The emergency room team at the Medical Center of Aurora shifted into a high gear and turned chaos into symphonic precision. Over a speaker, a room number was called out. Through more than 20 humming medical professionals a mix of voices emerged, “unresponsive female,” “five minutes,” “potential covid?”
The attending medical staff began feverishly masking, shielding and protecting themselves. One nurse spoke firmly to another to check off procedures. The other responded more firmly, “we’ve done that.” The rise in tension palpable.
The small hallway, no wider than the length of a bed swelled as nurses, doctors, techs and a chaplain took their respective positions. Eyes pierced through goggles looking towards the emergency room entrance.
A momentary pause. Silence.
Then the doors opened almost inaudibly as two Aurora firefighters dressed in head-to-toe protection – like a life-saving Walter White and Jesse Pinkman – rushed in with a stretcher. The seemingly lifeless body atop jostled side to side with each abrupt and jarring movement, a plastic covering draped over her face.
While the medical team worked to save a life, the two Aurora firefighters immediately began stripping down from their potentially contaminated overalls before joining every other medical professional gathered by the room watching as a life lie in limbo.
Silence returned. The eyes piercing through the goggles moments before now affixed upon the plastic-covered triage bed.
Every single person standing, waiting, breathless.
“When things are at their worst, we’re at our best,” said Dr. Frank Lansville, medical director of the emergency department.
“This has been an unexpected world pandemic, but that being said, we’re still here, we’re still functioning at a very high level and we want people to feel comfortable no matter what they’re being seen for.”
