When Rain Meets Light Today, I hugged a stranger. And I didn’t know his name. We had just operated on a young man in his late teens. He had sustained multiple gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen and was in critical condition. When he lost pulses in the trauma bay, we cut his chest open and spread his ribs. His lifeless body lay there as we held his heart in the palms of our hands, and pumped it — over and over again — to mimic life. We pumped tirelessly, afraid to let go, afraid to give up, afraid to say “enough.” And just when we thought we had lost him forever, his heart began to beat again. We rushed him to the operating room, where we were met by a team of anesthesiologists, nurses, and residents. We worked together quietly and efficiently, all too well rehearsed. “Male in his late teens, multiple gunshot wounds to the thorax and abdomen. He has a left femoral cordis, and two large-bore peripheral IVs. A resuscitative thoracotomy was performed in the trauma bay. Aortic cross-clamp time was 2053.” That was all the information they needed as we prepared his body for surgery. Two hours passed. We were not able to control the bleeding. He was in critical condition. We packed his chest and temporarily closed it. He will need massive resuscitation to survive more surgery. I was unsure if we would save his life. I was unsure if this young man would ever get married, have children, or see the colors that form when the sunlight meets rain. I left the operating room, defeated. And there he was, sobbing in a corner, alone. He was in his mid-40s, wearing a grey shirt and muddy boots. Judging by the mud on his soles — remnants of rain mixed with earth — I could tell he worked in construction. He had a muscular build. And by the smell of his shirt, I could tell he had been working all day. I walked up to him as he held his face in the palms of his calloused hands, and stared as single tear drops fell onto his worn jeans like summer rain. I grabbed his head and pulled him into my chest. I embraced this stranger as he sobbed into my chest, leaving tear stains like little patches of despair and pain. 34
| TEMPLE HEALTH MAGAZINE | SUMMER 2018