“Three, two, one.” Maven slides the needle into Myra’s arm.
“No, no, no!” Myra calls out.
“It’s a little late for that,” Maven replies as she tapes the catheter against Myra’s skin. “You ready to head upstairs?”
Myra shakes her head. “No,” she replies weakly. “Do we have to do this?”
Maven unbrakes Myra’s wheelchair and starts pushing it toward the elevators at the end of the hallway. “Dr. Buhle will take great care of you,” she says.
“Where are we going?”
“To see a friend.”
————————
“Dr. Howell, this is Myra Handler. She’s Dr. Byrne’s patient — the one with the abnormal imaging.”
Dr. Howell extends her arm to give Myra a firm handshake. “Hi, Myra, I’m Dr. Howell. I work with Dr. Byrne. I understand that he referred you for a diagnostic procedure. Is that right?”
Myra nods. “Do I have to?” she asks.
“Legally speaking, I cannot make you,” Dr. Howell replies, “but this procedure is the best shot at figuring out where your pain is coming from and making sure that it is nothing life-threatening. I highly recommend that you have it done. Why are you hesitant?”
“I’m scared,” Myra admits.
Dr. Howell nods. “It’s okay to be afraid. But you are in the best of hands. Dr. Buhle is one of the best doctors I know. And Maven will be with you the entire time.”
This one has a prologue, but before I begin:
CW: Antisemitism, terrorism
(full triggers for the work are at the end of the prologue)
Last Saturday, the 15th of January, a synagogue in Texas was taken hostage by an armed Islamist. Very few non-Jewish sources covered the attack, and those that did often refused to acknowledge antisemitism's role in the situation. I could write a long essay about the situation, but that's not why I'm making this post. What I'm really mad about at this point is that no one acknowledges antisemitism in American society. It is an incredibly prevalent issue from all areas of the political spectrum: Neonazis are not the only people prone to violent antisemitism.
Why is this relevant to whump, you ask. Good question. Writing is a political tool. And I had no inspiration for this month's prompt, so I wrote a story about darkness and antisemitism. The story I am about to tell is not a depiction of events I know have occurred in real life. But they could happen. Most of the whump I write is realistic fiction, and this is no different. An attack on a synagogue is not some far-off myth. It is real. It happened last week. The hostages last week were lucky that they did not get hurt. They were lucky that the Rabbi had been trained for a situation just like that. It could have ended much differently, but it didn't. So I wasn't ready to have my characters get injured as a result of antisemitism. This story is mostly emotional whump, but it mirrors the real thoughts and feelings of Jews.
I recognize that I take a huge risk by posting this. I let the world know that I am Jewish and that I will not be quiet about it. I'm turning commenting off. All antisemitic reblogs will be blocked and reported. You do not have to read the story if you do not want to.
One final disclaimer: I do not condone any of the behaviors in this story. I am not endorsing anything in this story. I am not lying about real experiences; this is a work of fiction.
HEAVY Trigger Warnings: antisemitism, terrorism, guns, anti-jewish slurs, lockdowns
“We turn to page 157 for Maariv Aravim,” Rabbi Harwitz says.
Chaia couldn’t even turn the page before she could no longer see the siddur in her hands. A sudden darkness encapsulates the sanctuary. The only light came from the eternal light above the ark and the two Shabbat candles on the bimah. This isn’t supposed to happen, Chaia thinks, there must be a power outage.
“Well, that’s ironic,” the rabbi jests into the still-on microphone. “I’m sure we’ll find out what’s going on shortly.”
The power can’t be out if the microphone is still on. The microphone is almost always on so it doesn't need to be turned on during Shabbat, but lights are also almost always on. Something is wrong.
James, Maria’s favorite security guard, rushes into the sanctuary carrying a flashlight. “We are dealing with a situation out front. I need everyone to take cover on the floor in front of your seats and remain absolutely quiet.” The light disappears as fast as it appeared. James runs back to the lobby.
Chaia slides off the velvet cushion of her seat, joining her purse on the floor. She curls up in a ball, tucking her siddur between her legs and her chest. Maria does the same. So this is it, Chaia thinks. Hundreds of years after Maria’s family fled Spain and decades after my family fled Germany, we’re still targets. We should’ve moved to Israel after Maria finished culinary school.
Chaia’s thoughts are interrupted by a thud outside the sanctuary. A loud voice shouts, “They will pay! The Jews, the Zios. They are Nazis. They control the world, pulling strings that make life harder for people like me!”
The words send a chill down Chaia’s spine. Terrified, she pulls her wife closer and into an embrace. Her hand subconsciously finds Maria’s pulse. It’s hard and rapid. Even without being able to time it with her watch, Chaia knows that Maria’s heart is beating more than 150 times per minute. Is this a panic attack or a tachycardia episode? Chaia can’t tell and she can’t ask Maria. She gently feels the floor around her, searching for her purse. She instinctively grabs the pulse oximeter but realizes it’d be pretty bright in the darkness, which wouldn’t be great. It isn’t even what she is really looking for. Finally, she wraps her hand around the water bottle she’d packed. Chaia gently unscrews the lid. She grabs Maria’s right arm and places it against the bottle. Next, she slowly feels for Maria’s face with the hand the lid is in. She guides that bottle to Maria’s mouth.
Maria gratefully accepts the water, gulping down what had to be at least ten ounces in thirty seconds. She slowly lowers her upper half to the ground, allowing her heart to be at the same level as her head.
Moments later, a chorus of footsteps storms into the room. As they enter, the lights turn back on. “SWAT Team keep your hands where we can see them!” one calls out.
The entire congregation tentatively raises their hands into the air. Chaia slowly stands up, making sure that her hands are visible to everyone else at all times. As per her expectation, all the black-clad figures in the room shift to aim their machine guns at her. “My name is Chaia Glassman,” she states in an oddly calm voice. “My wife is having a medical emergency and needs assistance. She is on the floor next to me.” Despite her outward appearance, Chaia is freaking out. Her stomach flutters. Her legs are numb. Her eyes well with tears.
One of the figures turns into the radio on his vest. “We need medical.” He then turns his attention to the whole congregation. “We need you to evacuate through the back door over there.” He points to the door he entered the sanctuary from. “Keep your hands where we can see them. You may take your things, but they will be screened when you get outside.”
“What about our coats at the front door? It’s cold out!” a scared voice asks.
“You must exit through the back door. There is a warming station set up outside.” The officer responded.
“Why?” another voice chimed in.
“We have reports there may be a bomb out there. The bomb squad is sweeping the place.”
Rabbi Harwitz rises, keeping his hands interlocked behind his head. He walks to the door and a SWAT officer accompanies him out. Others follow suit, but Chaia waits attentively by Maria.
After almost everyone else is out, EMTs surrounded by seemingly an entire SWAT unit enter the sanctuary. “Over here!” Chaia cries out.
The EMTs park the stretcher in the aisle beside the row of seats Chaia and Maria are in. “Ma’am, you have to go outside now,” one of them tells Chaia.
Chaia hooks her foot through her purse and shuffles into the aisle to get out of the way of EMS. “She has dysautonomia and mast cell activation syndrome and- you know what, her emergency medical booklet is in my purse.”
An officer kneels down beside Chaia’s purse. “May I?” he asks, picking Chaia’s purse up to find the booklet. As he does that, one of the EMTs picks Maria up and lays her on the stretcher.
The other EMT takes the booklet from the officer and flips through it. He looks at Chaia. “She’s in good hands. We’ll start treatment once we get outside.”
It's whump of the month's one-year anniversary! Woo!
This is, of course, for @brutal-nemesis's Neck Day 2021.
Word Count: 579
Trigger Warnings -- Also Tagged: blood & hospitals
----------
Victor presses his hands into his sister’s bleeding neck. “How much longer?” he asks the paramedic.
“We’re there,” the medic responds. The ambulance’s lights and sirens die down. The paramedic jumps out the front and opens the back two doors.
The other paramedic, Elissa, slowly pushes the stretcher out the back of the ambulance, where it is stabilized by the first paramedic. Victor remains on top of the stretcher, straddling his sister’s body, hands pressed into the towel on her neck. Elissa pushes the stretcher through the ambulance entrance doors.
“Clare Sosa, 27-year-old female with severe neck laceration and carotid trauma,” Elissa calls out. “Heart rate is 125 and BP is at 80/54 and dropping. Pressure has been applied to the wound for,” she shifts her gaze to Victor.
“28 and a half minutes,” he finishes.
A small group of doctors and nurses in yellow trauma gowns approach the stretcher. One of them asks, “Is she conscious?”
“In and out,” Victor replies, his eyes meeting a familiar face in the crowd.
“Victor,” Samson calls out, making his way forward in the rush. “3, and then straight to the OR,” he tells Elissa, walking alongside her. Samson turns to a nurse. “Maven, page Dr. Riley. Get him down here stat. Oh and call the blood bank. We’ll need as many units of O neg as we can get our hands on.”
“Aren’t you also a trauma surgeon?” Maven responds.
“I am, but I will need the help. Thank you,” Samson fires back. Maven splits from the group as they pass the nurse’s station. Samson unwraps gauze and hands it to another nurse. “Opal, when we get to three, you’re gonna switch out with Victor, okay?”
“Yes,” Opal says.
“I can’t leave her,” Victor pleads.
The group stops at ED bay 3, where Dr. Riley has appeared. “What is the matter Dr. Buhle?” he asks.
“Carotid trauma,” Samson replies. “I need you to take a look and start the surgery. There is something more immediate I need to take care of.” Samson gazes at Victor. “On the count of three, you are going to get off of your sister and lift the towel. Dr. Riley will take a look and Opal will resume pressure on the wound. Then they’ll take her up to surgery. Ready?”
“No.”
“Victor, you have to do this. Please take my hand and get down.” Samson extends his arm. “Please let us do our jobs.”
Victor takes his boyfriend’s hand. He slowly climbs down from the stretcher and lifts his hand, but he leaves the towel. Samson doesn’t care about the towel. He helps Victor to a nearby chair.
Dr. Riley peeks under the towel and signals to Opal to resume pressure on the wound. He grasps the stretcher and begins wheeling it to the OR.
Samson peels his gloves off and gets Victor a hand wipe. He slowly wipes the blood off of Victor’s hands and allows them to wrap around his yellow gown into a tight embrace. Samson hugs back. “We are going to do everything we can,” he reassures Victor. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Victor says, his voice breaking. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.” He sobs into Samson’s shoulder. “I just heard a noise, so I went to check on her, and I found her like this.”
“That’s okay. She’s in good hands. It’s gonna be okay.” Samson ignores the page that he knows is from Dr. Riley.
Okay, so I did miss last night. Oh well. I’ll make it up to y’all later. Anyway, I succeeded in writing some fluff, but mostly because I love Judaism. There’s a picture of my hanukkiah arranged like it is in the story at the bottom.
————
The hanukkiah glows against the dark night outside the window. 6 (okay, 7) candles drip wax onto a large sheet of tin foil. The sizzling coming from the kitchen slows as Maria turns off the stove. “The latkes are done,” she declares. She brings the large platter into the dining room and sets it on the blue tablecloth.
“Happy Hanukkah everyone,” Chaia says, reaching for a latke. “As a reminder, we are an applesauce-only household. If you need salt, you can speak to Maria.”
Everyone shifts their gaze to Maria, whose latke is almost white with salt. “Is it good like that?” Victor asks.
“Depends on what food it’s on. Latkes, yes. Pasta, yes. Lettuce, not so much. For my blood volume, definitely.”
Omar scans the room. “The candles are nice. Actually, it’s all really nice.”
“Oh, the Hanukkiah?” Chaia says. “Yeah. Maria really likes the sixth night because she likes to make the candles be a rainbow and having the shamash be white. We also cleaned a lot.”
“Wouldn’t it be better on the fifth night when there are six candles?” Juliet asks.
“Be quiet,” Maria shoots back.
Demetra takes a bite of her latke. “Maria, these are really good. Thank you for having us. This is wonderful.”
“Of course,” Chaia replies, “You are part of the crew now.”
“Ooh we need to get you sweaters,” Maria adds.
“What?” Omar asks.
“Long story,” Victor says, reaching for his third latke. “Anyone up for some dreidel?”
“We have to do it; there’s no way around it. Let’s just get it over with. Want me to hold your hand?” Anna offers in a calm and sweet yet not condescending tone. “You’re in great hands, Juliet. Dr. Byrne has reset tons of noses.”
“Is there any way we can numb it?” Juliet asks.
“The lidocaine will hurt more than the actual procedure,” Rory responds. “You ready?” He approaches the side of the gurney and softly places his left hand on Juliet’s chin, securing her head. He reaches his right hand toward her nose, but is forcefully swatted away by Juliet.
“NO,” Juliet insists.
Anna sighs. “Fine. I didn’t want to have to do this,” she says, climbing onto the gurney. She places herself across Juliet, her feet restraining Juliet’s legs and her hands pinning Juliet’s arms to the gurney. “This will take five seconds. Rory, we’re ready.”
Juliet squirms under Anna as Rory reassumes his position. Rory grasps Juliet’s nose just under the bridge. On a count of three, he firmly pushes it back into place. The crack of the reset bones barely make a sound over Juliet’s screams.
Anna climbs off the gurney. “All done. We’ll get you some tape to hold it in place and some ice to help with the pain and swelling. My shift is over in an hour. If you want to stick around, I can drive you home.”
“Thanks for inviting us. A triple camping date was totally the best way to introduce Samson to everyone,” Victor says. He continues down the trail, holding his boyfriend’s hand. He is joined by Chaia and Maria and Kai and Juliet, both couples clasping hands as well.
“Of course. Maria and I love it here. It’s the only forest in the state she’s not allergic to,” Chaia responds. She stares down at her wife’s hands, unconsciously scanning them for hives.
A sudden noise rings out in the distance.
“What was that?” Juliet asks.
“I don’t know. It’s probably a bird,” Kai reassures her as the group turns right along the trail. To their right, a creek flows from the waterfall at the end of the trail.
“Hey, can we pause so that I can tie my shoelace?” Samson asks.
“Of course,” Victor replies. He reaches his arm out and leans against the trunk of a big oak tree.
The sound rings out again. This time, it’s noise is more distinctive. The sound is the firing of a crossbow.
“Everyone get down!” Kai shouts to the group. He crouches down and shouts into the distance, “We are people not game!”
Juliet is rushed down by Kai and Samson stays low to the ground after tying his shoe. Chaia is taken down by the sudden weakness of Maria.
“You know how I said that Maria doesn’t react to this forest? Well, I was wrong,” she says, laying Maria flat on the ground and opening her backpack. She pulls out an emergency kit containing Maria’s rescue meds, a pulse oximeter, and a blood pressure cuff. “Maria, what’s going on?”
“I feel faint and my arms are itchy.” Maria’s arms and face slowly turn a shade of bright red.
“Okay. I got you, Mar.” Chaia slides the blood pressure cuff onto Maria’s arm and clips the pulse oximeter onto Maria’s finger. She digs through the med bag and pulls out a box of benadryl. “Blood pressure is a little lower than normal, but I don’t think that you’re in anaphylaxis right now. Take this.” She hands her wife a bright pink chewable tablet.
“Wow, Chaia you are so good at this,” Kai remarks. He pauses for a moment, then says, “Where’s Victor?”
Victor’s legs remain near the tree he had leaned against, but his upper half had not lowered when the rest of the group ducked. Victor cannot duck, as his left hand has been impaled by the cross bow’s arrow and stuck to the tree. “Up here,” Victor manages, pained.
Samson and Kai rush to their feet to attend to Victor. “Oh, babe, that does not look good,” Samson remarks. “But we are gonna help you. How’s the pain?”
“Bad.”
“Can you wiggle your fingers?” Kai follows up.
Victor attempts to move his fingers against the blood-stained bark. He grimaces in pain. “Not really.”
“Okay,” Kai responds. “Chaia, do you have pain meds and an ace bandage in your bag?”
“I’ve got both.” She digs through the bag and pulls the items out.
Samson lightly grasps Victor’s right hand. “As you probably know, it’s not safe to remove the arrow until we get you to the hospital, but we do need to detach you from the tree.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” Victor replies.
“We have to do it,” Samson replies, sending a knowing look to Kai.
Kai grasps the edge of the arrow while Samson pulls Victor into a restraining hug.
“No,” Victor pleads, as Kai lightly wiggles the arrow free of the tree.
“I need to move your hand up to ensure that it stays on the arrow when I remove it from the tree, okay?” Kai didn’t wait for Victor to respond. He slowly slid Victor’s hand up the arrow just enough for him to fit his hand between Victor’s hand and the tree. Victor cried out in pain.
“I know,” Samson whispers to Victor. “We’re almost done.” Sampson gives Victor a reassuring (and more restraining) squeeze.
“On tree, we move off the tree,” Kai tells Victor. He lightly laughs at his own joke. “Get it? Like three? No? Okay. One, two, tree.” He pulls the arrow out of the tree, making sure that Victor’s hand did not come off the arrow. Once again, Victor screamed in pain.
“All done,” Samson told Victor. We’re gonna wrap it to hold the arrow in place and you can take some ibuprofen for right now. Let’s take this triple date to the hospital,” he says, watching Chaia help Maria to her feet.
“You don’t normally get earthquakes here, right?” Demetra asks.
“Not normally, why?” Chaia asks.
“Your table is vibrating,” Demetra calmly responds. The table’s hum suddenly turns to a jostle. “Everyone get under the table,” she commands. “This may not be an earthquake, but we are going to act like it is one.”
-----------
Samson is the first one to crawl out from under the table when the shaking stops. He surveys the damage. In Juliet and Anna’s apartment, only some glass shattered and a couple pieces of furniture moved. “Demetra, you were right to get under the table. Others might not have been so lucky.” Samson briefly pauses to think. “Maria, do you have a blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter on you?”
“Yeah,” she responds, “Chaia always puts one in my bag now.”
“You can never be too prepared,” Chaia says.
“Great. You two go knock on doors and see if anyone needs help. Juliet and Victor, start triaging people. For now, just go with first aid vs see a medical professional.”
“Got it, babe.” Victor glances up at Samson as he is dragged out from under the table by Juliet.
“Okay,” Samson continues. “Anna and Kai, you are with me treating people who need medical attention. Grab the stuff from Maria’s bag to help.”
“I have a med kit in my room,” Anna offers.
“Great. Go get it.” Samson crouches down to once again be level with the underside of the table. He locks eyes with Omar. “Demetra, can I see your hand?”
Demetra is curled up in a ball on Omar’s chest. Her right hand is red with blood.
“I know you cut it on a fallen plate,” Samson continues. He grabs a napkin off the table. “I don’t think it’s a big deal. Just a couple of stitches at the hospital. I want to make sure that it’s nothing more, and then I’ll put some pressure on it.” He lightly grasps Demetra’s hand and pulls it towards his chest. He quickly scans her palm, confirming that it was only a minor laceration. He ties the napkin around her hand.
Victor bursts through the door to the apartment. “Samson, we need you out here!”
Kai and Justin rush their patient into the ED. Kai wipes the snow off his brow and takes his gloves off. He waves down Rory and Elissa. “Middle-aged John Doe. Found him unconscious at the corner of Wave and 25th. Hypothermic and low pulse.”
“Let’s take him here,” Rory says, drawing back the curtain on an empty bed. “Transfer in 3, 2, 1.” Rory, Kai, Justin, and Elissa lift the patient onto the bed. Rory turns to Elissa. “Hook him up.” Elissa nods and begins reaching under the warming blanket to attach ECG leads. Rory turns out to face the nurses' station. “Anna, I need three liters of fluid warmed, stat!”
“On it!” Anna replies. Moments later, Anna comes sprinting back holding three bags of fluid. She quickly attaches them to the IV catheter in the patient’s hand and hangs the bags above the bed. She reaches up and squeezes the bags. “Where are we at, Dr. Byrne?”
“79.2 and rising. Slowly. Very slowly.”
Anna directs her attention back to Elissa. “Liss, I got the bags. Go get heated blankets. Anything that gets warm. We need it here.”
Elissa rushes out to the supply closet but does a double-take when she hears an alarm go off. It’s her patient.
Rory climbs onto the patient and starts compressions. He turns back to meet Elissa’s gaze. “And page Dr. Howell!”
