Happy New Year

December 31st, 2019. 

I don’t usually spend my holidays like your usual individual, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. In times like this, the work I do is critical. 

I work at Uptown Atknap Hospital as a surgeon. Today on New Year's Eve, I volunteered to stay at the hospital so that my other colleagues can go home and spend time with their families and their children. I myself don’t have much family, so I think it’s only fitting that I’m the one staying behind. I don’t mind always being the one to work during the holidays. Rather, it seems like a rather important role was bestowed upon me: slightly heroic, even. Jonathan Kendallson, the one guy you can count on for your holiday maladies. It has a bit of a ring to it, actually. I wouldn’t be doing anything at home, anyway; probably just watch more cooking shows and sit in my massage chair, relaxing to the sound of Gordon Ramsay yelling at his chefs. 

“Here you go, Jonathan,” a voice from behind me calls. I look over my shoulder. A cup of coffee is handed to me by my fellow nurse working with me tonight. She looks a little tired but has her usual bright smile. Janice is an old friend; I was the one that showed her around on her first day at this hospital. When she first started as a nurse, she was the shyest person I knew, only speaking when spoken to. But after a little breaking open, sometimes you really can’t shut her up. She’s a great nurse and an even greater friend.

“Thanks, Janice. Hopefully, the night won’t be too long,” I say appreciatively, warming up my hands with my Americano with extra sugar. I carefully take a sip, knowing very well that the first sip always burns my tongue. Not this time though; years of experience have led me to perfect the art of the first sip.

“It’s awfully quiet today, huh?” the nurse piped up suddenly. She is right; there is almost an unfamiliarity with the hospital, as there is little to no patients coming in or out. Hopefully, the night stays this way. It’s not that I don’t like helping my patients, but having none means that nothing bad is happening out there.

“You’re telling me. I’m not complaining though. I like it like this,”  the smell of Americano fills the air, calming my nerves. “It’s going to be a new year soon,  Janice. Are you planning anything? “

“Nothing much. I have to start going to the gym, though and shape up in time for my trip to Mexico. How abo—” 

The doors to the hospital burst open; the sudden commotion makes me spill hot coffee all over myself. So much for being careful. My exasperation is replaced with concern as I see the patient wheeled into the emergency room. As I drop my coffee onto the floor, I pick up my pace and follow the paramedics into room 313.

“The patient exhibits 4 bullet wounds. Two in the lower abdomen and liver area, one in the arm, and one right above the aorta.” the paramedic urgently speaks, “blood pressure is decreasing significantly. The patient exhibits arrhythmia, and is also unconscious.”

“Somebody get the anesthesiologist. The surgery starts ASAP,” I tell him. I head to the sanitation area to clean myself up. Making sure I’m calm is also important too, so I do my usual breathing techniques. In through the nose and out through the mouth; slow and steady. 

Everyone is silent; just outside, you can hear the television playing. Someone’s busy watching this year's Ball Drop in Times Square. Cheering and clapping are all I can make out from the tiny speakers of the television. 

“Doctor, it’s time to go into surgery,” an assistant informs me. I quickly finish washing my hands and put on my gloves. I’ve occasionally done bullet wounds, but having 4 bullet wounds is definitely a first. But you know what they say: new year, new me. 

Oh, he doesn’t look very good at all. I’m not quite sure how much time I would have left to save him. The surgery itself isn’t the most difficult. Just get the bullets out of this good gentleman here and sew him up, good as new. Hopefully, nothing is damaged internally, but we can worry about that after we get those little iron devils out of him. The main problem isn’t the complexity nor the complications of the procedure, but it’s more of a battle of wills between me and my shakiness. It’s not easy to keep the adrenaline in my head and out of my hands, but a New Year’s resolutions have to start somewhere.

Just my luck; all the wounds seem to have hit some sort of artery. Blood flows like the champagne being popped elsewhere at the New Year’s parties that this man is missing out on. I’m really low on time, huh.

“Janice, please hand me the scalpel. This is going to be a rough night, “

My mind isn’t focused on my actions; I’m more focused on getting these bullets out of this man. You know when you start daydreaming while your driving, then you eventually reach your destination and think to yourself, how did I get here? Well, this is one of those times. The only thing that I was aware of was the sweat off my brow and my calm breathing. Somehow, I made it to my last wound without any hitches. Well, that wasn’t going as bad as I—

*beeeeep* “Doctor, his vitals dropped. He’s lost too much blood.”

“Yes, I can hear that. Just give me some more time. I’m nearly there.”

“Doctor, we need to resuscitate him. “

“Please… just a few more seconds. “

Why is it that in an enclosed room like this, I can hear what’s happening outside? As I focus all my attention on this final piece of shrapnel, I can hear the people of Times Square slowing counting this man’s critical moments. 

“3...2...1… HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”