Faith

Doctor David Peterson shook his head, the cold water pushing back the fatigue, but failing to lift his mood. The stranger in the mirror scowled. Thickening jowls matched heavy bags below eyes, bloodshot and watery. Nearly sixty, mortality was tapping him on the shoulder. Tearing paper from the dispenser, he smothered a muttered curse, dried his face, and stalked back into the maelstrom that was the Emergency room.

‘Christ, what's the bloody point,' he muttered as he surveyed the dregs of humanity washed up on his shift.

‘You suddenly found religion, Dave?'

He turned and glared at the fresh-faced young Doctor alongside him.

‘Piss-off, Jim, look around you, there's no God.'

‘You just gotta have faith. We're here for a reason.'

His scowl deepened. ‘You're young Jim, you'll grow out of it.'

‘Like you, you mean?'

Peterson noted the contempt and pity and bit his tongue. He was too tired to argue.

‘Yeah, Jim, like me. Is everything ready?'

‘Just about. The ice bags are all here. You think it'll work?'

‘Well, you gotta have faith, Jim ...'

Before Jim could answer, the entrance doors crashed open as paramedics rushed the body of the girl in. Doctor Peterson barked commands to his team, and they began to attempt the impossible.

The girl was no older than six. As his team worked, he checked her eyes; un-reactive pupils lost in a sea of blue that perversely matched the colour of her skin, stared back at him.

‘Core temperature?'

‘Marginal, still no pulse.'

‘We need more ice around her head!'

‘How long had she been in the lake?' Peterson demanded of a paramedic.

‘We're not sure, but it took us nearly thirty minutes to find the body under the ice. Must be 40, maybe 45 minutes. She's dead, Doc.'

‘Maybe,' Peterson said. ‘Nevertheless, I'm not giving up yet, start warming ... slowly.

As they worked in silence, water droplets from melting ice exploded like bombs on the concrete floor around their feet. Six times the small body convulsed under resuscitation charges. Finally, it was Jim, who spoke for the team.

‘It's no good, it's been too long ...'

Dr Peterson stared at him. Everyone, most of all Jim, knew he had no ‘Faith'. He shook his head, annoyed. No whispered prayer would bring this girl back to life. Science might have. But he'd done everything he could. What harm then, in a prayer? With a sigh, he leaned close the face of the child and closed her eyes. A wisp of condensation formed in the cold air above her lips.

‘No ... Again! Shock her again! NOW!'

Once more the tiny body twisted, but this time the mouth opened and took a breath.

‘We have a pulse!' Someone shouted.

‘Keep warming her, slowly bring her back,' Peterson said, turning to the dumbfounded paramedic alongside of him. ‘It's the cold. The ice is her real saviour. There's no miracle, she'll be fine, you'll see.'

Behind the paramedic, Jim was staring at him. Doctor Peterson turned away, muttered a silent thank you, and wondered why.