Showdown

Showdown

Jason stumbled in looking miserable, a blood-soaked shirt arm dangling.

“What’s it this time? Shot through the thigh? Machete to the arm?”

“Just do your job, Mitch. Quit the chit-chat,” Jason mumbled as he crawled onto the exam table.

I work as a nurse for the CIA. I take care of special agents, which can be like working in ER in Chicago on a Saturday night. Gunshots, stab wounds, poison. You name it, we treat it.

I finished the exam, did the repair, wrote the report. He wouldn’t like this.

“Well, you won’t be going out for a day or two. Desk duty for you, bud.”

“Ah, come on. Give me a break. I can’t go back into that office.”

“And you cannot go back out on duty with an open wound that takes twenty stitches. Pretty deep gash, my friend.”

As I turned back to Jason, he held me in his gaze. “You will not send me back to that office, get it?” As if to punctuate that statement, he stuck his service revolver in my face.

“Um. Well, now Jason, let’s be reasonable. You have a deep laceration of your forearm. It took twenty stitches to close that wound. I cannot in all professional conscience give you the green light to go back on duty.”

“Well, Mitch, that’s just all fine and dandy. But you know what? I’m going AMA. And if you try to stop me, I’m going to shoot you. Got it?” He slowly maneuvered off the exam table, the gun aimed my way the entire time.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Jason! Think about what you’re doing!” Those words fell on deaf ears as Mitch lay collapsed on the floor.

I pushed the call button, then checked Jason’s vitals.

When the crash cart arrived, I was several moments into CPR. Someone took over as we hooked up an EKG, then the defib. A few rounds of shocking led to us finally calling the event.

“What happened here?” asked Shirley, the supervising doctor.

I told her exactly what happened. Then she let me know that I wasn’t to blame. Things happen, you may never know why.

“But always remember, Mitch. Heaven can wait.Time cannot.”