I HAD BEEN WORKING FOR NINETEEN HOURS TO SAVE A CHILD’S LIFE, BUT THE DIRECTOR’S SON DEMANDED I STOP JUST TO TREAT HIS GIRLFRIEND’S SCRATCH!
It was 2:17 a.m. in the Mercy Ridge ER. I stood at Bed 6, my hands steady despite being exhausted to the bone, fighting to keep Mason alive—a seven-year-old boy we almost lost to a drowning incident. His blood pressure was dropping, and his pulse was slipping like sand through my fingers.
“BP is dropping!” the nurse warned, her voice taut with urgency.
