LOST AND FOUND IN L. A

The rain was so heavy that water was even coming over the rooftops, filling up the gutters, and occasionally cars splashed through water on the roads with only their headlights visible. It was one of those storms that only made people stay inside, warm under a blanket. Still, like any other day, I had to get up for work, it was a late shift.

The jacket was fully zipped, and I pulled the hood over my head, with my hands . I looked out the window of my small apartment. The world outside was a blur of gray, a sharp contrast to the neat, organized space inside. My place was quite basic but still, it was my local shelter from the heavy reminding images.

Looking at the clock, I was not surprised to find it was nearly seven, so it was high time that I got going. As soon as I switched off the light, approaching the door, I caught a glimpse of my tired appearance in the mirror. Hair was styled in a disheveled bun with a few stray bangs hanging loose. My brown eyes had been bright and previously filled with liveliness, but now they bore too much sadness and seemed dull. Before I could think twice, I blinked back. That was something I did not want to indulge in tonight. I have a task at hand.

As soon as I stepped into the hallway I closed the door behind me and constrained once more in that narrow staircase to the ground of the ancient building. I had been living there for almost a year, since I moved to L.A. afterwell, since all of that came undone.

Just outside the door, I was assaulted by cold, cruel rain. I tightened the cords of my hood to try to cope with the worst part of it. The roads that were almost deserted experienced a few rushing cars, with their wheels sending water into the air. I lowered my head and concentrated on the ground as I walked to the bus stop. My toes went into the puddles splashing water inside my shoes, but I did not really care. I was used to it – cold, and water. It was all routine now.

While waiting for the bus, every sweeping thought would take me to a comparison on what my life is now. I wouldn't have been here a year ago standing in a huge and lonely city all sympathetic and blurry. There, the description of my life is secure. In there, I had someone dear, and someone I am certain that I will still grow old with. But that all changed one day, so fast it made my head spin. He was gone; I was devastated, stranded with no choice but to put the pieces back together by myself.

Hence, I packed my bags and went to L.A. I felt like I wanted to escape, to establish myself in an unfamiliar environment. I devoted myself to my employment, hoping that if I got tied up with a lot of work, there wouldn't be any time to pine for what I had lost. But the reality is, it is always sitting at the recesses of my thoughts, and it is like this dull pain that just doesn't go away.

The big noisy bus groaned and hissed as it came to a stop, and so with that movement, my mind was yanked from its wandering. I was happy to take the bus as I was wet and cold from the rain and therefore I mounted, sitting so at the back. The bus was almost deserted except for some disoriented passengers who were present in the several nikanas, almost engrossed in their own activities rather than people. I made myself comfortable as I watched the blur that was the city whizzing past me through the moving vehicle. Everything looks like a blurred hue because of the rain making those lights fusing with each other into colors. It was quite pleasing and yet melancholy at the same time.

To be honest, I reached the hospital a little earlier than when my working schedule asked me to. There loomed the hospital building some distance ahead, its glaring lights contrasting the darkened sky. The inside was totally different from what was outside. The lights were triphosphorus, the place was lively and crowded with many activities. Engaging in the night shift as usual was helter-skelter in the night, never as environmentally rational, but it was in order the environment where everyone was.

As I walked through the corridors, some people who I was familiar with caught my eye and I smiled back at them. We weren't talking about much, mostly just the usual small talk. That's fine, it isn't a social event anyway, it's work. I got into the locker room and changed into scrubs and walked to the nurses' station to sign in.

"Hey, Emma," Carla ordered as soon as I approached her. She was one of the few officially approved people I actually interacted with at the workplace. This one in her forties was a nurse, hardworking with no rubbish spouted, but she cared.

"Hey, Carla," returns the greeting, signing the clipboard. "What's the situation tonight?"

"Same old." Her shoulders lifted lightly like it's no biggie. "It's busy but nothing out of the ordinary. One of yours is in room 302. Three patients. Stable, just need their routine examinations."

The plump nurse wouldn't be distressed, that means hearing about any emergencies, which wouldn't be happening the rest of the night most likely in a considerate way to myself. I thanked Carla again and walked to carry out my duties, this part feeling old, perhaps too old.

But then, just as I was settling into the rhythm of my shift, something occurred. At that very moment, a voice cut through the hum of the hospital's PA system somewhere deep inside the building. It was tense and hurried.

"Attention all available staff to the ER. We have an incoming trauma, a severe car accident."

My heart missed several beats. A trauma like that meant bedlam, it meant abnormal amounts of exhilarating craziness and absolute everyone moving at maximum velocity. I dropped whatever it is that I was doing and made my way to the ER, visualizing what was about to come.

When I got there, the environment was rather thick and above the normal level of anxiety. Combat ready nurses and doctors were as well frantic looking for the struck patients who were about to come. The dawning wail of the ambulance lingered farther off, but grew ever nearer by the second.

I stationed myself by the trauma bay, expecting the doors to be pushed in quite shortly. My head was turning, trying to figure out how this particular car accident victim would be. Car crashes can never be boring; one minute the injuries turn out to be just a scratch and a few bones while on other occasions, blood limbs litter the area.

The ambulance roared in with sirens blaring and the medics rushed in at a gleaming speed with a stretcher brought in between them. The man lay still as he was covered with an oxygen mask. Friendly fire had left his clothes drenched and soiled with blood.

"Male, 36 years of age, trauma to the head, probable intracranial bleeding," one of the Boston MedFlight paramedics stated in haste as they relocated him to the hospital bed causing a slight asymmetry in motion with him. "He was driving and somehow, out of control on the freeway, hit a guardrail. The patient is critical, unstable, and fighting for his dear life."

I provided assistance, aiding in stabilizing the patient while the doctors assessed his injuries. My movements were instinctive, following the repetitive actions I had practiced extensively. However, I couldn't shake the sense that there was something distinctive about this man, something that distinguished him from the typical trauma patients we encountered.

Even with bruises and swelling, his face exuded a certain sharpness, hinting at importance. Despite being torn and bloodied, his clothing exhibited fine quality, a rarity for someone in his condition. It was a small detail, but it captured my attention.

With no time to dwell on it, the trauma team was fully engaged in saving the man's life. Doctors issued commands, nurses moved efficiently, and I played my part, striving to keep up with the swift pace.

"Get him to CT, now!" urged one of the doctors, and we hurried the patient down the hallway, the squeaking of the stretcher wheels echoing against the tile floor. The overhead lights blurred as we raced through the corridors, each second feeling like an eternity.

Finally reaching the CT room, I assisted in transferring the patient onto the machine. The entire process felt like a whirlwind, everything happening so rapidly that it was challenging to keep track. Throughout it all, I couldn't shake the strange feeling settling in my chest, an unexplainable sense of foreboding.

As we waited for the scan results, I stood by the door, observing the patient's labored breathing. Unconscious and oblivious to the chaos around him, I pondered who he was and what led him to be out on that stormy night, driving down the freeway as if fleeing from something.

The scan exposed our fears – a severe brain injury, multiple fractures, and internal bleeding. It was grim, truly serious. The doctors deliberated on the best course of action, their voices subdued but urgent.

"We need to get him into surgery, now," implored one of them, and the team sprang into action once more.

I helped wheel the patient into the operating room, my mind still swirling with inquiries. There was something about this man that intrigued me, making me yearn to understand more. However, I had to set those thoughts aside. At present, my primary focus had to be on my responsibilities, on doing everything possible to aid in saving his life.

After the OR doors opened, I stepped back to let the surgeons take over. My role in this matter has been fulfilled, at least for now. Nevertheless, as I observed them getting ready for surgery, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the start of something much bigger, something that would alter everything.

I stayed for a bit longer, the sounds of the OR fading into the background as my thoughts consumed me. The storm outside began to grow louder, with the rain hitting against the hospital windows with unwavering force. A shiver ran down my spine, as though the cold from outside had flowed slowly into my bones.

I cannot put it into words, but there was something about this night, and in particular about the man lying on the operating table, which was... Well, different. I had watched numerous patients come in and out, had seen emergencies and traumas that would incapacitate most. But this is different. There was a certain energy in the room, a certain tension that surrounded me as static does.

I glanced again at the patient, at the faceless man, nameless as yet. His bruised and bloodied face appeared drained in the cast of the lights. I tried dismissing the anxiety that was eating me from the inside by assuring myself that this was just another day, just another patient. However, I barraged such attempts. There is a reason for this presentiment, something that I could not comprehend for the moment but something which I knew would eventually have me rethink everything I thought I knew.

The surgeons had prepped and were positioned behind bright lights where the instruments lay clean and organized. They had started performing their last exercises until one of them lifted his head and nodded at me, meaning it was time. My paradox was shattered so i stepped backwards and took a breath allowing the team to do their work.

Towards the last seconds of the closing doors of the operating theater, I had dazed for a last time, the glance of the man's head that was impassive, his life fluctuating in anticipation. And just like that he was taken away on a trolley through the doors and into the blinding white corridor of the OR.

I remained frozen for a split second longer in the same position with my eyes fixated at the doors that were already closed. My heartbeat rang louder than the approaching typhoon that is expected to change the weather within a day in my head. But just as I started moving away, I felt that after all, this night was just the calm before the storm, this man, whoever he was, was going to turn everything upside down.