Page 100 of The Golden Hour

This hospital cannot function without its nurses.

And the hospital wants to pretend that it can and will.

The organized chaos of the outside is a stark contrast to the disorganized chaos of the inside. Scab nurses and travel nurses from other hospitals in the area have been brought in to cover for the nurses striking outside.

And all it’s doing is showing the true value of the nurses in this hospital. They are the backbone of this place.

The scab nurses have no idea where anything is in the supply rooms, their usual system is different, and the layout of the hospital confuses them.

Most of them are from private offices, outpatient clinics, and medical spas—not used to the fast pace of St. Mary’s Trauma Center. They second-guess themselves. They ask where everything is. They miss silent cues and directives that St. Mary’s nurses would have caught in half a second.

And the travel nurses sting extra hard, because Mason knows they are being paid exorbitant amounts of money while the nurses employed by St. Mary’s are outside fighting for fair wages.

It’s a mess.

And the day just keeps getting worse.

“Time of death, 11:38,” Mason declares, but doesn’t move from his spot next to the deceased patient.

Labor Day weekend is always brutal in the emergency department. Boating accidents. Water accidents. Fireworks blowing up in people’s hands. Accidental drownings, like the deceased patient on the bed. Barbecue incidents. Heat stroke. Extreme sun exposure. Car accidents from shore traffic.

It’s not even noon, and he’s treated at least one of each.

And they just keep coming and coming.

He’s already lost two patients.

Granted, both of them were too far gone, the drowning victim in front of him had already been dead by the time they got him on the bed, and a head-on car accident from I-95 was his first patient of the day.

Fucking shore traffic.

Mason stares down at the man on the table. He’s about Mason’s age, maybe a little older. Dark hair, dark eyes, a beard, decently in shape. He was wearing cotton candy blue swim trunks and a t-shirt that said ‘World’s Best Daddy’ on it when he was brought in.

Mason never really noticed details like that before. Now it’s all he can see. This man was a father. And as his eyes catch onto the gold glinting from his finger, a husband. Now he’s gone, because he jumped into a public pool to save his toddler.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m very sorry.”

Before, there would be movement all around him as the nurses gently prepared the body to head down to the viewing room for the families.

But now there’s just nothing. The unfamiliar faces in the room just stare at Mason, waiting for direction.

Dr. Lowell had glommed onto Mason as soon as he walked into the building. He stands next to Mason now, a disappointed look on his face.

“Kind of wish we could have opened him up at least…”

Mason turns his head slowly.

“This is a person,” Mason snaps at Lowell, who goes pale as a sheet. “This is someone’s father. Someone’s husband. A person, with a life, who is now dead.”

Lowell’s eyes are wide, and his gaze drops to the floor, chagrined.

“Shit,” he curses, “I’m sorry, Dr. Carpenter. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Mason opens his mouth to retort: Yes you did! You wanted a big rush and a big save, but this man is permanently dead.

But he stops himself, because Lowell’s reaction is a direct consequence of his actions and the example he’s been setting in the ED. The exact type of behavior he was taught, and was passing on as his legacy.

He can’t scold Lowell without feeling like a hypocrite.