No Silver Linings

The microphone squeaked as Dr. Michael awkwardly cleared his throat. The audience shuffled uncomfortably as they waited to hear his speech. I sat in the back of the dark, crowded lecture hall, bored out of my mind, knowing very well that Dr. Michael would talk for an eternity. I only have four more months until I graduate from Weill Cornell Medical School, and I am elated by the thought of what comes ahead. As Dr. Michael talked about anesthesia, my mind drifted to the exciting day planned tomorrow. I will start off the day by changing into my royal blue scrubs and leaving the dorm room at 5:30 AM to go to South Shore Medical Center, which is about an hour and a half away from Weill Cornell. I will be observing the well known neurosurgeon, Dr. Henley, perform an anterior temporal lobectomy on a 28 year old male patient. The surgery is scheduled to take approximately one hour and 50 minutes. Luna, my friend shoves her sharp elbow into my side to stop me from drifting off. Luna is a tall, fashionable girl with a bright mind. Her parents forced her into med school, which I think is a terrible idea. Luna should be doing what she loves; design, art, music. She should not be a surgeon. I can’t complain much though, Luna and I met here, and I can already tell that she is going to be a lifelong friend. Again, Luna shoves her elbow into my side.

“Jamie,” Luna squeals.

“Luna, please stop.” I say sleepily.

I snap awake at the dull pain of her elbow. Again. The bright lights of the lecture hall blind me as I look up, the prospect of tomorrow still fresh in my mind.

I wake up the next day to my alarm clock screaming at me to get up. I groggily roll out of bed and drive to the nearest Starbucks. I crave coffee in the mornings.

“I need a venti espresso. No cream or sugar.”

The blond haired, teenage barista cheerfully asked if there was anything else that I needed. I shook my head and waited in the store that smelled of warm breakfast sandwiches and coffee. The person behind me got his breakfast sandwich before my coffee came out.

“I am so sorry, but I am about to be late,” I said with urgency.

My order finally came out, and I grabbed my coffee and sped away in my red, dented Jeep Wrangler. I arrived at South Shore Medical Center two minutes late, and was greeted by the angry face of Dr. Henley. When I look up to see his face, I sprint through the doors of the hospital and follow Dr. Henley as he lectures about the importance of being on time.

“In order to succeed, you must be on time. If you are late, you will miss out on life changing opportunities.”

Now that I have already gotten yelled at by a short, scrawny man in a lab coat, it was time to go into the waiting room. The patient’s name was Arthur Peabody.

“That is one interesting name,” I thought to myself.

They wheeled Arthur, who was quite nervous, into the OR and hooked him up to the electronic anesthesia device. The OR was like a place out of my dreams. The glistening silver table was cool to the touch, and it seemed almost calming. The tools where neatly lined up, positioned just perfectly. Assuming that I would be able to stand on the right side of the table and watch, I made my way over where I was immediately yelled at again. Surprisingly, I was not allowed to be anywhere near the table as Dr. Henley performed the surgery. I admit, I was disappointed. I stood with my back against the cold door of the supply closet. I was extremely frustrated, but I stepped back and observed. The surgery was like a beautiful balet. The music is the constant beeping of the heart monitor, The dancers worked quietly to remove a section of the brain. Suddenly, a panicked female voice came over the loudspeakers.

“Code silver,” She yelled. “Code silver! This is not a drill I repeat, this is not a dr-”

The loudspeakers had been cut off. It seemed that everything electric had been cut off. The lights, the air conditioner, and more. I have absolutely no idea what a “Code silver” means, the only thing I know is that everything electric is down. I suddenly remember a horrific thought, the anesthesia machine is electric too. Very soon, the patient will begin to wake up. In the middle of surgery. He will be paralyzed, but awake. I started to hyperventilate. I look out at the doctors and see that they are absolutely terrified. Dr. Henley started to speed up his technique. They then learned that this was a small crack in the stone compared to what was to come. That was when the noise started outside.

What had started out an exciting day had turned into a horror story in .02 seconds. A feeling of numbness consumed my body as I realized that there are gunshots outside. Multiple. I look down and see my legs shaking violently.

“We need to hide,” I say as my voice breaks.

I run into the supplies closet, my heart beating out of my chest. The gunshots near our operating room. Hot tears stream down my face as I start silently sobbing. All of this seems surreal. I remember that my phone is in my back pocket. I quickly pull it out and text my most recent contact, Luna.

“I love you.”

I almost break down as I hear the door creak open. Soft footsteps search around the room. A gunshot breaks the silence and a most inhumane sound comes from Dr. Henley. A horrific wailing and thrashing, then nothing. One by one, I heard that soul-crushing sound. I feel the anestisiologist thump against the closet door. A pool of crimson starts to leak under the door and onto me. I cover my face with my hands to keep myself from wailing and throwing up. The footsteps seemed to have ceased, yet I still keep quiet. I hear a single footstep and frantically look around to find anything I could protect myself with. A fire hydrant sits on its side in the corner. I hustle to grab it, and in my hurry, I watch as I knock over a small bin of medical tape. I watch as it falls in slow motion and hits the floor with a crash that seems deafening. The footsteps rapidly make their way over to my closet.

“I can’t do this,” I think to myself.

I hold the fire hydrant over my head, ready to defend myself. The door swings open and I am taken back with shock. A small girl around the age of seven or eight stares up at me, her wide blue eyes seem like crystals. Her hands shake as she holds up a black Glock 29. She takes in a small breath and whispers two words that made me realize what was going to happen.

“I’m sorry.”

I am sitting in bed at home, curled up on the couch when I get a text from Jamie. I decide to get it later. I am watching the news, and the host is trying to sell a “revolutionary” curling iron.

“Don’t they have better stuff to talk about?”

Almost as if the TV has heard my request, a breaking news report comes on.

“News of a tragic event have just come in. There has been report of a shooting at South Shore Medical Center. At the moment, we have a very small amount of information, and we will keep everyone updated. We are deeply saddened to say that at least 17 people have lost their lives today.”

South Shore Medical Center? That is right next to Weill Cornell Medical School. I suddenly realize that Jamie is shadowing at South Shore today. I gasp and sprint to my phone, my hands trembling.

“She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay!”

I just have to read her funny text saying that she got lunch and is outside the building! Maybe she slept in today! I am hysterically fumbling for my phone. Three words read across the screen.

“I love you.”

I start to cry. I run back to the TV, where they are releasing pictures of the people that have died. Meaningless faces flash across the screen. At the very end, I see her. My precious Jamie standing there with a smile as big as the earth, her arm draped across the shoulder I know as mine.

I crumple to the ground, gripping my heart. It seems as though someone has cut a gaping hole in my chest, a hole that can never be filled again. No words can describe the utter pain that overwhelms my whole body. With a picture and three words, my life has been demolished.