room a few minutes later, his voice still rings in my head.