Author: Raj Waghmare

Twenty-four year old J.P. Tyler is as pale as his white t-shirt that’s two sizes too big. He’s lying on his back – moaning –

It’s 1 a.m, and I’m afraid this guy is going to die. He’s gasping for air, hunched over a table as I poke his chubby back and

I carried it around with me the entire shift. I showed it to my E.R. colleagues, the internists, and even a couple of surgeons. I’d

The nurse at triage can feel her heart race as Madison raises her shirt and shows the splotches around her thin waist. She calls another

It’s almost seven p.m. and I’m handed the chart of a man in his sixties. “Can you see this one first,” the nurse says, “he needs

It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’ve been called in almost four hours before my shift is supposed to start.  Black coffee feels good the second it