Emelie Schepp - Slowly We Die

He looked at the patient, studying her rib cage. It was hardly moving.

He considered using the intraosseous drill for access to the venous system through her bone marrow, but then folded the blanket back and looked at the tourniquet. He checked the strap multiple times and realized something wasn’t right. It was loose.

It wasn’t until then that he realized he hadn’t tied it properly.

As he threw the blanket completely back, he saw the last sight he wanted to see. Blood flow to her arm hadn’t stopped after all. It had continued to flow from her left wrist and collected under her body on the stretcher.

“For Christ’s sake!” he exclaimed.

“What’s going on? How is she?” Sandra shouted through the cab window.

“I can’t stop the bleeding!”

She met his eyes in the rearview mirror, then swerved to avoid a truck that hadn’t bothered to pull over for the flashing lights of the ambulance.

Philip pulled the tourniquet tighter, but the vehicle swayed and he lost his grip.

“Can you drive straight, please!” he screamed, reaching for the strap again. He pulled and pulled. He knew that every second counted now. Sweat beaded up on his forehead and his mouth was dry, but he was finally able to get the tourniquet in place. Just as he tied it off, he became aware of the sound from the EKG.

A single, solid tone.

And he knew. For the second day in a row it was the sound of a patient’s death.

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