Today, I watched someone die. He was young. Unexpected. 45 minutes of compressions and 4 cycles of epi. No electrical activity. No heartbeat. Soul gone.
Today, I watched myself die. I stand in front of a billboard, crying in public after having slurs thrown at me in my white coat. I cut across lower campus to avoid them, and I see a billboard. It’s covered in posters stating that people like me hurt kids. That I hurt women. It’s a cheery pink, white, and blue- an intentional mockery of the flag I fly. I wonder if the people who put this up match the rest of my day- no heartbeat, no soul. Dead inside, a pit of void, grasping out like a black hole at those who are trying to live.
Today, I am told that I cannot use the locker rooms or group bathrooms anywhere on campus. I walk 25 minutes after my shadowing to scrub the blood from my scrubs in the single shower stall in EHSEB. One of my patients told me he was glad I was one of those masculine men, he couldn’t stand those transgenders, that homosexuals back in his day knew well enough to stay quiet.
Today, I watched a child choose to live. After, the 13-year-old recognized my tattoo and when his parents left the room, asked me if people like us make it- am I happy? Did I ever get married? Do my parents still love me? Did I go to college? I answered affirmatively for some, negatively for one. A heartbeat interrupted in the gold room. A heartbeat restarted. Pressure put on wrists and soul saved through the knowledge of a real future. He whispered to me a secret- your tattoo saved my life. I want to be like you when I grow up.
Today, I lay my head down and wonder if any of my classmates share these experiences with me. If anyone ever will. Tomorrow, I will get up and smile when I roll up my sleeves to show off my tattoo. It is always worth it.
