The Cost of Survival

I killed a patient to save five others and I'd do it again. Code black. Mass casualty.

Gunshot wounds flooding my ER faster than we could triage. Blood pooling on linoleum like spilled

wine. My hands shaking as I made the call. Bed seven. Thirty-two-year-old.

Survivable injuries. But he had the rare blood type. AB negative. The golden ticket.

Five critical patients dying without it. The blood bank was empty. I had seconds to

decide. Divert his transfusion or watch five families bury their loved ones.

I chose the math. Cold brutal math. He crashed within minutes. The others lived.

I see his face every night when I close my eyes. His mother's screams echo in my dreams.