stray bullets

the fourth of july is about patriotism, parades, fireworks, cookouts, and, as i found out last night, stray bullets.

i think last night was my 4th call, and each time i have stayed overnight a young black man or woman has gotten shot. last night it was an 17 year old woman. the surgical intensive care is basically the admitting unit for really sick trauma surgery patients. i, the SICU intern, am in charge of the unit patients.

usually, the trauma surgery team on call with me doesn't really give me warning about who is going to get admitted, usually because they come from the OR via the ER. the nurses in the unit always know that someone is on their way to the unit before I do. i thought it was just their innate wisdom, but after asking one of them, they told me they can always tell because the family collects outside the door.

at around 3am I left the unit to look at an xray downstairs and there were 20+ people in the hallway, family members of a young girl who had been shot through her chest. i walked past them all, their eyes all on me and wondered what kind of shape their loved one would be in.

in my first week of residency i have been the person that most family members talk to to find out how their loved one is doing. mostly because i'm the only spanish speaker, and i'm the only one who basically lives in the unit.

last night, i had a crowd of people around me as i explained that the young girl had been shot through her armpit, and that the bullet went through both lungs, pancreas, spleen, colon, and diaphragm.

most people looked into my eyes dazed, tearful, hanging on every word that i said. one of the more bold family members asked questions.

"what is the spleen?"
"can she live without it?"
"will she be able to walk again?"

and then she looked over at the father and asked the question everyone wanted to know.

"is she going to make it?"

i told her there was no way to know how she would do, but that she was stable.

"but doctor, have you ever seen someone like this, with gunshot wounds like this, make it through alive?"

i told her i had, but that no two patients are the same.

"all i wanted was a little bit of hope," she said.

i guess a little bit of hope has to be a good thing.
as i finished rounding and writing notes on all of the patients in the unit, i watch the crowd of people around the young girl's bed.

there were 4 girls her age, standing around her battered, bloody body. they talked to her, found a way to laugh, to try to make her less scared. although she was sedated and unable to respond, i know their dialogue with her was welcome.

i thought about how brave these young girls were, to stay by their friends side, while she was hooked up to monitors from every corner, dried blood on her face, eyes curled back under the influence of a sedative and a tube down her throat. she must have been hard to recognize.

i watch as they held it together in front of her, and broke down the minute their backs were to the bed.

i had few comforting words for them, but they were so appreciative of me. i felt it was undeserved, and instead thought about how them being there made the place seem more humane.

i look forward to the day where a young black man or woman escapes the trauma bay, and i can say that bullets aren't part of what this country is about.