Page 1 of Dark Consequences
Prologue: Lily
Six years ago
Columbia
Another monstrous mosquito lands on my arm. One so large, I can actually count the stripes on the blood-sucking dinosaur as I watch it stick its needle into my flesh.
Bastard.
I would smack the damn thing and send it back to the hell it came from if I wasn’t busy helping keep a man’s intestines inside his body.
As painful as the sting the bug leaves behind on my body after it drinks its fill and flies off to find its next victim, it’s nothing compared to how our tent of war-torn patients feels. I gaze at the overflowing cots and makeshift gurneys with an inward sigh. Another attack on a helpless village has left dozens of innocent men, women, and children dead or injured. So many families have been torn apart as a result of a war they never wanted. So many lives destroyed…
While an emergency doctor in Chicago for a couple of years, I thought I’d seen it all. Bullet holes and stab wounds are elementary when faced with full-body chemical burns and partial disembowelment. I once saved a man who came in with a knife sticking out of the side of his neck, but here…I’m losing patients left and right because there’s just not enough help, medicine, or technology.
Accepting and understanding the harsh reality around me is enough to make me ache for home, and I take nothing for granted anymore.
My current team and I have been in Columbia for a few weeks now doing relief work. This is my third rotation over the past year. It’s not always like this—no, that’s a lie. It is. I like to think my presence here is helping, however small or large that is, and for the most part, that’s why I keep coming back. But to be completely honest, the pay for three months’ work here is almost the same as an entire year's salary back home, and I have a mountain of student debt to pay off with big plans for the future. I want to buy a condo, get a new car since my old beetle is on its last leg, and take a really long vacation where I spend more time in a bikini than scrubs.
“He’s crashing! Get the paddles!” the lead doctor shouts. A moment later, she’s yelling, “Clear!” We all step back with our hands in the air.
My eyes lock on the black computer screen, willing the green line to correct itself, but it remains flat.
“Again! Clear!”
I glance at the patient, and my heart sinks at the sight. His face is pale, and his lips are turning blue. He’s gone. It’s clear as day, and the lead doctor knows it too because after one final attempt, she calls his time of death.
“Dr. Song!”
I raise my head and turn in the direction of the person who called my name. It’s Dr. Cole, and he’s frantically waving me over. I snap my gloves off and tug my protective apron off, tossing both in the trash bin, and hurry over. When I step up, a nurse hands me a set of new gloves and an apron.
“What do we have?”
“Six-year-old girl with an open compound fracture to her left arm. I need to set it, but she only speaks Spanish and won’t calm down.”
I lean forward and smile at the terrified girl before asking her in Spanish, “What is your name?”
She whimpers in loads of pain but latches on to the familiar language. “Louisa.”
“Hi, Louisa. My name is Dr. Song, but you can call me Lily. All of my favorite patients do.” I wink at her and earn a small smile and giggle in return. I glance over at my coworker, and he nods. Turning back to Louisa, I try to assure her as best I can. “Now, I understand your arm hurts, right?” She nods meekly. “Well, my friend here will help you feel all better, okay? But first, tell me what your favorite color is.”
“Pink,” she admits right away.
“Really? I like pink too. Okay, so once Dr. Cole has fixed your arm, we’ll wrap it in a pretty pink cast. How does that sound?”
Louisa nods before the brave little girl steels herself. I glance at the nurse beside me and ask in English, “Where are her parents?”
The nurse shakes her head solemnly. “She came in alone.”
I sigh. It’s unfair and cruel to leave an innocent young girl like this all alone in the world. An orphan in the blink of an eye. So many children have the same story, the same uncertain future, and I hate knowing the pain and fear they’ll face in the coming days.
Of course, programs exist to offer assistance to orphaned children of war and extended families who may be willing to take them in, but that’s not always the case.
I tried to keep up with the children during my first rotation, but there were so many that it became impossible. For my sanity, I imagined each one had a happy ending. Even though, realistically, I know differently. It’s just easier sometimes to believe in the fictional.
By the end of my shift, it feels like I ran a 5k…in the rain and wind, through the mud, and then up a hill…wearing a weighted vest while hungover. All I want is to soak in a tub and sleep for a week, but that's not an option out here in the forests of Columbia. There is no Hilton nearby. We live in shared tents that make my camping trips as a kid look like a resort stay. Our showers are outdoors, and no matter what time of the day, you’re sweating even while you shower, making the entire effort pointless.
“Hey, there you are.”