I
’m always happy to see my friend Zev, but not when he runs into the ER with a child flopping limply in his arms.
“Help me, something’s wrong!”
Immediately, a team coalesced around him. Zev’s son Ari, six years old, was sucking shallow breaths, limp, and lethargic. His skin was dry and papery. It looked like sepsis.
My partner resuscitated and stabilized him and arranged for admission to the PICU. I watched as they wheeled him up to a unit, Zev jogging alongside.
When my shift was over, I went up to the PICU. My badge didn’t work (to protect someone from abducting a child, pediatric care areas are restricted), and I needed a standard visitor’s pass to enter the PICU. Zev or his family had to approve it every day when I came to visit.
