Thirteen years ago, I was still learning how to breathe inside a hospital.
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I was a brand-new emergency room nurse, fresh out of training, wearing my scrubs like borrowed armor. I checked charts twice. Sometimes three times. My hands shook when I signed my name, not from weakness, but from the weight of knowing that mistakes in this place could never be taken back.
I wanted to help. I just didn’t yet trust myself to do it right.
The call came in just before midnight.
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