I walked away from my first day as a doctor thinking I'd done something right. By the next morning, I wasn't so sure, as things I thought I understood about what really happened began to unravel.
I, Jacob, have wanted to be a doctor forever.
Not in a vague, childhood way, but in the kind of way where every choice I made led straight here.
Still, none of that helped the nerves.
Every choice I made led straight here.
My first day at the local hospital started with me standing outside the emergency room doors. I adjusted my coat, trying to seem more experienced and calm. But my stomach didn't agree.
I told myself one thing before walking in: don't mess things up.
Then I stepped inside, and everything suddenly moved fast!
A stretcher came rushing down the hallway. Nurses were calling out numbers.
That's when I saw her.
A small girl, not older than seven, lay in the hallway while a team desperately tried to resuscitate her. Her skin looked pale. Machines beeped in uneven patterns as doctors shouted over her.
My stomach didn't agree.
The girl's mother stood a few feet away, crying silently in the corner.
"We're losing her!" one of the doctors shouted.
I froze. Something felt off about the girl's condition.
It wasn't obvious. It was small and easy to miss.
I stepped forward before I could second-guess myself.
"I think everyone's looking at the wrong thing."
The room didn't quieten, but a few heads turned.
"We're losing her!"
One of the senior doctors, Dr. Keller, I'd later learn, looked straight at me.
"What did you say?"
My throat clamped up, but I pushed through it.
"I think there's something small you're overlooking," I said, forcing myself to speak louder. "And I think that's why nothing is working."
For a moment, I thought I'd just ended my career before it even began.
Then Keller stepped aside slightly.
"...Show me."
I moved in.
"What did you say?"
Up close, it was clearer. Her breathing pattern didn't match the initial assumption. There was a faint chemical odor on her clothes, something sharp, almost like cleaning solvent.
"Check her airway again," I said. "And get a tox screen started. This doesn't look like what we think it is."
Keller stared at me for a second, then nodded.
"Do it."
Everything changed after that.
The other doctors and I adjusted the treatment and began working to revive her.
"Check her airway again."
Then her mother suddenly gasped.
"Wait," she whispered. "Wait, look at her!"
I turned as the girl's fingers twitched.
Then her chest movements steadied, and the color began to return to her face.
Her mother grabbed my arm, gripping hard enough to make me wince.
"Thank you," she kept saying. "Thank you for saving her! Thank you for not giving up on her!"
I didn't know what to say.
"Wait, look at her!"
Keller looked at me.
"If it weren't for your sharp eye, son, we would've lost her."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
***
By the time I got home that night, I could barely keep my eyes open.
The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion.
I don't remember falling asleep.
But I remember waking up.
"We would've lost her."
***
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I shot upright, disoriented.
For a second, I thought I was still dreaming. Then it came again.
Someone was at my door.
I stumbled out of bed, still half asleep, and went to open it.
A man stood there in uniform.
A sheriff.
His face was serious.
"Are you the doctor who treated the little girl yesterday?" he asked.
