A/N: Hello readers! So, here is a story idea that I came up with. I've also post another new story called "Welcome to Schumann" that will focus solely on Brucas. Whatever story gets the most reviews is the story I will continue. I recently posted a Twilight fanfic, which I will not continue due to lack of interest. I also prefer to write for Brucas. The reason I will not continue both is because I'm not continuing writing after summer. All I Want will be complete and only has a few chapters left. Then I will work on my last story. To give you a little back ground about this story, it is an ooc story. The characters are older. Lucas and 'the Scotts' will appear in the second chapter, but the first one focuses on Brooke. I don't want to give too much away. "Welcome to Schumann" is a story set in high school. Anyways, let me know which you'd prefer to read... if any.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 1: Merry Christmas to All, And to All a Goodnight
My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.
-- Anne Shirley
From down the hall, there was the distinct sound of celebration. I could make out the sounds of glasses clicking against one another, laughter coming from crude jokes, and presents being unwrapped. There was a strong smell of ham and eggnog, almost making my mouth water. And as much as I wanted to go join the small party at the nurses' station, I didn't move. I stayed in the chair beside the unconscious man next to me.
It was Christmas Eve, my least favorite holiday. Not because of the meaning behind it, but because of the traditions. Presents. Food. Trees. It all seemed pretty pointless to me. Christmas was a holiday designed for families. And this time of year reminded me constantly, I had no family.
A familiar voice called from the doorway, causing me to look up from the large stack of paperwork in my lap.
"Ethan, what are you doing here? I thought you were heading out to Carol's parents home with the boys."
He moved into the room, leaning causally against the wall. He ran a hand through his hair, "Yeah, I thought so too. Unfortunately, one of my patients was having some problems breathing. Sure enough, he was on the verge of an aortic aneurysm. By the time I got here, they were already prepping him for surgery. He's doing fine now. I didn't even know you were here. Are you working?"
I held up her pager between my fingers, "On call."
"You know you can leave. This place is like a ghost town. If they need you, then they'll page you. But I'm sure it will probably be like this tonight and tomorrow."
I looked at the man in the bed, "I know. But I don't want to leave him."
"How is our John Doe?" Ethan pushed off the wall, making his way over to the bed in the center of the room.
"Not too good." I didn't have enough energy to spin his condition in a positive light. His heart was giving up; the machines were doing most of the work now.
John Doe had been at St. Mary's Hospital in Santa Monica for two months now. He was found in an abandoned building that had caught fire just outside the city limits. Most likely, he was homeless, taking shelter in a building that was falling apart.
When finally stabilized, the hospital did everything they could to find out who the man was. They gave a sample of his blood work to the police department, hoping they'd find a match among convicted felons. But there was no such luck. Unfortunately, his body was horribly disfigured, at least from the shoulders up, due to the fire. So, identification by physical appearances was out of the question. And as of now, there was no hope in finding out who this man was.
I took an immediate interest in my patient, because we had more in common than anyone knew.
"I'm sorry Brooke," Ethan put the chart back. John Doe's vitals didn't give him any hope either. "Maybe we'll get a heart in soon?"
I nodded, but knew that it was unlikely. He wasn't a top priority on the transplant list due to the state of his liver. He would eventually need a liver transplant, since it was slowly failing, probably due to alcoholism. Add that to the fact he was most likely homeless, he fell down on the transplant list. It was supposed to be based on need. However, health care politics were just as bad as government ones.
"I better get going. I told Carol I'd be home by midnight."
I gave a small smile, "Get outta here, Copeland. Have a nice holiday with your family."
He turned to leave, but turned around before walking out the door. He returned the smile, "You know Brooke, the offer still stands. Carol and I would love to have you over tomorrow for Christmas dinner. The boys miss you."
The invitation was genuine, but so was my reply.
"Ethan, I'm on call. Plus, you know…"
He nodded, "Yes, I know. You don't celebrate Christmas, or any other holiday for that matter. I thought I'd just give you chance to get out of those light blue scrubs."
I laughed, "I like my scrubs. They are comfortable." I looked down at my body, which was covered in a pale blue fabric.
"If you change your mind, give me a call."
I saluted him, "Yes sir."
"Oh, and Brooke, Merry Christmas."
Ethan left the room with that last declaration. He was a good friend to me, and I was grateful for that. Realistically, he was my only friend besides a few acquaintances at the hospital. We had bonded during our residency and our desire to become the best cardiologists. And luckily, Carol, the love of Ethan's life, embraced the friendship between us.
I looked at John Doe, laying next to me helpless in his bed. I couldn't help but wonder what his life was like. Did he have friends out there looking for him? Did he have a family? If so, where were they now? Were they aware he was suffering from a genetic disease, and they could be at risk?
My head started to pound, because I knew my questions would most likely never be answered.
I was accustomed to the monitor sounds. After spending so much time in a hospital setting, they were a soothing background noise. However, the sound of a patient crashing is not.
My eyes jolted open as a heard the machines start making erratic noises. I lifted my head too quickly, still balancing consciousness and unconsciousness. I realized then I'd fallen asleep, and waken up to find John Doe crashing in front of me.
Panic sets in.
I jump from my seat. Even after a couple years out of residency, I still get chills when this happens. I run to the door, a let out the loudest scream, "I NEED A CRASH CART! CODE BLUE!"
Now, it's all reflex. I move my hands without thinking, placing them on his chest. They find their place- on the breast bone. I do the compressions, counting as loud as possible, so the numbers don't get lost in my head.
The seconds passing feel like hours as I start to perspire from all the work going in to saving this man I don't even know.
Just then, nurses file into the room, moving around the patient at a speed that is too slow for me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a nurse pick up the chart. She frowns at me, "Doctor, he's DNR."
I know this, but I continue to beat on his body.
"Doctor, he's DNR!"
I ignore her, not even bothering to look at her.
"Doctor Davis!" I hear her scream at the top of her lungs. The rest of the nurses stand on the other side of the room. Watching me try to save this man… watching me fail…
It is them I realize the situation. I can't save him alone. I need their help. Looking into her eyes, I whimper, "I know I can save him."
She doesn't look to sure of what I'm saying.
So, I repeat myself with a sense of urgency, "I know I can save him!"
Her eyes can't hide her emotions; she is contemplating helping. And I can only hope she decides to do it soon, because my arms are about to give out.
Before she can respond, someone else does. "Stop!"
Make me. I say to myself, never losing focus on the man in front of me.
"Doctor Davis, You have no right to continue to try to revive this man. He is DNR! DO NOT RESITATE!"
I know now Doctor Larry Sawyer is in the room. However, I don't care if the chief of surgery is behind me.
I pound on the man's chest, counting louder and louder in my head. Because this is what I do. I save lives. I have hope that everyone can be saved, especially this man. A man I feel like I know. Medical school had prepared me for the hardships of becoming a doctor, but it hadn't prepared me for the hardships of becoming a doctor that was still human. I was not letting my patient die. Not today, not on Christmas.
Just then, I'm yanked away from the body below me. Doctor Sawyer's arms are around me, making sure I stop.
"Let the man go in peace. He's been through enough."
I try to struggle against the restraints keeping me back, but I'm too weak. I feel a tear slip down my cheek because he's right. John Doe has been through enough. And all I wanted to give him was a second chance at life.
Then, déjà vu hits me. I've been here before many years ago. It's the reason I became a doctor. The reason I'd shut everyone out of my life and focused on my studies. I didn't have any friends. I didn't have a family. And then it hits me why I need John Doe to live. He represents my hope, that I can overcome my past. That I can save a man, who reminds me of my father. With that realization, he flat lines.
The nurse, who had been screaming at me, turns the machines off. While the audience files out of the room, I stand in shock.
"Are you going to call it?" Larry asks with a causal tone, as he takes his arms off my body.
I don't move.
He looks at his watch, "Time of death one-thirty-seven."
The room is too quiet, that's when I find out I'm alone. I walk to the man in front of me, hoping he'll open his eyes. But it's a loss cause- his eyes opening and my hope. I let myself say goodbye to the older man. My hands travel to the back of his forearm, where his tattoo showing.
I frowned while running my hand down the bold block letters, "KS."
It pains me to admit that I will never find out what those letters mean.