phone down and took a deep breath.
Max, who’d been doing the handover, noticed the pallor in Marina’s face as she replaced the receiver.
‘Marina?’ he asked, going over to her.
She shook her head, as if unable to speak, and just walked out of Resus.
Max recognised the signs. Apart from the fact he’d seen this happen to colleagues a few times in his Doctors Without Borders days, he’d seen Marina crumble like this before. He also knew what it probably meant: that Marina had just been talking to the neurosurgeon and it was bad news.
He remembered that losing a patient had always hit Marina hard, and she’d always taken it personally. Four years’ more experience in the emergency department clearly hadn’t changed that. Her family was so good at fixing things that she simply couldn’t deal with it on the rare occasions when it didn’t happen—and it didn’t matter that nobody else could’ve fixed things in the situation, either. In her view, she’d failed.
He followed her into the staff kitchen. She was halfway through filling a glass of water when she doubled over, shaking and not saying a word.
He put his arms round her, spun her round and held her close. ‘It’s OK,’ he said softly. ‘Talk to me. Let it out.’
She was still shaking, but clearly she was too upset for tears. ‘He—he didn’t make it,’ she whispered.
Max had guessed as much.
‘I hate losing patients, Max. I hate it when we can’t save them.’
‘We do our best, but we’re only human. We can’t save everyone. You know that.’ He stroked her hair; he could smell the familiar scent of rosemary, and it felt so good to have her back in his arms. What kind of selfish pig was he, to be thinking of his own gratification and pleasure when she was upset? ‘Marina, we did our best for him. So did the neuro team. Nobody could’ve done more.’
‘I know.’ She shuddered. ‘But it always feels so much worse when we lose a child. It’s bad enough when someone’s old, but at least they’ve had a chance to live—a child has barely started living. And what about his family? There’s going to be a huge hole in their lives. I mean, if he was playing chicken he was probably a difficult kid and hell to live with, but even so he was still their child. Losing…’ She choked on the word.
‘I know, honey.’ He kept his arms round her, telling himself it was so she could draw strength and comfort from him, and knowing full well that he was taking just as much strength and comfort back from her.
But he really needed to make her feel better, and there was only one way he knew how.
‘I’m pulling rank. Making an executive decision,’ he said.
‘What?’ She looked at him, her dark eyes filled with incomprehension.
‘At a time like this, the only thing that works is comfort food. Come on. We’re both off duty, and I’ve done the handover.’
‘Max, where are you…?’
‘Taking you for some comfort food,’ he repeated. ‘And, before you ask, I’d do the same for anyone on my team.’
It wasn’t a complete fib. He’d take an upset team member for a coffee and a sandwich and let them talk it out; debriefing was important. But he’d probably take them to a quiet corner of the cafeteria, whereas he intended to take Marina somewhere much more private.
He shepherded her to the staff room; they collected their coats and she grabbed her handbag from her locker. Then he took her back to his flat. During the five-minute walk, she didn’t say a word and she was still shivering.
‘Where…?’ she began as he opened his front door for her and stood aside.
‘My flat. I’m making you something to eat,’ he said.
‘Max, I…’
He smiled wryly. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to leap on you.’
‘That wasn’t what I was worried about.’
‘Then what?’
Her eyes were huge, dark and anguished.
He gave a muffled exclamation and hauled her back into his arms. This time, she wrapped her arms round him
Max, who’d been doing the handover, noticed the pallor in Marina’s face as she replaced the receiver.
‘Marina?’ he asked, going over to her.
She shook her head, as if unable to speak, and just walked out of Resus.
Max recognised the signs. Apart from the fact he’d seen this happen to colleagues a few times in his Doctors Without Borders days, he’d seen Marina crumble like this before. He also knew what it probably meant: that Marina had just been talking to the neurosurgeon and it was bad news.
He remembered that losing a patient had always hit Marina hard, and she’d always taken it personally. Four years’ more experience in the emergency department clearly hadn’t changed that. Her family was so good at fixing things that she simply couldn’t deal with it on the rare occasions when it didn’t happen—and it didn’t matter that nobody else could’ve fixed things in the situation, either. In her view, she’d failed.
He followed her into the staff kitchen. She was halfway through filling a glass of water when she doubled over, shaking and not saying a word.
He put his arms round her, spun her round and held her close. ‘It’s OK,’ he said softly. ‘Talk to me. Let it out.’
She was still shaking, but clearly she was too upset for tears. ‘He—he didn’t make it,’ she whispered.
Max had guessed as much.
‘I hate losing patients, Max. I hate it when we can’t save them.’
‘We do our best, but we’re only human. We can’t save everyone. You know that.’ He stroked her hair; he could smell the familiar scent of rosemary, and it felt so good to have her back in his arms. What kind of selfish pig was he, to be thinking of his own gratification and pleasure when she was upset? ‘Marina, we did our best for him. So did the neuro team. Nobody could’ve done more.’
‘I know.’ She shuddered. ‘But it always feels so much worse when we lose a child. It’s bad enough when someone’s old, but at least they’ve had a chance to live—a child has barely started living. And what about his family? There’s going to be a huge hole in their lives. I mean, if he was playing chicken he was probably a difficult kid and hell to live with, but even so he was still their child. Losing…’ She choked on the word.
‘I know, honey.’ He kept his arms round her, telling himself it was so she could draw strength and comfort from him, and knowing full well that he was taking just as much strength and comfort back from her.
But he really needed to make her feel better, and there was only one way he knew how.
‘I’m pulling rank. Making an executive decision,’ he said.
‘What?’ She looked at him, her dark eyes filled with incomprehension.
‘At a time like this, the only thing that works is comfort food. Come on. We’re both off duty, and I’ve done the handover.’
‘Max, where are you…?’
‘Taking you for some comfort food,’ he repeated. ‘And, before you ask, I’d do the same for anyone on my team.’
It wasn’t a complete fib. He’d take an upset team member for a coffee and a sandwich and let them talk it out; debriefing was important. But he’d probably take them to a quiet corner of the cafeteria, whereas he intended to take Marina somewhere much more private.
He shepherded her to the staff room; they collected their coats and she grabbed her handbag from her locker. Then he took her back to his flat. During the five-minute walk, she didn’t say a word and she was still shivering.
‘Where…?’ she began as he opened his front door for her and stood aside.
‘My flat. I’m making you something to eat,’ he said.
‘Max, I…’
He smiled wryly. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to leap on you.’
‘That wasn’t what I was worried about.’
‘Then what?’
Her eyes were huge, dark and anguished.
He gave a muffled exclamation and hauled her back into his arms. This time, she wrapped her arms round him
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